Part Two [I]You Take Me In[/I]~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The bright sunshine greets me through a window devoid of any lavations as I get off the plane. I scowl through my blinking, at once realizing what I had forgotten.
Sunglasses.
Crap.
I KNEW I had overlooked something.
Isn't that always the way? You never realize what you need until the exact moment that you need it. By that time, you're pretty much screwed anyhow. If this is any indication of how the summer is going to progress then I might as well turn around right now and go home.
What? Don't look at me like that! Me?! Stalling? Poppycock!
Okay fine. I am stalling. I know perfectly well that I can go to any forsaken drugstore and pick up a cheap pair for a buck. And I also know that I have to stay, for my mom's sake.
I glance around uncertainly. The plane landed on time and my Aunt or Uncle is supposed to be waiting for me at the gate to drive me the rest of the way to good ole Roswell.
No dice. Neither one is here.
Maybe I have forgotten what they look like.
It's possible. We only see them once a year (if we're lucky) at Christmas and receive cards for other holidays. This is my father's fault. Most everything is these days. From degrading my self-esteem when I was small with tactless comments to sleeping with his secretary and getting caught, my father is often the cause of our household drama. He has never liked my mother's side of the family (though his isn't much better from what I've experienced) and has kept us in basic isolation from them. Another topic of my mother and father's patented fights.
My thoughts are distracted by a guy, who looks to be a bit older than me with raven colored messy hair. He is walking over in my direction in a slow, easy going stride. I look to see who it is behind me that he is going over to; because I'm sure I was the last one off.
"Elizabeth.?" I turn and find myself face to face with him. He towers over me a bit and his gaze is constant and a bit unnerving. I look anywhere but his eyes, a strategy technique that I have picked up over the years.
"Hey. I'm Max," he goes on with a slight smile.
'I didn't ask,' I think sardonically. I'm waiting for the catch, for his ulterior motive behind coming up to me. Everyone I have ever experienced contact with has had one, well every guy for that matter.
"I'm uh, supposed to be picking you up instead of your uncle, he's running a bit behind," he says after my stony silence. I notice the rapid glance he fires at my hair.
"It's Liz," I say, correcting his mistake about my name. No one calls me that, not even my tormentors back home.
"Liz," he agrees, my name rolling of his tongue. "So. How about we go get your stuff? I'm assuming that you brought more than just that," he points at my carry-on.
I can only nod dumbly, stunned beyond belief that he didn't even bat an eye at the sight of me, much less make some rude comment about my hair. This is new.
He leads the way down to the baggage claim, shooting glances at me along the way. The familiar sensation of shame washes over me and I stare at my shoes, concentrating on not tripping.
"So you're from Chicago, huh?" Max startles me as we wait for my bags to tumble down the moving belt and make their way towards us.
'Way to state the obvious,' I think.
"Yup," I answer him in a bored tone, hoping he will catch on that small talk isn't necessary; I know what he is really thinking, what everyone thinks of me.
He takes the hint. We collect my bags and step outside. The flaming sun beats down, casting a faint golden glow that encircles the town. The cheery yellow reeks of a false sense of security. Max leads the way out to short term parking over to the most perilous jeep I have ever seen in my life. There is no cover, and the rusted outer layer hides a gray-green bad paint job underneath. I am afraid to even look at it, much less RIDE in it all the way to Roswell.
"Nice car," I mutter under my breath.
He looks at me, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks!" he says enthusiastically. He is either just plain dumb or is choosing to ignore my sarcasm. Whatever.
I hesitate before getting in. I turn to watch him effortlessly toss my suitcases in the back. THUD! CRISH! CRASH!
I wince, praying that my breakables stay intact after his careless treatment of my stuff.
He gets in the drivers seat. He turns and sees me still standing motionless beside the passenger side.
"You can sit in the front if you'd like," he says.
I stare at him for a moment, trying to tell if he was being a smart-ass or what.
Finally, I get in and slam the door shut. "Thanks," I answer sardonically, deciding that he was.
The engine roars to life with the intensity of a huge jet. I hastily buckle my seat belt.
He notices my alarm. Another one of those damn smiles is tugging at his lips again. "Don't worry," he reassures. "I'm a good driver. I only failed my test twice."
What? Wait just one minute. Stop the car, I am getting out right now. I'd rather walk thank you.
Seeing the expression on my face, he laughs. The shame is back. I hang my head; his laughter triggering so many other mocking snickers.
His laughter dies off. "Kidding!" he tells me.
This Max is a funny guy I tell ya. Jerk.
"Just drive," I say, irritated now.
He nods, his face strangely solemn. We peel out of the parking lot, and I grasp onto the seat, my nails digging in for dear life.
Not that he is reckless or anything. He handles the car with ease, taking each turn in stride. But nevertheless, I wouldn't feel safe if a friggin driver's ed instructor was driving this car, much less a guy I met a half hour ago. The top is still off, which by the way is creeping me out, and I watch the yellow lines of the dusty road go by, and by and by and.
I'm starting to feel a bit sick. Okay need something new to look at.
Max glances at me out of the corner of his eye, thankfully still maintaining a steady gaze on the road.
"You can turn on the radio and find a station if you'd like," he declares. "There isn't really a variety to choose from but."
Okay, what is with the "if you'd like" phrase? No one in my entire life has ever given a damn what I want.
I wait.
He doesn't take it back, or even look as if he was just trying to be polite. He looks.genuine.
What the hell?
We just passed the "Welcome to Roswell" sign, so its not like we are going to be in this wretched vehicle for much longer.
I fiddle with the radio a minute and find a station playing what I usually listen to; god ole angry rock and heavy metal.
