He couldn't stand living in New York, but it was better than Newport. At least he didn't need a car. As if he could even afford the expenses of maintaining a car, much less pay for the gas. But he hated subways.
Subways were his mode of transportation. It was his only way to get to work. He couldn't possibly walk those couple of blocks to the record store. It wasn't in his genes. He tired too easily. But somehow, his lack of exercise did not result in gaining a few pounds in the last couple years. He retained that lanky figure from his high school days.
Everything always comes back to high school. No one ever changes. He still thought those water polo players were pricks. And they still are. He's seen them around New York, carrying their suitcases while glancing at their ridiculously expensive watches. One of them shoved right into him and just sneered. Never changes.
But right now he's in a subway. And people are standing way too close. This really bothers him. People are standing so close that he can feel their clothed shoulders brushing up against his bare arms. He should have thought to bring a jacket. He puts his headphones on and plays the music to a deafening volume. At least he could annoy the hell out of them while they are confined together; with their shoulders touching and their bodies so close you can smell their laundry detergent. It made him feel very faint.
Why should you allow someone in such close proximity with you? They don't deserve that closeness, that familiarity, that intimacy. They don't know him. He wouldn't let his friend get that close to him, no matter how many months they've been having lunch together. Maybe that's just his paranoia or his defense against everyone. But at the subway, convenience overrides all rules of comfort, security, and personal space.
This is the only time when he lets someone this close.
As he walks up the steps to the street, he unintentionally collides with a young woman, wearing sunglasses half the size of her face, with shopping bags now all over the floor.
He pulls his headphones around his neck and properly views the girl. "Oh shit, I'm sorry. God let me help you," as he cautiously grabs the bags as the busy people make their way around the two lost and misplaced people.
She looks at him and notices his disheveled appearance, yet lively demeanor. She quickly remembers that she's obstructing everyone's passage. "No, it's all right. You kind of expect it to happen every time you're walking down the street. And I shouldn't be wearing these glasses anyway," she said hastily as she grabbed the last ones from his hands, brushing his fingers ever so slightly, then walked away.
Who was that guy anyway? Like he gave a damn about her. People could be so fucking inconsiderate while they are being completely selfless. She needed to stop being a cynic. And stop wearing those stupid oversized glasses.
But she needed them. No one was allowed to look into her eyes and see who she really was. One look can expose your soul, and no one should be allowed to see your vulnerability. You can't let a stranger look into your eyes and see who you really are. They don't deserve that kind of knowledge that not even Marissa Cooper knows. She knows all the gossip in Newport, but she hasn't got the time to sit her down, look her in the eyes and see that her best friend is lost. No one knows.
The door chimes ring as he pushes the door to work. He's a little over five minutes late. Great, now some rich girl has gotten him late for work. Oh, how high school never ends.
"Hey Neely. Thank God you're here instead of Alfie. He would fucking kill me if I came in late. You know the boss. He's always on me," he takes off his headphones and book bag and places them in the backroom.
"Yeah, with you calling in sick three times in the last month, maybe there's a reason behind his aggressive concern towards your relations with the business," she says mindlessly as she sorts through the misarranged records in the D Section.
He gives her an odd look from the back room. "Whoa, when did this become a million dollar corporation? You must have forgotten the reality of this job, which involves knowing how to alphabetize and count change," he says as he sits down on the floor against the counter and watches the tall brunette marvel at a record.
Her hair was so perfect; there was just enough volume in it to make it wavy. It came just below her shoulders, where he could see the small freckles on her back. She had bangs that framed her face to show her beautiful blue eyes. She was wearing that mini dress again. The one that all the perverts at the store liked to look under when she'd be getting something far from her reach. He didn't want to consider himself one of them. She was wearing tights today anyway.
He shook out of his mesmerizing trance. Neely was his closest friend. They ate lunch together every day. But he had no romantic feelings for her whatsoever. She was just extremely beautiful. Too beautiful to be working at a record store. But she loved the music, and so did Seth.
"This really shitty job happens to be my job, and you're only job too. I don't get it. Why don't you do something else? If I went to NYU, I would have gotten out of this dump a long time ago," as she crouched down to his level on the concrete floor.
He hesitates a while as he thinks of his current life situation. "I don't know. I'm a little confused right now. This job has been the only consistent thing in my life; I don't think I could function properly with out it. I'm like Ben Gibbard without Death Cab. He can be in numerous side-projects. Hell, he could permanently stay in the Postal Service, but he won't be anything without Death Cab."
"And this is why you need a girlfriend. This whole consistency theory is an abstraction that your life revolves around this one shit job! I think you've spent too much time alone, Seth."
