Twelve: “Human Sunshine”

Somehow, I managed to pull myself together on the short drive to Starbucks. Alex and I had planned to meet there and then head over to the pharmacy together. Tim texted me while I was on my way there to let me know he had arrived. When I reached the Starbucks parking lot, Alex was inside talking to Vanessa who was closing that night. Promising to come back and let Vanessa know how it went, Alex and I hopped in my car and took the short drive to the pharmacy.
During the week, I had emailed Tim instructing him to be blindfolded and facing the wall outside the pharmacy when I arrived and to turn, drop to his knees, and open his mouth when he heard me approaching. After I had placed my ticket in his mouth, he was to silently count out sixty Mississippi’s, turn and face the wall again, and then do twenty-five jumping jacks while Alex and I laughed at him from the car; we had tried to come up with the most random things we could think of, seeing how far he would be willing to go. Post-jumping jacks, I had told him that he was to wait until I texted him and gave him permission to go. As the finishing touch, I would be delivering Gavin’s and Derek’s address along with my ticket (I had gotten their okay first, of course, though by now, I was sure Tim was harmless), so that Tim could mail proof of payment there.
He was already in position when Alex and I arrived, and we sat and watched him for a minute or two, cackling hysterically as one woman did a double-take and then walked a wide berth around him.
Composing myself, I made my way over to him. He had followed my instructions to a tee; the only exception was that there was already an envelope in his mouth.
“I wanted to give you something to show my appreciation,” he explained when I removed it, “I hope it pleases you, Mistress Estella.”
I thanked him, replaced the envelope with the one containing my ticket, and made my way back to the car, counting out the sixty Mississippi’s in my head as I went. He actually did the jumping jacks (Alex and I laughed so hard that our stomachs hurt and tears rolled down our cheeks), then resumed his position facing the wall and patiently waiting.
Alex and I were still clutching our sides when we headed back into Starbucks to report to Vanessa. We huddled together as I opened Tim’s envelope, which contained a card. Beside a cartoon drawing of a woman’s legs in knee-high boots, the front read, “Wear some cool boots. Cool boots make you feel like you can handle anything.” The message inside was: “Or at least kick it really hard.” Additionally, he had written a long note… and enclosed five crisp twenty dollar bills. “Holy shit!” I exclaimed when I saw the money.
“Nice! Did you tell him to do that?” Alex asked.
I shook my head, still stunned.
Vanessa had picked up the card which I had left sitting on the counter by the cash register. “Dearest Mistress Estella, Thank You so much for sharing a part of Your beauty with me and allowing me the great honor of serving You for the very first time! I have no doubt that you will shine brightly as the Domme of my desires and dreams. Please consider this my tribute to Your dreams coming true…” she broke off, inspecting the card, “Um… why is this corner wet?”
Alex and I went over to see what she was talking about and cracked up again upon noting the teeth marks in the top left-hand corner of the card. “He was holding it in his mouth,” I explained to Vanessa.
She dropped the card as if it had burned her, a disgusted expression crossing her face.
Suddenly, I remembered the final instruction I had given Tim: I had completely forgotten to text him giving him permission to leave; he was probably still standing outside the pharmacy, facing the wall.
I quickly remedied that situation, and as I giggled with Alex and Vanessa about the surreal events of that evening, I was almost able to forget the uncomfortable confrontation that had immediately preceded them.