Max's hands jerk the steering wheel and he gives me a pained look. "This is what you listen to?"
What? What's wrong with it? Granted, it isn't teenybopper feel good kind of music, but isn't that part of the appeal? Well its not really fair seeing how's we tuned in right at a part where the lead singer is jut screaming over a drum solo.
Suddenly, Max screams on the breaks and curses loudly.
"SHIT!"
I'm about to tell him I think the same thing about whatever Britney Spears crap HE listens to when he jumps out of the jeep, grabs my suitcases and runs towards a weird looking restaurant with a flashing oval thingy on the roof and people crowding at the entrance. The words Crashdown gleam on the oval thing. My new home. Excuse me if I don't skip up and down for joy and do a little happy jig.
"Come on Liz," Max calls out to me. "We might need you!"
Umm, what?
I sigh and get out, following him. I have to shove passed several old people to get in and the sight that greets me isn't exactly welcoming.
The tiny diner is PACKED, not a table is free. Some people are crushed eight into a booth meant for four. If you think it cant get any worse they are even more people waiting for a table and at least twenty waiting outside.
There is a girl with shoulder length blonde hair, screeching at the top of her lungs at the sight of Max.
"MAX! You IDIOT! Where in the HELL were you?!! How dare you leave me to manage this mob with only Isabel!" she gestures wildly to another blonde, this one taller and blessed more up front. Isabel was weaving in between a throng of people, a bored look on her face. She was clearly not as distressed as her hysterical co-worker.
"You've got Michael back there," Max points out while donning an apron and swinging smoothly back towards the kitchen.
The blonde snorts in disgust. "And what fine help HE is," she complains.
A guy, who I guessed to be Michael, manning the grill calls out annoyed, "I HEARD that, Maria! If you'd stop whining for a second and wait on the people this might go along more smoothly!"
Maria, as I now knew the blonde to be, gave a cry of outrage. "How dare you! I am NOT whining! You are just so."
"I was picking up Liz," Max interjects, pointing at me while simultaneously flipping a burger. Pure talent if you ask me.
Maria looks at me. "Hey," she says distractedly.
I nod my head.
Isabel pushes past me and gives me a cold look for being in her way. "Who?" she snarls, while sneering at my hair. I look away, focusing my attention on a fascinating ketchup bottle.
Max answers, "Liz Parker. You know, Jeff and Nancy's niece."
"How nice," Isabel says, her voice telling me clearly that it isn't.
"Isabel." Max says in a warning tone.
She just rolls her eyes and carries out an order to a table.
Meanwhile, Maria has built up a full head of steam again.
"Why?! Just tell me WHY! Why does a frickin retirement place decide to take some psycho field trip to visit little ole Roswell? And on the day when I'M working, Alex is off, and Jeff and Nancy aren't even here! God, this is insane. I'm out of cedar oil, DAMNIT!"
Michael sighs. "Maria, shut up and serve the customers!" He whips his head towards me and I jump, startled.
"You. Liz or whatever."
I look up. Where is he going with this?
"You want a job?" he asks.
I think about it. What else am I going to do all summer? From the looks of things, Roswell doesn't look like a real party town. Not that it would matter. I never get any invitations anyways, not here, not anywhere.
Max interrupts me before I can even open my mouth. "No she doesn't. She's on VACATION for God's sake, Michael. She doesn't want to be stuck in a grimy diner."
Umm, excuse you! Since when do you know what's going on in my head? What if I happen to like grimy diners?
'He just doesn't want you here, Liz' I tell myself. That must be it.
Maria stops him. "How do you know Max? Let the girl speak." She turns to me. "So what so you say Liz? Want a job? I promise you, it wont be boring."
"Not with Maria on a shift anyways," Michael mutters.
Maria shoots him an annoyed look but says nothing. She looks back at me. "So." she says expectantly.
I don't know why I do it. Isabel and the rest of the employees weren't exactly welcoming (save Maria but who knows what her deal is). But I unconsciously open my mouth and I cant stop these words from passing through my lips.
"Sure."
Part Three [I]Faith Betrayed Me[/I]~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
And just like that, I have a job.
Funny how things work out huh.
Lets recap shall we? I mean I come to this god-forsaken excuse for a town with the resolution that this is going to be the absolute WORST summer of my life (though last summer could give this a run for its money) and meet up with the craziest bunch of townies that you'll ever meet (its been about two seconds since I met them, but somehow I can already tell). Not even a minute after the not quite so pleasantries, said group offers me a job. A job where I will be required to semi INTERACT with these people. Its borderline freaky that's what it is.
There is something different about this group. Something intangible at the first glance but I feel that if I stick around for a while, I may just put my finger on it. I just hope that that little fact doesn't work both ways and these guys find out about ME.
My musings are interrupted by a hideous aqua colored piece of clothing being chucked at my head by Maria. Psycho. Watch it.
I stare at her with a deer-in-the-headlights look. What the heck was that for?
Seeing my confused look, she clarifies. "Your lovely uniform," she quirks a grin at me and gestures to her own similar attire, complete with silverfish apron. Was it my hallucination, or did the apron look sort of like.an oversized head? My God this town is getting more eccentric by the second.
I shrug and pick up the thing from off of the floor, where I let it fall when Maria tossed it over.
I look around for a place to change. Surely these people don't expect me to change in front of God and everyone. This place is still PACKED. And even though we're co-workers now, I'm not so enthusiastic to show everyone the bod yet.
Who the hell am I kidding? I would NEVER let anyone see "the bod." Ever. With all that I have been through, you cant blame me.
