A Portal to Leya by Elizabeth Brown Page A

and a name tag on her right side. But she was looking
down and didn't see me. “You look bright in your gold shirt,” I said. Honestly,
it was a putridly gaudy color (I didn’t say that). She looked up and made a
weird face at me and raised her eyebrows as if she didn't hear me.
    “ I didn't know you
worked at Shopping Bag,” I said.
    “Well I didn't exactly broadcast it.”
    “Do you like this job?” I asked her.
    “Love it. It's my dream, you know, to be head
cashier, move up to management so I can wear the purple shirt,” she answered in
her smug-Trudy manner.
    “Hey, sounds like a
plan.” After I said this she laughed and shook her head.
    “Listen, I'm busy dude
can't talk now,” she said, and I sensed she was done with me, but it didn’t
matter. I was relentless.
    “I was just wondering
why you were with Neal that night? Do you really like Neal that way?”
    “I gotta work now.”
    “I’m your only
customer.”
    “Then buy something and
I’ll ring you up.”
    “You’re not busy.”
    “That's a matter of
perspective.”
    “So in your
perspective, you are busy?”
    “I think I am so I am. And stalkers who aren’t
buying anything need to go away.”
    That was my cue. I walked away from the checkout,
towards the center of the store. I stood in front of displays of Black Diamond
tuna on sale for $1.29 a can and apple juice, store brand for $ 1.99 and waited
for Benny boy to rescue me. I never told anyone this (not even Leya) but when I
was little I used to like to walk up and down the aisles and touch the rows of
cans and jars and boxes. I'd blink my eyes till the images blurred into a
stream of light and colors. I felt a surge of vibrations from the fluorescent
lights. I really did. Now, I needed to stand and wait because I lost Ben and I
wasn’t sure what else to do. I can't do the things I want to do like touch the
buttons on the coffee bean grinder or scan items on the self-checkout. Besides,
Trudy called me a freak and a stalker. I felt weird after that. Maybe I am a
freak. I mean who spends time blogging to a dead person? (sorry Leya) I figured
if I stood very still and didn’t move no one would notice me. I decided I'd
look up stalker when I got home. Trudy is smart. She talks fast, mutters, uses Language
in weird ways. It confuses me when people do that. It takes time for me to
process what people say and what they really mean. I hate that about me. It was
so easy to talk to Leya. When I got home, I looked up stalker because I’m just
weird that way.
    Stalker:
    a. A stem or main axis of a herbaceous planet
     
    Source:
Free Online Dictionary
    Then
right underneath I found Psycho stalker and the legal definition:
    Criminal
activity consisting of the repeated following and harassing of another person.
    Obviously,
Trudy meant the second definition. Maybe I am a stalker. I do spy on her. Maybe
she knows I do it! I think I’m fixating on Trudy. I don’t see a problem
fixating on the inanimate or the deceased (sorry) but, I mean, Trudy is real. I
wish Leya was still real. I wish she were somewhere else besides in my head. I
wish I could touch her, kiss her. I would do it. But she’s not here,
physically. And Trudy…well, she is here.
    Lance
    COMMENTS
    Heather u
r so cool, Lance. I miss you!!! : ( Please come back to school!
    Anonymous no, don’t think you’d be categorized as a stalker. But be careful. Remember the
perjury charges.
    Jabberwocky9 she
sounds like a witch.
    @jabberwocky9
do you mean a witch as in WICCA? Or just that she’s wicked. I think she is just
that way. She really is nice. I think she tried to be funny. I just don't
always get her jokes!!
    Jabberwock9 LOL!!!!
    @ heather
I would rather be home with good old Don Banks—no offense.
    DESIRE
    I saw Trudy outside this morning @ 7:03 A.M.. I was
unusually brave. I’ve been getting a ride to school, so I had to come up with
an excuse for Dorrie. She’s always on me lately. I said I needed to get
information from a friend.