"Hey, I can get a girlfriend if I wanted to! I just don't need a girl whining for my attention every second right now. All a girl wants is your undying attention, and I can't put up with that. They're just completely selfish. And what's wrong with the way I look? I look totally fine," he said in his defense as he looked at his reflection from the glass door, combing through the brown strands of hairs on his head.
She laughed at him sympathetically. "I think your jeans are getting small. Honestly, some women may even be jealous of fitting into a size 28. If you want a real woman, then maybe you should start dressing like a man."
"There is still some elasticity in the fabric," his voice sullen with self-pity.
She sighed, exasperated. "Oh, how you have much to learn about women. You and I need to go shopping. And you need to get new shoes. Those are all scuffed," she said as she pointed to his worn out Converse.
"Please, Neely. Just let me be. You're deconstructing my manhood. Now I have to go to my little corner," he abruptly stood, but was pulled back down by Neely's hand.
"Okay, I'm sorry. I shouldn't lecture you about your love life. In your defense, you do have a nice selection of cardigans," she said with her hand on his shoulder, smiling at him with reassurance. He could be really pathetic at times.
"Yeah, I do have them in a variety of colors," he grinned. Their conversation was soon cut short when a man with a newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other entered the room.
"Get to work, children. Especially you, Mr. Cohen," he said in his frightening English accent that caused them to stand to their feet.
Seth just rolled his eyes. "Isn't he in his thirties? He shouldn't be calling us children," he said to Neely as soon as he was out of ear shot.
"And he shouldn't be calling you Mr. Cohen. As if you were of any real importance," she smirked as she hurried towards the backroom.
Before he could return her sly comment, she had gone to avoid being yelled at by the manager. He looked at all the CDs strewn across the floor.
"Jesus, what the hell was she doing here? I always have to pick up her messes," he half whispered to himself as he bent down on his knees to grab them of the floor.
As she walked out of her hotel to unload all her bags, she walked across the street to find something to relieve her from her current issues. After walking a block, she stumbled upon a record store. Music sounded like the most logical thing in the world right now.
She doesn't even know what she's doing here. She doesn't live here. She belongs in Newport. That's what Marissa said when she got off the phone with her. She doesn't belong there though. She knows she doesn't. She can't stand going back to those wretched people. But she doesn't belong here either.
Summer had recently graduated from UCLA with Marissa. They both had planned their lives together, but after graduating she realized she couldn't live that Newport life that they were destined for. Marissa wasn't even thinking about her career. She seemed fine settling as a soon-to-be trophy wife for her high school sweetheart. That wasn't enough for Summer. She didn't even want to marry her boyfriend. This is why she is here.
She walked through the door, with her heels tapping across the concrete floor with every step she took. She removed her glasses for the first time to find that the store seemed to be completely deserted. She looked around until she found the most peculiar sight in front of her.
He was bent over on the floor with his body half underneath the table, revealing some of his plaid boxers, while mumbling incoherent words to himself.
She cleared her throat. He jumped at her presence, crawling from beneath the table. "Oh, hey sorry about that. I was just trying to reach something under that small table over there. I was definitely not trying to give you a view of my underpants, or to look like a lunatic, or to offend you, or to get fired," he trailed off as he saw Alfie walk in and glare at him.
He smiled and waved back at him. "My boss loves me," and gestured to him as he leaned into the table.
She looked at him strangely. "Um yeah, I just came here because I wanted to listen to something relaxing and a little depressing. I'm kind of stressed right now. You do listen to music, right?" She looked at him questioningly.
"Oh yeah, definitely. That is one of my areas of expertise. I wouldn't be working here for three years if I didn't," he rubbed his chin with his other arm crossed while he contemplated. "So, you want something slow and melancholy? Well, Cat Power just released another covers record. You should definitely check that one out."
"Cat Power? Sounds unusual, but I'll try it. If you're the music expert that you say you are," she took a second look at him and noticed, "Hey, aren't you that guy who dropped all my shopping bags on the way to the subway?"
He looked at her really closely. She was short and tiny, wearing ridiculously tall heels, and a short dress. Her face was absolutely breathtaking. How it went unnoticed, he will never understand. She had the most beautiful brown eyes he had ever laid eyes on. Without the glasses, he couldn't recognize her at all.
She looked at him and saw him look at her everywhere. Her cheeks starting burning up, until she saw him look into her eyes. She never let anyone look at her eye to eye, but somehow he got away with it. And she didn't even look away.
He looked at her and realized how close he was to her. Somehow they're distance had enclosed as their voices eased. She was way too close to his liking. He wouldn't normally let himself get to close to someone, but when he was near her, something changed his mind. And he didn't even back away.