I am about to open my mouth and inquire for changing space but Maria interjects hastily.
"Oh! I can't believe I almost forgot! The final touch to our beautiful, stylish looks,"
She goes into the back for a moment and I shoot a quizzical look at Max, who is watching me. What a minute, Parker? Who are you kidding? Why would any guy, let alone Max, be staring at you? He must be looking at the customers, or. Isabel! Maxie must have the hots for Izzy. How cute. How freakin adorable. I turn around discreetly but to my surprise Isabel isn't anywhere near the direction of where Max is staring. The only persons behind me are a table full of sweet looking old ladies.
Now. Either Max is a big pervert who gets off looking at old ladies (EWW! May I add) or he is. looking at me. Why in the world is he looking at me?! I duck my head. When I raise it up again, it is if he wasn't looking at me in the first place. Maybe I imagined it.
Those of you psychoanalyst peoples will probably say that I am projecting here, and that I just WISH that Max would look at me.
And my response to that is to say Fuck off. That is completely and totally NOT true.
But there it is again!
Didn't his mother ever tell him staring is rude? Not that I'm not used to it of course. But the familiar mocking laughter is missing from his eyes. They seem.intense? With what? What does Max have to be intense about while flipping burgers? Unless he is one of those perfectionists with whom EVERYTHING they do has to faultless, even their measly minimum wage paying greasy job. How very sad. How very sad that I used to be that type of girl.
Maria's back with a bang on the swinging door and something shiny in her hands. What is it? I crane my neck out in my strain to see.
"Here ya go!" Maria says cheerfully. Well. Talk about going zero to sixty in no time flat. Was she not just throwing a hissy fit like, what? Two minutes ago?
I look down to see what she has placed, or rather shoved, in my hands.
Unless I am mistaken, this is a headband.
Wait, it gets worse.
A headband with boingy springs coming out the top to crudely resemble antennas. You know the type. I had a pair myself with sparkly green shamrocks on the top instead of little balls. Mind you though I was TEN and it was St. Patty's day for Christ's sake.
Aw, HELL NO.
"What is this," I ask in horror. Please, please don't tell me that this is the so-called "finishing touch." Please. I'm begging here.
"It's the finishing touch! Waitress headbands a la Roswell!"
Excuse you, WHAT did I just implore of you? I believe I distinctly told you that that was EXACTLY what I did NOT want to hear.
Oh yea. I keep forgetting that people don't have a nice hawks eyes view into the swirling black hole known as my head.
I groan. "I am NOT wearing this," I protest meekly.
"Uh, yea you are. If Izzy and I have to, then you DEFINATLY have to."
Wait. Isabel's wearing them? I somehow missed that. I pivot around and sure enough the springs are visible, bobbing slightly as she moves smoothly from table to table. I frown, thinking. How did I miss it before?
A little insight. Princess Perfect has everyone so awed by her appearance that pitiful people like me don't even notice her dorky attire. It is apparel that would be common for people like me, not people like her.
But still. The headband is a bit much. I throw Maria a pleading stare. She throws her hands up defensively.
"Hey! I don't like them anymore than you do, but you have to admit, they are kinda funny," she says.
Excuse me while I forget to laugh.
"Maybe you can talk to your Aunt, she's the one who got the idea for them. She thinks that they're a fashion statement."
Hmm. I not sure if that is a statement that I would like to make. Dear ole Auntie and I will be having a discussion later that is if I can work up the nerve. Knowing myself, probably not.
"Maria! Get your ass in gear! There are still more old people filling in!" Michaels harsh bark startles me, but Maria shoots him an irritated look, clearly used to it. A notice an elegant elderly lady is giving Michael an appalled look at his choice of words. I am thinking that she took too kindly to being referred to as an "old people." Plus the rest of the stuff he said was pretty rude too.
"Is he always like that?" I ask awed somewhat.
"Usually," Maria rolls her eyes, but then to my astonishment, softens. "That is until you break down his walls. Then he's actually a pretty decent guy." She breaks off smiling slightly to herself in a dreamy sort of way.
"Maria! NOW!" Michael growls again.
The dreamy look is so rapidly replaced by one of irritation, I'm wondering if I imagined it. "Coming!" she snaps, just as nastily. She must either hate the guy or love him. I'm leaning towards the latter.
Despite myself, I feel a smirk inch along my face. I'm sorry but they are just too damn funny. I think I am beginning to see how their relationship works. A little love-hate thing going on. I would feel happy for them if I wasn't so insanely jealous.
Here we go. Another trip down Self-Pity Lane! I should have permanent residence there but I divide my time between there and Self-Hating Avenue (which can sometimes be confused with Anger at the World Drive). I will never have a relationship with a guy resembling anything genuine or pure. Every single relationship I will ever have will be tainted, just like all the ones prior. I'd do best to remember that here in Roswell.
Maria rambles off my duties for the day, which basically consist of clearing tables and carrying out orders when Maria or Isabel are swamped. Maria tells me that I'll "graduate" to full waitress duty tomorrow when it is less swamped.
Goody. Then I can get my waitress "diploma" and we can all do a happy dance. God.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of senile customers, a grumpy Michael, a silent, staring Max, a bubbly cheerful Maria, a psycho ranting frustrated Maria and a cold frigid Isabel.
The highlight of the day was when an elderly man forgot what he ordered, even though he said it five times to Maria. When she brought him his meal, he was like "This isn't what I ordered! I want my money back!" Maria tried to calmly explain to him that this WAS what he ordered and he hadn't given her any money to begin with, so she couldn't possibly give it back.
You can imagine how that situation played out, seeing how's Maria is anything but calm.
