My Entry- 908 words

I was never one to spend hours getting dressed.

Or even minutes, for that matter.

Clothes were never important to me. Even as a kid, my mother tells me. I just didn't care.

Before going out, first for work (cafe around the corner), then for play (bar around the corner), then for food (store around the corner), I chose my clothes in the same order, every morning. Underwear / socks / jeans / t-shirt. Sweater optional, depending on the weather. I had even organized my closet this way. From left to right, I grabbed what I needed. Everything was plain and went together, it almost didn't matter what I picked, I knew that it would all match.

This morning, I chose gray underwear / black socks / 501 jeans / royal blue t-shirt with a pocket on the chest.

Clothes didn't mean anything to me. They just didn't seem important. It had taken me years to be able to come to terms with my fear of, well, everything. After a year of living on my own and holding a steady job, I was pretty sure I would not regress to where I had been before, frozen in fear in my childhood bedroom in my mother's house. I had come a long way.

Though it still wasn't easy. I had to force myself to go to work in the morning. Still refused to make eye contact with random people in the street. A coffee shop would have been an awful place for me to work, if the owner had not agreed to let me prepare sandwiches and desserts in the kitchen, away from the coffee counter and the constant flow of people.

It had been a battle to get that far; and I considered it a victory. Hiding out in the kitchen, interacting as little as possible with my coworkers sounded like a pretty slim victory, but it counted. In my case, it counted.

After work I would go to the bar at the end of the street. Then to the grocery store. Then back home to my apartment. My apartment, the cafe, the bar, and the grocery store occupied the four corners of this particular block in the middle of the city. I walked around this block, every day, in the same direction, at the same time. I needed a pattern, needed an organization, needed things not to change.

I sometimes thought that my shoes would probably wear out on the left side faster than the right, from always turning right. This made me laugh to myself. Which felt good. I didn't laugh much.

This particular day I arrived at the bar and took my regular seat in a small alcove near the coat room. When it was occupied, which was rare, I would hover at the bar, staring at whatever game was on the TV screen, until it became free. This day it was free right away. I ordered a beer, the same beer as every evening. I knew it was important for me to be there, even if I was alone. The urge to go straight from work to the grocery store then home was still strong, but fading compared to when I had first moved out on my own. I thought about how I would have had to have moved to a triangular neighborhood with apartment / cafe / grocery store at the three corners. This made me laugh again. I was a regular comedian today.

"Hi there, I'm going to join you" said a sweet-faced girl as she plopped herself down on the stool in front of me. I froze, I hadn't seen her coming. Damn my comedy routine rehearsal!

"I see you here like almost every day, if you want me to leave you alone tell me, but I've been dying to say hello! I'm Amanda! Do you mind if I stay? Can we chat a bit?"

"Sure", I practically whispered.

She was pretty. And talkative, so I didn't have to say much. Which was good, as I was nearly frozen with anxiety, though I did manage to say a few words. She sensed I was nervous, but didn't seem to take it personally, and after a few minutes, said that she would let me get back to enjoying my beer in peace and quiet. She smiled when she said goodbye. I didn't seem to have offended her with my silence.

A minute later she returned to my table with a scrap of paper in her hand. "Here's my number, I'd really like it if you'd give me a call" she smiled, leaning over the table, slipping the paper into my t-shirt pocket. My heart raced as she touched my chest, and I was sure she could feel it.

I left the bar and walked down the street, turned right at the corner, continued to the end of the block, and climbed the steps to my building. It wasn't until I was inside my apartment with the door bolted shut that I realized that I hadn't stopped at the grocery store to buy supper. Though I didn't care, I wasn't hungry.

I pulled the scrap of paper out of my pocket. As I did, I noticed a tiny hole at the corner of the pocket. I had not noticed this before. I took the shirt off and held it up at arms length. It was quite a nice color, especially as it had faded after many washes. Actually, I rather liked it. Maybe I would wear it more often.