You're staring through the gas station window to the small TV perched on the counter. Silently, a heavily muscled man pounds bullets into somewhere off-screen, raw power shuddering in his hands. TV images are so realistic these days, you think, just as the station light catches on the glass between you and the image.
"Smile," your mother hisses.
"Welcome to Inaba," says the gas station attendant. Your mother flashes her a once-beautiful smile through the window, and the attendant's returning smile is amused. "Visiting, or here to stay?"
"Moving here for a year," your mother says sweetly. Her nails dig into your thigh. You smile at the station attendant, and her eyes flicker towards you and away.
"Just for a year? Sounds like a peaceful vacation."
"Yes, isn't that right," your mother agrees. "Tohru-kun?"
"Yes, Mother," you agree.
"Fill up the gas, Tohru-kun."
"Yes, Mother."
You open the car door, but your mother's hand seizes your wrist. "Smile," she hisses again. "I have to live in this town for a year and everyone will know everyone. Don't you dare fuck this up so early."
"Yes, Mother," you say. Her fingers let go, leaving a long red scratch crawling up your skin, and you close the door a little hard. Her eyes flash behind the car window. You glance at the attendant, but she's looking away. You unhook the gas pump and feed the machine your mother's credit card.
"Oh, I can do that when I'm done with the windshield, you know," the attendant says, not sounding all that concerned.
You pointedly jam the pump into the car in response. She is markedly ugly for a girl, you think. Scraggly bleached hair, face too thin, lips nonexistent, skin unhealthily pale. And too tall; your mother always says that a girl should be small enough to fit in her boyfriend's pocket. Are all the girls in Inaba going to be this way? "It's fine, thanks," is all you say.
"It's also my job," says the attendant. She finishes the windshield and reaches for the gas pump. You flinch away, clutching the pump. The attendant pauses. Why won't she leave you alone? Christ, you've already said you don't want help. Mother will flip her shit if you don't stand here holding this stupid pump.
Why did she do the windshield first? You stare at her hand reaching towards yours on the gas pump.
"Hey," says the attendant. "If you're going to be here a year, I recommend getting a job. Not much else to do here but study." The attendant laughs, completely clueless to what she'd just said, and extends her hand again, not to take the pump from your hand but for a handshake. "We're hiring, if you want to earn some cash. Think on it?"
You glance through the car window. Your mother's eyes bore through the glass.
Slowly, you slide your fingers into her cold, slimy palm and suppress a shudder. Her skin has the texture of a maggot. When was the last time this lady washed her hands? You take your hand away as soon as is polite; you actually feel physically ill. Oh, god, everyone in this town is going to be like her, aren't they? "Um, thanks," you say, and breathe out again when the gas meter finishes and dings.
"Tohru-kun, stop bothering her. She's hard at work," your mother says, rolling down the window. "Come back to the car."
"Have a nice day," says the attendant, blandly.
You pay the machine quickly and take the long way around the car to avoid brushing the gas attendant. If she wanted to fill up the gas for you so badly, she would have done that before washing the windshield, and you know your mother saw that. You slide into the car and close the door softly.
"Don't you pretend you didn't slam the door," she snaps, starting the car more forcefully than necessary. Her expression doesn't change from its pleasant smile; the car is soundproofed, but the windows aren't tinted. "Are you trying to get sassy with me? Break my car door to put more stress on your mother, who's coming all the way to Hicksville to ensure your grades are good enough for university? It's not me going to university. I pay for it. I pay for this whole trip for your sake."
You barely keep your lips from tightening. The gas attendant is waving in the rear-view mirror. You hope she gets run over by a drunk customer.
"What were you talking with that attendant about? You don't have time for friends. You should be studying. Were you talking with her about me? I bet you were."
"I wasn't," you say. You watch the gas station and its attendant recede in the rear-view mirror. You can faintly see the same action movie playing in the station window, and regret not asking for the title. You wanted to see what was next.
"You shouldn't make friends with a girl like that, anyway," your mother says. "Remarkably ugly girl. Useless if a girl can't even look presentable. Pay attention to me, Tohru-kun. What was the last thing I said?"
"A girl is useless if she can't look presentable," you echo.
"Don't speak to any whores either, Tohru-kun. Who knows what the girls out here are like. They probably go crazy, way out in the boonies like this, you know? And with all that influence from the media—have you seen that Risette? You can find a new place to live if you ever bring a girl like her home. I won't stand for that stain on your life. You've seen the news reports about how that two-timing reporter went missing—that's what happens to whores. Smile, Tohru-kun. You're coming with me to greet all our neighbors when we arrive. Why can't you ever listen to anything I say? Why can't you be like that?"
She points through the windshield at a dog lying on the side of the road, its tongue lolling through its fool's grin, its leg is bent with one too many joints. You can see bone through the fur, but its eyes are completely blank.
"An idiot cripple?" you ask.
"At least its harmless," she sniffs.
You close your eyes and imagine reaching through the gas station's TV screen and pulling out the gun, heavy with bullets. Your eyes stay closed, and you dream of a Velvet Room.