To summarize, Maria "quit" but not before giving that poor senile man a piece of her mind. Aprons were chucked, shouting was a given and it ended with Max, ever the peacemaker, appeasing the old man's confusion with desert on the house, leaving Michael to appease the wrath of Maria.
I don't know about you but I would have rather taken the old man.
It was interesting, to say the least, to see Michael interact with Maria. Despite his exterior attitude of irritation, I detected the same softness that Maria had when she was talking about Michaels "walls." Those two fascinate me.
Okay what is with me today? I'm talking about these people like they are my friends and I KNOW them or something. It's a strange feeling.
And completely false. Damn that bastard, Hope. He/She should rot in hell.
Anyways, we are all exhausted. Maria slams the front door shut in a not so silent declaration that the Crashdown is DONE for the night, before plopping down on an empty bar stool next to Michael. She lays her blonde head on his shoulder and closes her eyes. It is the least energetic I have seen her all day. It is comforting, somewhat, to know that even someone like Maria has her limits.
Isabel finishes up wiping down the tables and Max is tugging off his apron and going around to exit the kitchen through the back to return out to the front.
"I swear, Jeff and Nancy are SO going to get it when they come back," comes Maria's muffled complaint. Speaking of which, where are those relatives of mine? Hmm. They must be as excited to see me, as I was to come here.
Everyone has collapsed in the front area, leaving me standing there like an idiot. The air in here is growing increasingly uncomfortable.
See, now that I don't have anything to do anymore, nothing to keep me busy, I am growin self-conscious. I cant help but feel as if I am INTRUDING on their closely knitted circle of friends. Any stranger could see that they were all close.
I shift from side to side uneasily. Now wait? Cow tipping? Or whatever bizarre shindigs towns like this does for fun. I'm sorry to be a party pooper but the idea of watching animals fall on their side isn't my idea of a good time. But then again, I am no expert on what a good time is. The last time I had fun was when I was four years old and we took a family trip to Disney World. Ahh, to be young and naïve again.
I notice out of the corner of my eye again that Max is staring at me again. What the heck is the boys problem? I mean, I know I am some freak of nature that he is probably fascinated with because he has never seen anyone as gross as me, but seriously. Take a picture, it will last longer.
"If you want, I can show you where you can put your stuff, since your aunt and uncle aren't here yet," Max offers.
Grr. There it is again. "If you want." What IS that?
I nod slightly. Might as well.
Max turns to lead me to the backroom. I go to follow but I hesitate at the swinging door. I feel like I should THANK these people or something for the job. Even if I have a nagging feeling that I am going to get shot down in the process. Isabel is wrinkling her nose again at the sight of me. I can practically hear her saying "Leave already!"
Maria, however, beats me to it. She shoves herself up and takes a couple of steps in my direction. "Thank you so much for working for us today. You have, like no idea how much we appreciated it," she says.
At this Isabel snorts.
Michael raises an eyebrow at Isabel before turning to me. "Yea," he says in a monotone. "Thanks." The surprising thing is that he sorta sounds sincere, in a gruff sort of way.
I smile shyly and go to give my gratitude to them for not treating me like all the rest, for giving me a tiny sliver of hope in this hellhole known as my life, when it happens.
Isabel opens her full, perfect pouty mouth and suddenly I have a very bad feeling that I should've left with Max when I had the chance.
"Can I tell you something Linda?"
"Its Liz," Maria corrects in a disgusted voice that drips with the word, DUH.
"Whatever," Isabel continues. I stupidly think that maybe, just maybe she is going to thank me and we'll skip and hold hands afterward.
No dice.
"Your hair, is like, repulsive. And the whole, looking down at the floor, woe is me act is a bit old. A little tip, you should try dying your hair all the way next time so you don't look so.obvious." Isabel's voice is coated with distain and suddenly I am back at the beach back home, inundating down into the dark icy water while my peers snicker and watch. Then flash forward and I am back at the worst summer of my life before this one, the summer with Doug.
I stand there for a minute, letting the familiar sensation of pain and self- loathing and shame wash over me. Now I am back on auto-pilot, a move that I have perfected over the years. A black shrod covers my emotions and I numbly remove myself from the situation.
I stumble through the swinging door, but not before I hear Maria's indignant outburst and Michael's low disapproval. The last words I catch are Isabel's, her saying "What!? God! I'm not going to be nice to Ms. Freakazoid just because."
I nearly run over Max, who is coming down a flight of stairs. See, that is the bad thing about auto pilot mode. All your senses go numb to block out the pain and so you become oblivious to your surroundings.
"Whoa," he says, reaching out to steady me. He jerks his hand back though, as if touching me burned me. He looks at me strangely, his eyes darkening with.What?
If I wasn't on autopilot, I think that might of stung a little.
He shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts and then asks me, "Are you alright?"
Hmm. Looks as if my autopilot face isn't as expressionless as I thought. Note to self, work on that. I would feel touched by his concern if it had happened earlier, but Isabel gave me a nice reality check.
It's fake. It's all fake, meaningless crap. I know he doesn't care whether I am all right or not so why the heck is he bothering? Why the heck did Maria or Michael bother? That bugs me. That really bugs me. What is with all the phony smiles and the questions that people ask but then they don't listen to the answer cuz they didn't care in the first place?
This is not the time for my incoherent babblings about life.
"I'm fine," I tell Max. "Just tired."
He looks at me like he doesn't believe me but he lets it go. "Yea you've had a long day. Here, I'll show you your room."
I wonder vaguely how he knows so much about my aunt and uncles home but I'm grateful that he left my problems and me alone. Now if the rest of the world could do the same, I'd be great.
