User:MayDayWatson

I wonder where I went wrong. Was it lending her my pen? Making jokes only we could hear? Hushed tones with stifled giggles hidden behind the candy. Was it the time I told her she had ink on her forehead and she rubbed it off with her mousey hand; thanking me for telling her? No one else would have told her she said. Only I would. We're friends, I said, of course I'd tell you. I worried for a second that I had come on too strong. She just shrugged her tiny shoulders and smiled thanking me before sauntering off. It was all ok then. If she was smiling it was all ok. Is she smiling now? Somewhere else? Having just started at the store, no one but her had really talked to me more than the required amount. No one was really rude except that one manager every store has;It was all just business. They could smell the nerd on me and wanted none of it. Not her. She was warm and welcoming. Very frail in stature with her long flat brown ponytail she always reminded me of a doe. Her eyes were too big for her head in a way that always seemed like she was apologizing. Her tiny voice never varied in volume or pitch. Always had the same sorrowful tone of her face. When she told me she loved horses I was not at all surprised. She seemed that type. I could picture her room just from looking at her. Shades of different pretty pastels, Riding ribbons hanging on a string showcasing her prowess on the backs of beasts, and framed glittering images of the old Wests' wild horses flowing down hills like untamed water. The same bed she's has since grade school with its shiny brass frame in the same place housing the same plushies it has since the day she brought them home. I could picture her picking them up nicely and sitting them all in the bottom corner and settling her fragile frame into the mattress. Not even heavy enough to make a dent. Now that I'm in here, It's a lot different from I expected. She always seemed like a pink or a sky blue type girl to me and not this pale yellow. Subdued hues but not this drab. At least The tarp on the floor is a welcomed bit of color. I noticed when things started to change. I didn't know her well, so I assumed it was just her showing me more of herself. I was happy. I don't have any friends and this cute foal was accepting me. She was letting me in. Past the shell of sadness she gave off and into her real thoughts. She hated working with people just like I did. She would start talking about customers that annoyed her,things they did,who they were, and all the times they had bothered her. She never cursed, though. I don't think she has it in her to curse. Ugly language doesn't suit her. The way she talked with her head tilts and her slight sad smiles wasn't made for swearing. Only light flowery language. Her words always seemed like ballerinas barely touching the ground. Each one hung in the air and I felt like I could almost touch them,but never would reach. Our schedules started overlapping every day. I would see we had the same shift and I would feel excitement rise in me. Count the hours then the minutes until she arrived. I always watched the door that last half hour before she pranced in. She was always about ten minutes early. She would spend that ten minutes checking out in my line (she always bought the same granola bars-banana ones,sometimes chocolate milk and once a Gatorade ). We chatted all the hours we worked together. About everything and nothing. She would clock out for break then come to my register and stand behind me, continuing our talk on her own time. I felt important. I started to have these weird thoughts. She was a little messy;always leaving water bottles everywhere-her only real flaw. Going on a register after her you would find half-dozen plastic totems. Whenever I would find one of her unfinished bottles, I would feel this urge to drink them. Finish what she left. Connect with her even more. Something as essential as her water. Sharing that primitive need to drink. I would talk myself out of it. Worried for my sanity. I wanted to know more about her. All about her. I found out about her family: Very well off, Dad actually a CEO of the store we worked for. He would come in secretly and buy wine to inspect the store. She would warn me ahead of time so I was extra polite. She looked nothing like her Mother. A bleached blonde overworked with a scalpel and spray tan as if to flaunt her wealth. A pear shaped leather sack. None of those delicate features her daughter ended up with hidden among the stitches. She lives out in the boonies an hour away or so. Needed room for the horses. It's really quiet out here. I haven't heard a single car pass by this whole time. The clock says it's evening but it's hard to tell with the windows blocked. I'm hoping she comes back soon. I miss her. I want to see her. Where is she? Rope is a lot heavier than it looks. In games people just toss it around so it always seemed weightless. This stuff must weigh a good fifteen pounds and this chair sucks. It wouldn't be so bad if there were pictures of her on the walls. She doesn't have any pictures of herself hanging. Just all ones of me.