Food Court Revelations - A short story

[Starr Polish]

NoteWell...a short story that will hopefully be part of a longer one. And it's still...rather long. Minor swearing, I edited it though.

Claire was getting frustrated. No matter how hard she tried, the words in her head weren't translating correctly onto the paper. Why am I writing about love, of all things? she asked herself, feeling a small sense of relief at the satisfying sound of a bad piece of writing being torn to shreds. She rubbed her finger along the frayed edge of the abandoned poem and sighed. Maybe trying to write in the food court of the mall wasn’t the best of ideas.

It wouldn’t be the first time Claire had done something that wasn’t a spark of genius. While the constant flow of teenage stereotypes walking by provided plenty of material for her cynicism , the clingy couples grated her nerves.

She tried to focus on a group of rowdy teenage boys trying to “out-stupid” each other by throwing food and annoying everyone around them. It seemed to her that they were trying to impress a group of girls nearby, each of who wore glitter in her hair and looked like a Barbie. Claire chuckled as she imagined them all tucked neatly away in pink boxes as they tried to act bored of the boys’ attention.

There was something. Her pen moved smoothly across an empty page.

See me sparkle
never outside the box
I am always smiling
So you can’t see
my insides
are only plastic
But you can always
See me sparkle

She read it again, then shook her head, and pushed the notebook away. Perhaps concentrating on her fried rice would help. However, before the fork reached her mouth she was interrupted by the sound of the chair next to her scraping on the ground. It invaded her ears and ripped away her sense of isolation.0 Please don’t let it be a someone from school. Someone just wants to borrow a chair, she told herself, but the panic wouldn’t subside.

"This chair taken?" A slightly deep voice asked, invading her ears.

"It is now."

"Okay then," said the intruder, and he took a seat. Claire felt the all too familiar internal twisting of her stomach that switched her into defense mode. She still hadn't looked up from her styrofoam box, but she knew that this boy wasn’t someone from school.

Though not ugly, she wasn't exactly stunning either, and rarely got attention from strangers. She didn't try to blend in with the crowd. She tried to be completely invisible.

After holding her breath for a few moments, she gave up on the hope that the boy would leave. She took a few deep breaths to slow her beating heart, then willed herself to look at him.

She was surprised at what she saw, and the bitter taste of fear climbed into her throat. The tall, muscular stranger was sprawled out into the uncomfortable food court chair next to her. She took in his tanned skin, lazy slouch and bleached hair and immediately felt her muscles tense. She reflexively put her hand over her open notebook and prepared for a verbal blow. The boys of her generation only wanted easy targets to ridicule. She knew from experience it was always best to be the first to attack.

"Forget your embossed invitation?" she asked, trying to sound nasty despite the slight shake in her voice.

"Hey, you said I could sit here."

Claire, frustrated at her inability to translate her written wit into spoken word, realized the stranger wasn't going to leave. Angry at the interruption of her eating, she slammed the lid of the box down so hard her hand went through it, leaving a large crack in the styrofoam.

The intruder boy seemed unfazed. "Hey, what're you writing?" His eyes trailed to her hands, their fingers splayed protectively over the battered notebook.

"Absolutely nothing." She had managed to deal with the interruption of her meal and personal space, but the idea of outsiders peering into her personal thoughts was too much.

"Looked like words were on that page to me. I'm Simon, by the way." He tipped his chair back and stuck out his hand.
Claire didn't even look at him. She closed her notebook with a snap and clutched it to her chest.

Simon shrugged and put his hand down. "Ha, I know your type. Y'think you're cynical to the core."

"I like to think I don't fit a stereotype," Claire said,
trying to line her voice with razors. She was slightly impressed with Simon's use of the word ‘cynical’, but she tried not to let it show.

"You think wrong, then,” he said bluntly. “There are lots of you around, all thinking you're high and mighty, that you see the world 'with different eyes,' or some bull----.”

"Did you just come here to mock me? ‘Cause I've heard it all."

[Starr Polish]

Anger flickered onto Claire's face like a growing fire, and she pushed her chair back violently. "What do you know?" she muttered.

"Whoa, whoa. Don't leave. Sorry, I - I’m sorry. Sometimes I come off as a jerk. I didn't mean to mock you."
"I don't give second chances to people who judge immediately," she said. She pushed her chair back to stand and yanked her bag up from the floor, hitting her leg in the process.

"Then how do you ever get to know anyone?" Simon swung his legs over to straddle the back of the chair so he could face her, and looked at her unblinkingly. Claire felt stuck in his stare.

"I don't."

"I see. Now honestly, did you judge me immediately when I sat next to you?" He cocked his head to one side, expectantly.

She began to speak, but paused, not wanting to admit that she had the same faults as the polished image across from her. She put her bag down and stared at him icily, not quite sure how to respond.

He smiled as if he understood her predicament. "I have to admit, I'm kind of surprised to see one of your type here. Don't you people usually hang out at coffee houses or outdoor concerts?"