The bright sunshine greets me through a window devoid of any lavations as I get off the plane. I scowl through my blinking, at once realizing what I had forgotten.
Sunglasses.
Crap.
I KNEW I had overlooked something.
Isn't that always the way? You never realize what you need until the exact moment that you need it. By that time, you're pretty much screwed anyhow. If this is any indication of how the summer is going to progress then I might as well turn around right now and go home.
What? Don't look at me like that! Me?! Stalling? Poppycock!
Okay fine. I am stalling. I know perfectly well that I can go to any forsaken drugstore and pick up a cheap pair for a buck. And I also know that I have to stay, for my mom's sake.
I glance around uncertainly. The plane landed on time and my Aunt or Uncle is supposed to be waiting for me at the gate to drive me the rest of the way to good ole Roswell.
No dice. Neither one is here.
Maybe I have forgotten what they look like.
It's possible. We only see them once a year (if we're lucky) at Christmas and receive cards for other holidays. This is my father's fault. Most everything is these days. From degrading my self-esteem when I was small with tactless comments to sleeping with his secretary and getting caught, my father is often the cause of our household drama. He has never liked my mother's side of the family (though his isn't much better from what I've experienced) and has kept us in basic isolation from them. Another topic of my mother and father's patented fights.
My thoughts are distracted by a guy, who looks to be a bit older than me with raven colored messy hair. He is walking over in my direction in a slow, easy going stride. I look to see who it is behind me that he is going over to; because I'm sure I was the last one off.
"Elizabeth.?" I turn and find myself face to face with him. He towers over me a bit and his gaze is constant and a bit unnerving. I look anywhere but his eyes, a strategy technique that I have picked up over the years.
"Hey. I'm Max," he goes on with a slight smile.
'I didn't ask,' I think sardonically. I'm waiting for the catch, for his ulterior motive behind coming up to me. Everyone I have ever experienced contact with has had one, well every guy for that matter.
"I'm uh, supposed to be picking you up instead of your uncle, he's running a bit behind," he says after my stony silence. I notice the rapid glance he fires at my hair.
"It's Liz," I say, correcting his mistake about my name. No one calls me that, not even my tormentors back home.
"Liz," he agrees, my name rolling of his tongue. "So. How about we go get your stuff? I'm assuming that you brought more than just that," he points at my carry-on.
I can only nod dumbly, stunned beyond belief that he didn't even bat an eye at the sight of me, much less make some rude comment about my hair. This is new.
He leads the way down to the baggage claim, shooting glances at me along the way. The familiar sensation of shame washes over me and I stare at my shoes, concentrating on not tripping.
"So you're from Chicago, huh?" Max startles me as we wait for my bags to tumble down the moving belt and make their way towards us.
'Way to state the obvious,' I think.
"Yup," I answer him in a bored tone, hoping he will catch on that small talk isn't necessary; I know what he is really thinking, what everyone thinks of me.
He takes the hint. We collect my bags and step outside. The flaming sun beats down, casting a faint golden glow that encircles the town. The cheery yellow reeks of a false sense of security. Max leads the way out to short term parking over to the most perilous jeep I have ever seen in my life. There is no cover, and the rusted outer layer hides a gray-green bad paint job underneath. I am afraid to even look at it, much less RIDE in it all the way to Roswell.
"Nice car," I mutter under my breath.
He looks at me, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks!" he says enthusiastically. He is either just plain dumb or is choosing to ignore my sarcasm. Whatever.
I hesitate before getting in. I turn to watch him effortlessly toss my suitcases in the back. THUD! CRISH! CRASH!
I wince, praying that my breakables stay intact after his careless treatment of my stuff.
He gets in the drivers seat. He turns and sees me still standing motionless beside the passenger side.
"You can sit in the front if you'd like," he says.
I stare at him for a moment, trying to tell if he was being a smart-ass or what.
Finally, I get in and slam the door shut. "Thanks," I answer sardonically, deciding that he was.
The engine roars to life with the intensity of a huge jet. I hastily buckle my seat belt.
He notices my alarm. Another one of those damn smiles is tugging at his lips again. "Don't worry," he reassures. "I'm a good driver. I only failed my test twice."
What? Wait just one minute. Stop the car, I am getting out right now. I'd rather walk thank you.
Seeing the expression on my face, he laughs. The shame is back. I hang my head; his laughter triggering so many other mocking snickers.
His laughter dies off. "Kidding!" he tells me.
This Max is a funny guy I tell ya. Jerk.
"Just drive," I say, irritated now.
He nods, his face strangely solemn. We peel out of the parking lot, and I grasp onto the seat, my nails digging in for dear life.
Not that he is reckless or anything. He handles the car with ease, taking each turn in stride. But nevertheless, I wouldn't feel safe if a friggin driver's ed instructor was driving this car, much less a guy I met a half hour ago. The top is still off, which by the way is creeping me out, and I watch the yellow lines of the dusty road go by, and by and by and.
I'm starting to feel a bit sick. Okay need something new to look at.
Max glances at me out of the corner of his eye, thankfully still maintaining a steady gaze on the road.
"You can turn on the radio and find a station if you'd like," he declares. "There isn't really a variety to choose from but."
Okay, what is with the "if you'd like" phrase? No one in my entire life has ever given a damn what I want.
I wait.
He doesn't take it back, or even look as if he was just trying to be polite. He looks.genuine.
What the hell?
We just passed the "Welcome to Roswell" sign, so its not like we are going to be in this wretched vehicle for much longer.
I fiddle with the radio a minute and find a station playing what I usually listen to; god ole angry rock and heavy metal.
