Some Place Better Than Here

Chapter 25: The Sound of Silence

25
The Sound of Silence

============MARY============

"You look very pretty today," Nenita, my squat Hispanic co-worker, said to me. Though it sounded more like, Yew luke var-ee prittee too-day.

That was sweet. Sure. I personally did not think that patchy concealer rolled over dried scabs looking like mold mushrooming on my face is what I would've considered pretty. But Nenita appeared fairly harmless though, so I smiled and said, "Thanks."

It was when my break came up at work, and I went out to the back of Wright Bros to munch on a sad-excuse for a sandwich, that Nenita bombarded me. Yes, Nenita was out back first muckin' on some funky smelling stew-looking thing out of a Tupperware container, mind you. But still, she intruded on me.

I started using my fingers as a comb, channeling my emo days, brushing my hair over to the right side of my face in an attempt to curtain my black eye. Earlier that afternoon while getting ready for work I had this wondertastic (cuz wonderful and fantastic should sometimes be one word) idea to apply a gross amount of concealer to my eye, thinking that would make the bruise disappear. Instead, I got what looked like a blotchy surface of skin-colored makeup miserably disguising a scab. At least the purple had begun embrowning into a more delightful mustard-yellow color. An entire week had now gone by since I had a normal looking face.

It was slowly getting dark out, and between the blue clouds, strips of orange and pink filled out the sky. The color variety was impressive. Though thinking that way immediately made me feel sick with myself. A few weeks earlier, on some evening leaving Danny's house, he was so stupidly amazed at the most generic looking sky I'd ever seen. I hated him for it.

Out of the corner of my (good) eye, I noticed Nenita taking nervous little peeks at me. Which was mega weird. Then, after a few more bites of the funky stew, and a few more double-takes of me, she asked, "Do you have—boyfriend?" Nenita twisted the knife and then sprinkled salt in the wound. I shook my head and told her No.

"You're so pretty though!" Nenita squeaked and then giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. She went on to tell me: "You should have boyfriend."

Yew shude have boy-frend.

I hacked out the most forced laugh of my life, answered her romantic inquiries with "Maybe," and then broke eye-contact to further attend my sandwich of white bread wonder.

No matter how softly I attempted to chew, it still sounded disgustingly loud. Ever since bearing witness to Danny's obnoxious, loud, open-mouthed, typical boy chomping, I had become incredibly self-conscious of making sure my own chewing was at least bearable. I hated eating with him. I missed him.

Still half concealed in the saran-wrap, I hauled that flavorless sandwich into the dumpster. It clanged when it hit the vacant steel bottom. Nenita shot a glance at the dumpster, and then back at me, looking stricken with betrayal as if she'd had a personal soft spot for that sandwich.

Fuck off, I thought as Nenita looked back at me.

I was certainly in RBF (Resting Bitch Face), and in response, she broke out into another squeamish giggle.

Now, it wasn't like discovering fondness for a mischievous child, cuz, y'know, some kids can be cute and stuff. But something about Nenita, whether it be her jet-black hair tugged into a ponytail bound with a bright blue scrunchie, or her orange Aeropostale T-shirt—which reminded me of McDonald's with Danny—made her grow on me like an adorably smug puppy.

"What are your plans tonight, Nenita?" I asked when my curiosity about this strange woman ignited. Nenita continued giggling and fanned her hand over her mouth again.