"You're judging again. I'm not a 'type.' Besides, I hate coffee." She sat down, trying to reason with herself. I might as well stay. I almost forgot my food, anyway. She re-opened the injured box.

"Whatever you say," Simon said, obviously unconvinced.

"I come here to eat. Hence, food court," she replied, stuffing her mouth with a forkful of rice to prove her point.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. You can stop being so defensive. It'd be a hell of a lot easier to talk to you."

"My goal is to make myself hard to approach. I don't
like company. Don't you have some girl to go hit on?", she asked, hoping he would read between the lines and leave.

"I see. Sounds like the stereotypical angsty female poet to me. Now tell me, umm...I don't think I ever got your name."

"Claire."

"Ah. It fits. 'Claire the Critic.' Oooh, alliteration!" His eyes widened slightly in amusement. "Now tell me, Claire, what in your life has caused you to be filled with such angst and hatred of society?" He smiled crookedly and tilted his chair back again.

"No, you tell me, Simon," she said defensively, practically snarling his name, "what gives you the impression that you have any idea what I'm like? I'm not some average angst-maven who thinks that everyone else's life is absolutely void of meaning while mine is rich with depth." She could almost feel the lie oozing through her teeth. Funny, she'd never realized how true it all was until she denied it. "And I didn't come here to be ridiculed by some look-at-me-jock who-"

"You're judging," Simon said, cutting her off. "And I don't know if one could really be an 'angst expert,' anyway. So maybe you aren't a stereotype. Maybe you’re just you, whatever the hell that means. But that's become a stereotype too. You're unique, just-"

"Just like everybody else," she finished. The way his thoughts bounced from place to place was giving her a headache. "I've never met anyone like me, but I certainly see a lot of Simon clones around here."

"That's because you're hanging out in the wrong place. Besides, can you see into everyone's mind? What is it that tells you you're so much smarter and different than the rest of the people here?"

Claire didn't feel like lying. She held up her notebook in reply.

"I see,” he said. “Well then, maybe you should work on your mind reading skills." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small spiral notebook with a bent red cover. He tossed it to her.

"What's this, a variation on 'the little black book'?" she asked, almost certain it wasn’t.

"Judging!" Simon 'tsked'. "Open it."

Claire obliged unwillingly. The pages were filled with poems encompassing a range of subjects, from love to battered baseballs (and somtimes both [?get rid of?], all written in slanted capital letters that went from neat and orderly to looking as though they had been slapped down in a fit of emotion and were fighting to be put on the page. Her eyes were particularly drawn to one written in bright green ink.

Your eyes burn
like cigarettes
and
scorch my center
but I'll gladly let you
scar me

"What's this about, then?" Claire asked, tapping a chewed nail on the paper.

"Well, what do you think it's about?"

"If I had written it, I suppose it would probably be from
someone else's view. Sounds like someone who accepts the fact that they let the media change them permanently, thus the scarring." Simon raised one eyebrow and she laughed nervously. "Wrong, huh?"

"It's open to interpretation, I guess, but you looked into it way too deeply." He took his notebook back and absently thumbed through the pages. "Do you ever write about anything besides how horrible society is, and how blind everyone is to its evils?"

"I write how I feel, I guess. I…I guess I don't like most of what I see."

Simon tipped his chair back again, obviously not satisfied with her answer. "So you never write about things like love or hope?"

"What's the point? I don't believe in love any more, and any happy poetry I write is just cheesy."

Simon's mouth opened in mock disbelief. "A cynic that doesn't believe in love. How original. I should have known. Now I get why we don't agree on the subject of my poem."

“That was a love poem? It didn't seem exactly happy to me.”

“A love poem of sorts, I guess. Love isn't always happy.” He shrugged. “I suppose it's pretty cheesy, but it's how I feel inside. I'm not trying to project someone else's feelings. That usually results in assumptions that are incorrect.”

Claire blushed. “If you let yourself believe in love, it will scar you. It's definitely not worth the pain.”

“You've obviously never been in love, then.”

“You just made an assumption. An incorrect one, at that.”

“That I did.” He smiled briefly, and then became serious again. “To me, love is very real, probably one of the realest things there is, when you actually find it. People die for love, people kill for love.”

“I don't think ‘realest’ is a word, Simon.” She commented, looking at him sideways.

He shrugged and continued. “It's definitely worth devoting my time to, I think, especially in writing. The most powerful poetry is based on love. Shakespeare, for example. Have I impressed you yet, oh cynical Claire?”

"Not bad, I suppose, for a mallrat," she said, unable to suppress her smile. "But don't think I agree with you now."

"Ah, approval from the Food Court Queen. And who you calling mallrat?" Simon played with a worn corner of his notebook and stared at Claire expectantly. "Well?" he said when she didn't respond.

"What?"

"I showed you mine, now you show me yours," he said, winking.

Claire looked down at her notebook, which hadn't left her clutched hand since Simon first asked to see it. "I'm...I...no." The insecurities that had faded as she spoke began to resurface. "I've never let anyone see my poems. I don't even know you.."