Max's hands jerk the steering wheel and he gives me a pained look. "This is what you listen to?"
What? What's wrong with it? Granted, it isn't teenybopper feel good kind of music, but isn't that part of the appeal? Well its not really fair seeing how's we tuned in right at a part where the lead singer is jut screaming over a drum solo.
Suddenly, Max screams on the breaks and curses loudly.
"SHIT!"
I'm about to tell him I think the same thing about whatever Britney Spears crap HE listens to when he jumps out of the jeep, grabs my suitcases and runs towards a weird looking restaurant with a flashing oval thingy on the roof and people crowding at the entrance. The words Crashdown gleam on the oval thing. My new home. Excuse me if I don't skip up and down for joy and do a little happy jig.
"Come on Liz," Max calls out to me. "We might need you!"
Umm, what?
I sigh and get out, following him. I have to shove passed several old people to get in and the sight that greets me isn't exactly welcoming.
The tiny diner is PACKED, not a table is free. Some people are crushed eight into a booth meant for four. If you think it cant get any worse they are even more people waiting for a table and at least twenty waiting outside.
There is a girl with shoulder length blonde hair, screeching at the top of her lungs at the sight of Max.
"MAX! You IDIOT! Where in the HELL were you?!! How dare you leave me to manage this mob with only Isabel!" she gestures wildly to another blonde, this one taller and blessed more up front. Isabel was weaving in between a throng of people, a bored look on her face. She was clearly not as distressed as her hysterical co-worker.
"You've got Michael back there," Max points out while donning an apron and swinging smoothly back towards the kitchen.
The blonde snorts in disgust. "And what fine help HE is," she complains.
A guy, who I guessed to be Michael, manning the grill calls out annoyed, "I HEARD that, Maria! If you'd stop whining for a second and wait on the people this might go along more smoothly!"
Maria, as I now knew the blonde to be, gave a cry of outrage. "How dare you! I am NOT whining! You are just so."
"I was picking up Liz," Max interjects, pointing at me while simultaneously flipping a burger. Pure talent if you ask me.
Maria looks at me. "Hey," she says distractedly.
I nod my head.
Isabel pushes past me and gives me a cold look for being in her way. "Who?" she snarls, while sneering at my hair. I look away, focusing my attention on a fascinating ketchup bottle.
Max answers, "Liz Parker. You know, Jeff and Nancy's niece."
"How nice," Isabel says, her voice telling me clearly that it isn't.
"Isabel." Max says in a warning tone.
She just rolls her eyes and carries out an order to a table.
Meanwhile, Maria has built up a full head of steam again.
"Why?! Just tell me WHY! Why does a frickin retirement place decide to take some psycho field trip to visit little ole Roswell? And on the day when I'M working, Alex is off, and Jeff and Nancy aren't even here! God, this is insane. I'm out of cedar oil, DAMNIT!"
Michael sighs. "Maria, shut up and serve the customers!" He whips his head towards me and I jump, startled.
"You. Liz or whatever."
I look up. Where is he going with this?
"You want a job?" he asks.
I think about it. What else am I going to do all summer? From the looks of things, Roswell doesn't look like a real party town. Not that it would matter. I never get any invitations anyways, not here, not anywhere.
Max interrupts me before I can even open my mouth. "No she doesn't. She's on VACATION for God's sake, Michael. She doesn't want to be stuck in a grimy diner."
Umm, excuse you! Since when do you know what's going on in my head? What if I happen to like grimy diners?
'He just doesn't want you here, Liz' I tell myself. That must be it.
Maria stops him. "How do you know Max? Let the girl speak." She turns to me. "So what so you say Liz? Want a job? I promise you, it wont be boring."
"Not with Maria on a shift anyways," Michael mutters.
Maria shoots him an annoyed look but says nothing. She looks back at me. "So." she says expectantly.
I don't know why I do it. Isabel and the rest of the employees weren't exactly welcoming (save Maria but who knows what her deal is). But I unconsciously open my mouth and I cant stop these words from passing through my lips.
"Sure."
Part Three [I]Faith Betrayed Me[/I]~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
And just like that, I have a job.
Funny how things work out huh.
Lets recap shall we? I mean I come to this god-forsaken excuse for a town with the resolution that this is going to be the absolute WORST summer of my life (though last summer could give this a run for its money) and meet up with the craziest bunch of townies that you'll ever meet (its been about two seconds since I met them, but somehow I can already tell). Not even a minute after the not quite so pleasantries, said group offers me a job. A job where I will be required to semi INTERACT with these people. Its borderline freaky that's what it is.
There is something different about this group. Something intangible at the first glance but I feel that if I stick around for a while, I may just put my finger on it. I just hope that that little fact doesn't work both ways and these guys find out about ME.
My musings are interrupted by a hideous aqua colored piece of clothing being chucked at my head by Maria. Psycho. Watch it.
I stare at her with a deer-in-the-headlights look. What the heck was that for?
Seeing my confused look, she clarifies. "Your lovely uniform," she quirks a grin at me and gestures to her own similar attire, complete with silverfish apron. Was it my hallucination, or did the apron look sort of like.an oversized head? My God this town is getting more eccentric by the second.
I shrug and pick up the thing from off of the floor, where I let it fall when Maria tossed it over.
I look around for a place to change. Surely these people don't expect me to change in front of God and everyone. This place is still PACKED. And even though we're co-workers now, I'm not so enthusiastic to show everyone the bod yet.
Who the hell am I kidding? I would NEVER let anyone see "the bod." Ever. With all that I have been through, you cant blame me.
I am about to open my mouth and inquire for changing space but Maria interjects hastily.