***

 In all the hustle and bustle of getting ready to open the new store, I barely had time to go home and sleep that week, let alone see my mother, and I was kept busy enough that I was able to continue to avoid even thinking about it… at least for the time being. And Meredith was being absolutely wonderful: supportive, sympathetic, and understanding, giving me time off to focus on work without any of the suspicion she typically displayed whenever I wasn’t easily accessible to her; this time when she checked in, it seemed to come more from a place of genuine love and concern than the sense of “keeping tabs” I normally got. Whenever I heard from her, the first thing she did was make sure all was still quiet on the home front, so to speak, between my mom and me.
When I got to work on Monday, Leila pulled me aside and informed me that she wanted Vanessa and me to help her train our newbies and would be assigning me a trainee that week. Although training was generally a task reserved specifically for managers and supervisors, Leila explained that she thought it would be a good way to groom me for my promotion, in addition to freeing her up to interview more prospective new hires. “And besides,” she added, “You know this company inside and out.”
On Tuesday morning, my trainee, Braden Malalis, was waiting for me. Braden was warm and charismatic with an easy laugh, and we clicked instantly. In between reviewing company policies and procedures, showing him how to work the espresso bar, and going over basic drink recipes, we pretty much learned each other’s life stories by the end of the first day; he was that open and easy to talk to.
Braden came from a large, close-knit Filipino family. He had completed a tour of duty in Iraq not too long ago, and while he had been overseas, his father had died, his girlfriend had cheated on him… and now that he was back home and his contract with the army was up, he was crashing with his aunt and uncle because the studio apartment that was all his mother’s budget would allow was too small for both of them and starting fresh at a crappy coffeehouse job. If I had been in his shoes, I probably would have been verging on either suicidal or homicidal… I’m not quite sure which. Braden, however, remained unfazed. The only tarnishes in the shimmer of his upbeat attitude and infectious energy were his disillusionment with the military and the government and the fact that he had his ex programmed into his phone as “Satan’s left ass cheek…” and really, as far as I was concerned, the latter was actually just hilarious, and yet another tribute to his admirable ability to look on the bright side of life. I privately dubbed him “human sunshine.”
Back when I had started at Starbucks, there had been something of an “initiation period” for newbies; you didn’t really become one of the gang until the “vets” officially decided you were cool. Jaded from the daily grind of dealing with the public, many of us were a tough sell, so that process generally took a few weeks. Bonding with Norah had been my ticket into the inner circle, and bonding with me had been Alex’s. But in Braden’s case, the unspoken rules didn’t seem to apply. By the end of the week, most of our employees and regular customers were half in love with him, and he was organizing a big night out as a dual farewell to everyone from the old store and celebration of the grand opening of the new store. On anyone else, the whole “golden boy” routine probably would have irritated the shit out of me, but with Braden, it wasn’t a routine; it was just who he was… and I was just as taken in by him as everyone else seemed to be, sold on his authenticity and sincerity.
Lingering in the parking lot after closing one night, we waxed philosophical about the inherent goodness versus evil of humanity.
“I’m not even really sure it’s something you can pinpoint though,” I confessed, “Honestly, in my experience, it’s not about good or evil so much as just plain and simple innate human selfishness.”
“I definitely have some experience with that,” he concurred, and by the faraway look in his eye, I was pretty sure he was thinking about his ex’s betrayal.
“I think you’ll appreciate this analogy,” I told him, “See, my whole theory is that most people – not counting the ones who obviously suck, of course – are kind of just one-hit-wonders. Like, we all have the capacity for greatness, and plenty of people you’ll come in contact with over the course of your life probably will do one really awesome thing for you, and vice versa… but then that’s it, you know? I guess I’m kind of just perpetually waiting for the one person who’ll prove me wrong on that… but I’m also not holding my breath.”
He smiled thoughtfully and studied my face. “You really think it’s that cut and dry?”
I shrugged, dropping my eyes from his intense gaze. “Kind of, yeah.”
A bit later, I opened up to him about the complicated nuances of Meredith’s and my relationship. “I don’t know how much of it is just me though,” I concluded.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I’m notoriously dysfunctional in relationships,” I explained matter-of-factly, “I self-sabotage, and I have my guard up hardcore more often than not. I’m just way too cynical and jaded for my own good.”
Braden regarded me silently and intently for another long moment, then declared, “I really don’t think you’re as much of a hardass as you make yourself out to be, though.”
I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Wait… we’ve known each other for all of a week. Are you seriously trying to call me on my shit already?”
“Aw, never that, darlin’,” he said tenderly, “Never that.”
“No, I think you were a little bit,” I insisted.
Braden just shrugged and grinned enigmatically, then gently bumped his shoulder against mine. And even though fall was upon us and the nights had grown colder, in that brief moment, a warmth spread through me… the warmth of someone just getting me, of someone caring enough to take the time to squint and look closer, actually making a bona fide attempt to see me – really see me – when it seemed like forever since anyone had even tried.
“Anyway, it’s actually oddly refreshing,” I admitted to him before saying my goodnights and driving off.

© Kristin Despina, (2010).
Reproduction Prohibited Without Permission.