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."