"Oh! I can't believe I almost forgot! The final touch to our beautiful, stylish looks,"
She goes into the back for a moment and I shoot a quizzical look at Max, who is watching me. What a minute, Parker? Who are you kidding? Why would any guy, let alone Max, be staring at you? He must be looking at the customers, or. Isabel! Maxie must have the hots for Izzy. How cute. How freakin adorable. I turn around discreetly but to my surprise Isabel isn't anywhere near the direction of where Max is staring. The only persons behind me are a table full of sweet looking old ladies.
Now. Either Max is a big pervert who gets off looking at old ladies (EWW! May I add) or he is. looking at me. Why in the world is he looking at me?! I duck my head. When I raise it up again, it is if he wasn't looking at me in the first place. Maybe I imagined it.
Those of you psychoanalyst peoples will probably say that I am projecting here, and that I just WISH that Max would look at me.
And my response to that is to say Fuck off. That is completely and totally NOT true.
But there it is again!
Didn't his mother ever tell him staring is rude? Not that I'm not used to it of course. But the familiar mocking laughter is missing from his eyes. They seem.intense? With what? What does Max have to be intense about while flipping burgers? Unless he is one of those perfectionists with whom EVERYTHING they do has to faultless, even their measly minimum wage paying greasy job. How very sad. How very sad that I used to be that type of girl.
Maria's back with a bang on the swinging door and something shiny in her hands. What is it? I crane my neck out in my strain to see.
"Here ya go!" Maria says cheerfully. Well. Talk about going zero to sixty in no time flat. Was she not just throwing a hissy fit like, what? Two minutes ago?
I look down to see what she has placed, or rather shoved, in my hands.
Unless I am mistaken, this is a headband.
Wait, it gets worse.
A headband with boingy springs coming out the top to crudely resemble antennas. You know the type. I had a pair myself with sparkly green shamrocks on the top instead of little balls. Mind you though I was TEN and it was St. Patty's day for Christ's sake.
Aw, HELL NO.
"What is this," I ask in horror. Please, please don't tell me that this is the so-called "finishing touch." Please. I'm begging here.
"It's the finishing touch! Waitress headbands a la Roswell!"
Excuse you, WHAT did I just implore of you? I believe I distinctly told you that that was EXACTLY what I did NOT want to hear.
Oh yea. I keep forgetting that people don't have a nice hawks eyes view into the swirling black hole known as my head.
I groan. "I am NOT wearing this," I protest meekly.
"Uh, yea you are. If Izzy and I have to, then you DEFINATLY have to."
Wait. Isabel's wearing them? I somehow missed that. I pivot around and sure enough the springs are visible, bobbing slightly as she moves smoothly from table to table. I frown, thinking. How did I miss it before?
A little insight. Princess Perfect has everyone so awed by her appearance that pitiful people like me don't even notice her dorky attire. It is apparel that would be common for people like me, not people like her.
But still. The headband is a bit much. I throw Maria a pleading stare. She throws her hands up defensively.
"Hey! I don't like them anymore than you do, but you have to admit, they are kinda funny," she says.
Excuse me while I forget to laugh.
"Maybe you can talk to your Aunt, she's the one who got the idea for them. She thinks that they're a fashion statement."
Hmm. I not sure if that is a statement that I would like to make. Dear ole Auntie and I will be having a discussion later that is if I can work up the nerve. Knowing myself, probably not.
"Maria! Get your ass in gear! There are still more old people filling in!" Michaels harsh bark startles me, but Maria shoots him an irritated look, clearly used to it. A notice an elegant elderly lady is giving Michael an appalled look at his choice of words. I am thinking that she took too kindly to being referred to as an "old people." Plus the rest of the stuff he said was pretty rude too.
"Is he always like that?" I ask awed somewhat.
"Usually," Maria rolls her eyes, but then to my astonishment, softens. "That is until you break down his walls. Then he's actually a pretty decent guy." She breaks off smiling slightly to herself in a dreamy sort of way.
"Maria! NOW!" Michael growls again.
The dreamy look is so rapidly replaced by one of irritation, I'm wondering if I imagined it. "Coming!" she snaps, just as nastily. She must either hate the guy or love him. I'm leaning towards the latter.
Despite myself, I feel a smirk inch along my face. I'm sorry but they are just too damn funny. I think I am beginning to see how their relationship works. A little love-hate thing going on. I would feel happy for them if I wasn't so insanely jealous.
Here we go. Another trip down Self-Pity Lane! I should have permanent residence there but I divide my time between there and Self-Hating Avenue (which can sometimes be confused with Anger at the World Drive). I will never have a relationship with a guy resembling anything genuine or pure. Every single relationship I will ever have will be tainted, just like all the ones prior. I'd do best to remember that here in Roswell.
Maria rambles off my duties for the day, which basically consist of clearing tables and carrying out orders when Maria or Isabel are swamped. Maria tells me that I'll "graduate" to full waitress duty tomorrow when it is less swamped.
Goody. Then I can get my waitress "diploma" and we can all do a happy dance. God.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of senile customers, a grumpy Michael, a silent, staring Max, a bubbly cheerful Maria, a psycho ranting frustrated Maria and a cold frigid Isabel.
The highlight of the day was when an elderly man forgot what he ordered, even though he said it five times to Maria. When she brought him his meal, he was like "This isn't what I ordered! I want my money back!" Maria tried to calmly explain to him that this WAS what he ordered and he hadn't given her any money to begin with, so she couldn't possibly give it back.
You can imagine how that situation played out, seeing how's Maria is anything but calm.