"Sure you do. I'm Simon." She glared at him. "Yo, hey, okay. Well, I just met you, and didn't have a problem showing you my stuff."

"Well, that's you. I think we're very different people." It took all of her strength to keep her trembling voice from rising to a yell.

"Well, I know we're very different. Life'd be boring if we weren't, hmm?"

[Mercutio]

Keep up the good job. I look forward to your next post.

[Starr Polish]

Claire was becoming infuriated for a reason she could not quite understand. Simon wasn't giving responding to her the way most people did. Instead of acting intimidated or insulting her with harsh words, he simply made her feel stupid.

"Then why are you pushing this?" She asked angrily. "Just let it be. You don't have a problem showing off your writing to strangers. I do." She began gathering her things, tossing the notebook into her bag first.

"You're right, I am pushing it,” he admitted. “I've only just met you. Well, perhaps we could remedy this. You busy this Friday?"

"I...I'm not sure," she said, stumbling over words in surprise. She was never busy on Fridays, but she wasn’t about to let Simon know this.

"Here then," he replied, writing something on a piece of his notebook paper. "Call me when you find out. I'd like to argue with you again sometime." He stuffed his notebook into one of his pockets and turned to leave. "See y'later, Ms. Cynic."

Claire stared at the piece of paper for a few seconds before crumpling it in her hand. I would rather not argue with you again, Mr. Jock.

The green ink smeared on her sweaty palm. Or maybe, she thought, as she tossed the wrinkled paper into her bag, maybe I would…

[Beruthiel's cat]

Very nice! I like the setting, the dialouge is believable and you keep the point of view focused (many writers would try to switch from Claire's veiw to Simon's and that would be very detrimental to the story. It needs to come from Claire's viewpoint)

Really, you don't have to make it longer. I think it ends at a good point. That said, I'm sufficiently interested in the characters and the set-up to see what might happen later.

Maybe it's just me (being an Old Person and all), but I got the meaning of Simon's poem right away. Would someone like Claire really misinterpret it? Especially since she implies she has been in love before?

The pacing of the story is good. It is easy to follow and doesn't get bogged down in unnecessary words or go off in too many directions at once.

A very nice job, overall. Keep up the good work, Starr!

[Nurvingiel]

I enjoyed your story Starr, you write very well! Your descriptions were vivid and interesting and I had no trouble picturing the characters, mood, and setting.
One point that left me wondering is what made Simon attracted to Claire? I mean, why did he want to talk to her. This may not be necessary to the story, but I personally would have enjoyed a little more backstory on that. Maybe he actually could be from school.

"Okay then," said the intruder, and he took a seat. Claire felt the all too familiar internal twisting of her stomach that switched her into defense mode. She still hadn't looked up from her styrofoam box, but she knew that this boy wasn’t someone from school.

This could become:
"Okay then," said the intruder, and he took a seat. Claire felt the all too familiar internal twisting of her stomach that switched her into defense mode. She still hadn't looked up from her styrofoam box, but she suspected this boy was someone from school.
(Obviously you'd write this much better but...) She looked up from her box, and her fears were confirmed. He was fairly new at school and had become popular quickly, but Claire didn't know him.
"I've seen you at school," said the boy, "But you never talk to anyone. I thought it was time to break the ice."

Or whatev. Great story anyway. About Simon's poem, I didn't discern the meaning right away. So since poetry is subjective, I think it's believable that Claire wouldn't get it right away either.
Cheers, Nurv

[Starr Polish]

The lack of backstory is because this is meant to be a part of a bigger piece, where it's eventually revealed what drew him to her. I was stuck at the beginning of the story (the introduction of Claire...I think it's somewhere in a thread called "The Starr Polish Library" or some such), so I decided to write a scene that wasn't at the beginning. Simon kind of evolved into a big character...he was originally just supposed to be some person who came through Claire's life and changed it significantly (it's kind of the theme of the story...small experiences making a big change in a teenager's life), but he refused to be a one shot thing, so now much of the book/story's plot involves him.

I can kind of sum it up: Claire comes to the mall food court a lot (it's how she gets away from her home life...it's not bad, but she just doesn't like being there, like most teens), and Simon is there with his "buds" a lot, as well. He always saw her writing in her notebook and was intrigued, because he couldn't really talk to any of the kind-of jocks he hung out with about his own notebook. One day he just decided to approach her.

Simon is a representation of a couple of my guy friends who are constantly challenging me and making me realize when I'm being stupid. Obviously, Claire is somewhat a version of me, but a tad more extreme, and I'm not so "anti-society".

[Lief Erikson]

A well written story thus far, Starr. I like the character development.

[Nurvingiel]

Thanks for the backstory Starr, that makes sense from what you wrote.

[Rosie Gamgee]

Very cool. I think it would be great as a part of a bigger story, and certainly it's very intriuging (spl?) as it is. A small encounter- a single moment in someone's life, seperated out from the rest. I love stuff like that. Very cool.