Open My Eyes

{Ch. 13} A Magic Trick ✓

          When faced with picking an outfit for a date, my fashion sense never helped—too quirky, too outlandish. Sam provided a million ideas, two-thirds of which I could not afford and one-third in which I wouldn't be caught dead.

So I stared at my closet for half an hour, pulling out graphic tees and V-necks and overalls and bell-bottom pants and flower dresses. Soon, I had thrown most of my closet about my room, like a fabric store explosion.

After three sessions with my fashion consultant (aka Samantha), we settled on a pair of ripped overall jean shorts that snapped over a loose floral top. I borrowed Sam's gold gladiator sandals, accented my ears with hoop earrings, and finished off the look with a sunhat I had made when I was twelve. I plaited my hair into two braids over my ears, with orange ribbon ties.

When Mom complimented my ensemble (but questioned the hat), I told her, "This is what happens when I don't dress in the dark."

Iggy and I had agreed to meet at the boardwalk around six. It gave me enough time to stare at my closet in utter confusion for longer than necessary, eat a delicious but unhealthy snack, and make the thirty-minute trip.

On the way, I rolled my windows down and turned my music up. When "You Might Think" by The Cars came on, I screamed the lyrics, much to the chagrin of the fellow drivers on the road with their windows down as well.

After screaming about being unable to drive 55, I pulled into the parking lots for the boardwalk. Unsurprisingly, pedestrians jaywalked and wandered between cars both parked and idling.

Finding a parking space took about half the time of the trip. Once I settled on the third floor of the parking garage, I stepped outside into the blistering sun. I pulled in a breath of cigarette smoke, BBQ, saltwater, and sweat.

The boardwalk on a Friday evening witnessed children running rampant on sugar highs, happily provided by cotton candy and ice cream vendors and encouraged by the carnival games that set up shop along the entertainment district. Parents, couples, families, groups out for girls- and boys-nights, pet owners, and tourists traversed the gift shops and wandered the beach. Swimmers and surfers and sun-tanners occupied the sands, with their rainbows of beach umbrellas and towels. Rollercoasters and restaurants tried to rival the sun with their neon signs and lights. Rooftop meal-goers sipped their drinks at the banisters and watched the people below.

I adjusted my sunhat and settled a pair of sunglasses on my face. I twirled in the sunlight, letting my skin soak in the rays. I smiled at the sky, musing that, had Vanessa been here too, she probably would have gone straight to the docks to put her feet in the water.

I almost raced off to the docks myself, but I froze—someone agreed to accompany me to the boardwalk, after all. I figured with his tacky gold aviators, slimming jeans, and birds-nest of hair, he would stand out like a sore thumb.

Ultimately, his probing cane helped me to identify him.

He leaned against the wall of the access ramp that led to the boardwalk, hair slicked back to reveal his forehead. He tucked a hand into the pocket of his khaki shorts, his other hand gripping his walking cane. He wore a yellow polo with a bird etched onto the breast pocket. His chain necklace swung from his neck, the cross glinting in the summer sun. Of course, his aviators perched on his nose, giving him a "cooler than thou" vibe.

But I noticed that his shoulders were tight, raised closer to his ears than usual. His head jerked occasionally, as though there were too many noises at once. His lips pursed, jaw clenched.