To summarize, Maria "quit" but not before giving that poor senile man a piece of her mind. Aprons were chucked, shouting was a given and it ended with Max, ever the peacemaker, appeasing the old man's confusion with desert on the house, leaving Michael to appease the wrath of Maria.
I don't know about you but I would have rather taken the old man.
It was interesting, to say the least, to see Michael interact with Maria. Despite his exterior attitude of irritation, I detected the same softness that Maria had when she was talking about Michaels "walls." Those two fascinate me.
Okay what is with me today? I'm talking about these people like they are my friends and I KNOW them or something. It's a strange feeling.
And completely false. Damn that bastard, Hope. He/She should rot in hell.
Anyways, we are all exhausted. Maria slams the front door shut in a not so silent declaration that the Crashdown is DONE for the night, before plopping down on an empty bar stool next to Michael. She lays her blonde head on his shoulder and closes her eyes. It is the least energetic I have seen her all day. It is comforting, somewhat, to know that even someone like Maria has her limits.
Isabel finishes up wiping down the tables and Max is tugging off his apron and going around to exit the kitchen through the back to return out to the front.
"I swear, Jeff and Nancy are SO going to get it when they come back," comes Maria's muffled complaint. Speaking of which, where are those relatives of mine? Hmm. They must be as excited to see me, as I was to come here.
Everyone has collapsed in the front area, leaving me standing there like an idiot. The air in here is growing increasingly uncomfortable.
See, now that I don't have anything to do anymore, nothing to keep me busy, I am growin self-conscious. I cant help but feel as if I am INTRUDING on their closely knitted circle of friends. Any stranger could see that they were all close.
I shift from side to side uneasily. Now wait? Cow tipping? Or whatever bizarre shindigs towns like this does for fun. I'm sorry to be a party pooper but the idea of watching animals fall on their side isn't my idea of a good time. But then again, I am no expert on what a good time is. The last time I had fun was when I was four years old and we took a family trip to Disney World. Ahh, to be young and naïve again.
I notice out of the corner of my eye again that Max is staring at me again. What the heck is the boys problem? I mean, I know I am some freak of nature that he is probably fascinated with because he has never seen anyone as gross as me, but seriously. Take a picture, it will last longer.
"If you want, I can show you where you can put your stuff, since your aunt and uncle aren't here yet," Max offers.
Grr. There it is again. "If you want." What IS that?
I nod slightly. Might as well.
Max turns to lead me to the backroom. I go to follow but I hesitate at the swinging door. I feel like I should THANK these people or something for the job. Even if I have a nagging feeling that I am going to get shot down in the process. Isabel is wrinkling her nose again at the sight of me. I can practically hear her saying "Leave already!"
Maria, however, beats me to it. She shoves herself up and takes a couple of steps in my direction. "Thank you so much for working for us today. You have, like no idea how much we appreciated it," she says.
At this Isabel snorts.
Michael raises an eyebrow at Isabel before turning to me. "Yea," he says in a monotone. "Thanks." The surprising thing is that he sorta sounds sincere, in a gruff sort of way.
I smile shyly and go to give my gratitude to them for not treating me like all the rest, for giving me a tiny sliver of hope in this hellhole known as my life, when it happens.
Isabel opens her full, perfect pouty mouth and suddenly I have a very bad feeling that I should've left with Max when I had the chance.
"Can I tell you something Linda?"
"Its Liz," Maria corrects in a disgusted voice that drips with the word, DUH.
"Whatever," Isabel continues. I stupidly think that maybe, just maybe she is going to thank me and we'll skip and hold hands afterward.
No dice.
"Your hair, is like, repulsive. And the whole, looking down at the floor, woe is me act is a bit old. A little tip, you should try dying your hair all the way next time so you don't look so.obvious." Isabel's voice is coated with distain and suddenly I am back at the beach back home, inundating down into the dark icy water while my peers snicker and watch. Then flash forward and I am back at the worst summer of my life before this one, the summer with Doug.
I stand there for a minute, letting the familiar sensation of pain and self- loathing and shame wash over me. Now I am back on auto-pilot, a move that I have perfected over the years. A black shrod covers my emotions and I numbly remove myself from the situation.
I stumble through the swinging door, but not before I hear Maria's indignant outburst and Michael's low disapproval. The last words I catch are Isabel's, her saying "What!? God! I'm not going to be nice to Ms. Freakazoid just because."
I nearly run over Max, who is coming down a flight of stairs. See, that is the bad thing about auto pilot mode. All your senses go numb to block out the pain and so you become oblivious to your surroundings.
"Whoa," he says, reaching out to steady me. He jerks his hand back though, as if touching me burned me. He looks at me strangely, his eyes darkening with.What?
If I wasn't on autopilot, I think that might of stung a little.
He shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts and then asks me, "Are you alright?"
Hmm. Looks as if my autopilot face isn't as expressionless as I thought. Note to self, work on that. I would feel touched by his concern if it had happened earlier, but Isabel gave me a nice reality check.
It's fake. It's all fake, meaningless crap. I know he doesn't care whether I am all right or not so why the heck is he bothering? Why the heck did Maria or Michael bother? That bugs me. That really bugs me. What is with all the phony smiles and the questions that people ask but then they don't listen to the answer cuz they didn't care in the first place?
This is not the time for my incoherent babblings about life.
"I'm fine," I tell Max. "Just tired."
He looks at me like he doesn't believe me but he lets it go. "Yea you've had a long day. Here, I'll show you your room."
I wonder vaguely how he knows so much about my aunt and uncles home but I'm grateful that he left my problems and me alone. Now if the rest of the world could do the same, I'd be great.