I needed fresh air. If I had to stay in that office, with Abby's scent lingering in the air, I'd literally go crazy. So let's just take my short lunch break and go out around town for a moment, maybe get some different ideas.
Or maybe not. It didn't work yesterday, and it didn't work the day before.
I guess one of the problems is that in our crusty little shit town, there's literally nothing to see. I mean, if the most exciting place is the mall, you know you live where the action's at, right?
Well, the mall it is, then. At least, theres's new stores there sometimes, whenever another one of my poor fellow townspeople makes a desperate attempt to do something with their lives and start a poorly thought out business selling t-shirts with flowers on them.
Except this time, there wasn't another shirt shop there, but... soap? Who needs to sell that much soap in Watercastle, Kansas that it can keep a whole soap shop afloat? Oh well, just another ill-conceived business plan without a plan then, might as well check out the wares while they're still open.
Now let me say this: It's a nice store. As far as expectations go, they were exceeded. It smelled nice, it was light, and tastefully decorated, and it had... soap. Just loads of soap in all shapes, sizes, colors, and, of course, scents.
Now, the weird thing was the labels. No, let me track that back: The weirdest thing was the lady who ran it. She was... well, it wasn's so much what she was, it was more how she acted. She had a look about her like she absolutely, definitely didn't want to be there. And it didn't look like she'd rather be somewhere else, she just looked like she was bored with... life, in general.
Also, she looked kinda... exotic. She had bright red hair that looked natural, with sand-colored skin and eyes that were so deep they made you forgot their color immediately when you looked into them.
But the strangest thing about her were her mannerisms. Little gestures and expressions that looked just so... foreign. Almost alien.
She was definitely not from around here. Or maybe that's racist to think, but she didn't look like anyone I've seen around here, so... don't know what that says about me.
Anyway, I don't know why I keep going on about the shopkeeper, when I was here for the soap, so... back to the soap.
Most of it came in large slabs that were cut into smaller bars of different sizes. They all had labels with fruity names, such as "Oblivion" or "Dreams of Air". There were stranger ones, too. I saw a kinda purple-ish slab labeled "Breath of Water" and a white soap that had a slightly gold sheen to it with the sign "Radiance", but when it came down to it, I really wanted to try a soap named: "Desire"
"Good," the shopkeeper remarked curtly as I approached her with the bar of the Desire soap in my hand.
"What?" I replied, slightly confused. It seemed like an odd statement to make.
"This is good for you," she just said. Her voice was lower than I expected, and smoother. Like it came from an old jazz album. Also, she spoke in a New Jersey accent, which seemed so entirely out of place. I don't know what I thought she sounded like, but it wasn't this.
"Uh... how much is this one?" I asked, as she made no attempts to actually sell the soap.
"Right," the woman said. "Money. Five."
"Five Dollars?" I asked, trying to figure out of that was cheap or expensive for this kind of purchase. I never bought artisanal soap before, so I had nothing to go by.
"Dollars, yah," she replied.
I rummaged through my purse for my wallet. "Ah... do you take plastic?" I asked absently.
"Nah," she said, and that was that. No explanation, no apology, no attempt at being helpful. Maybe this is what it was like in artisanal boutiques? Ah, who are you kidding, Yasmin? That's what it was like everywhere now. Anyway.
I finally found a five Dollar note in my wallet and handed it over. The lady took it, nodded, and looked me deep into my eyes. "Remember," she said, "first, the desiring, then the desired."Then, she turned her attention away from me again and that was that. I was now the proud owner of... a bar of soap.
It felt awkward, carrying it around in my hand, even though it looked kinda pretty. The soap was of a light lavender color, and if you turned it in the light, it had a faint greenish sheen to it. It was mesmerizing, and smelled... hard to describe. Like a memory you can't quite grasp, but know is there.
I arrived back at work and tried to get to my desk as inconspicuous as possible, but who should I run into in the hallway but for Miss GoddammitStillCan'tRememberHerName. She came down the hall, looking at her phone, while I was frantically going through my options before she would see me.
Alright. Here we go, then. Let's take this horn by the teeth, or whatever it's called.
While I was still gathering my resolve, she suddenly looks up and sees me, looking me straight into the eyes. There's an awkward moment between us, then she smiles and greets me. "Hi," she says. "Yasmin, isn't it?"
"Y-yeah," I replied.
"How're you doing?" she asked, being genuinely, surprisingly pleasant.