Yelling at Strangers

A very short story about Zola, who alienates and annoys everyone she comes into contact with.

"That was incredible!" Stephen exclaimed.

Zola quickly covered her mouth and smiled. She had let out a tremendous belch and was disappointed it wasn't as loud as usual.

"Do you have a napkin?" she asked. "I think I drooled a little."

He grabbed a handful for her.

"What I was saying though," Stephen said,"is that I just don't know if what I'm writing is true to the real world or not. I create a character, and I feel like their dialogue might not be authentic. I mean, if I write about a lawyer, or even something stupid like a fast food worker or a bus driver, is it really genuine because I haven't lived those things?"

Zola's eyes were a moist, bright reflection of the television behind Stephen's head.

"Order today and you can receive not one Speedy Cheese Grater, but two! Plus, order in the next thirty minutes, and we'll throw in this exclusive "I love cheddar" bumper sticker! This offer is not available in stores, folks!"

"Are you listening to me?" he interrupted.

Her eyes jolted and stared. "Yeah, Steve, about your writing. And characters, and realistic settings and stuff. And thinking about working at McDonalds."

He grabbed the edge of the table and clenched his jaw.

"It's Stephen. My name is Stephen."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," she said regretfully. "I just wasn't thinking. I worked at the library an extra day this week and my mom has been in the hospital. I've been waiting for a call from my sister about her for days. And these fries are really greasy and soggy. Do they even know how to use a deep fryer here?"

She smoothed her tied up black hair as if it were messy and quietly took a sip of water, avoiding his gaze. Stephen sat quietly and picked at his sandwich.

"We've only gone out a few times," he finally replied. "I know your mom has been doing badly, but you only work two days a week. You don't even take classes anymore, and..."

"Just shut up. I was trying to nicely say you're boring. Your writing is predictable and self indulgent, you have horrible taste in music, and one of your eyes is out of sync with the other one. It's a bit creepy."

She picked up her bag and left without letting him respond.

The next morning, she awoke to a phone filled with messages she didn't think were worth reading or listening to. She smoked a cigarette in bed with her morning glass of orange juice while staring at the turned off TV across the room. Her reflection looked back with messy hair and pale, chubby legs with a layer of black stubble. She thought about how undesirable she looked, but that she must be wrong. Offers for dates were far more plentiful already than she desired.

Later in the morning, her friend Heather picked her up to go shopping. She had called her with the offer the day before, and Zola eventually caved. She just told her to make it fast because she was very busy and had to work later in the week.

The sun was blinding and sickly yellow. The air conditioning was on and Zola's window was down with her head sticking out, eyes closed to the rushing wind.

"How was your date last night?" Heather asked.

"Can you turn the radio on?" she replied.

Heather reached over with her free hand and turned it on, carefully changing it to a conversational volume.

"Stephen seems like a nice guy. I had him in a history class I think, last semester. And he writes these really great stories and poems. He can get pretty political though."

"Not this station,"Zola said angrily. "This is country music. Do I look like some kind of overall-wearing hillbilly? There was this song I heard the other day. It's really complete s**t. I'm trying to figure out who sings it. I think it went "Crimson hooves marching, gray skies of smiles, dingos roaming mountains", or something horrible like that."

"I really doubt that was the lyrics. Are you even listening to me?" Heather screamed abruptly.

"Of course."

Zola was wrapping her hair around her eyes and ears and sticking her tongue out. Heather frowned at her.

"Come on. I just don't think he's what I'm looking for. Maybe if he was musical. Or at least wrote something more interesting, like science fiction."

"You didn't even try to get to know him."

"Wait, hold that thought. Or better, don't," Zola said. "She stuck her head out the window again and yelled at the top of her lungs.

"W***e!"

"What the hell was that?" Heather yelled. "That was an old woman! What are you thinking?"

"What? She was about two hundred years old. She's probably screwed about fifty people in her twilight years alone. She completely had that coming."

"She was pushing a walker! And she probably got my license plate," Heather yelled.

"Relax, she's probably blind."

Heather tried to take her home instead of shopping, but Zola convinced her to stop by the library instead to check her schedule. It was always very quiet inside, and the hard stone floors would click with each step and echo through the shelves of books. A tall girl was walking towards them, and Zola pulled Heather by the arm into one of the aisles in retreat.

"What was that for?" she asked, pushing her away..

"It's that b***h, Brianna! She used to sit next to me in psychology. She would always be so stuck up, asking me to parties and about my family. And always trying to make me borrow pencils and stuff," Zola replied.

"Wow, how horrible," she said sarcastically. "I think I'd like her as my new friend. Do you have her number?"

"Shut up. It's worse than it sounds. Really. Hey, let's go over here."

She pointed to the magazine racks and tables of people reading them. Some were studying, lone people writing, and old, bearded men reading newspapers. Zola picked up a "Seventeen" magazine and started flipping through, stopping on an article on makeup tips and studying the eye shadow of a model.

"Are you seriously reading that?" Heather asked.

Zola closed the magazine and brushed her hair from her eyes.

"I dunno. I just picked up a random one. I didn't mean it to be one this lame."

She shoved it into the wrong place. While walking away, her phone started ringing loudly.

"I don't recognize the number. Hello?" she answered cautiously. She listened quietly until a smile came over her face and hung up.

"It was some stupid telemarketer. Now that would be a horrible existence. Calling up people all day that want nothing to do with you."

An old man was looking at her sternly.

"Sorry to disturb your urgent newspaper reading," she said. "I'm waiting on an important phone call and wasn't being considerate to your precious needs. I'm really glad you were able to save seventy-five cents coming here and mooching off the library!"

Heather pulled her away and asked her to stop badgering the people and check her work schedule.

"Oh, I didn't really need to do that. I work the same two days every week."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Heather asked. "I have better things to do than drive you around all day. Instead, I come pick you up and put up with you while you b***h and act insane and ignore half of what I say to you. I don't even know how to stand you half the time. Or why I even care. You have to be the most self-centered person I know."

She walked away angrily and went out the front door. Zola watched and slowly followed to see her driving away. She sat on the steps of the library and smoked while avoiding the glances of people going in. They were likely annoyed she was smoking so close to the entrance. She started exhaling in their direction as they passed when they gave disapproving looks.

On a bench nearby was a graying, but young man on the phone. She was listening to him talk about blowing his tire out on the highway and almost wrecking. He was waiting for a tow truck to come and telling someone on the line not to worry. When he finished, he noticed her watching and walked over.

"Hi," he said somewhat cheerfully. She ignored him and continued smoking on her cigarette.

"Have you ever had a really horrible day? From the very start?" he continued.

"No."

"Well that's what I've been having. I woke up late. Burned my hand really badly while making breakfast. Then I..."

"Look, I don't care." Zola spit. "I don't have bad days. I don't get excited about meeting a cute boy. I don't even wonder if I'm going to start taking classes again next semester."

"Well, sorry to have bothered you," he replied.

"But you did anyway! And someone else is going to any moment. Maybe someone even worse than you. Everywhere I go there are all these people. And they're always smiling and talking and eating hamburgers. And having good days and bad days, and asking other people how their day is. They all say the same things and have the same tired responses to every situation you could ever think of."

"Sounds like you're having a bad day too," he said and walked away. She watched him leave and was breathing heavily. She pulled out another cigarette and started walking.

The sidewalk was quiet and empty of people. Zola looked at the concrete and slowly made her way back to the apartment. A train bellowed in the distance and the ground was covered everywhere with green leaves. Heather's car came from the distance and stopped beside her. Zola looked into her eyes through the passenger seat window and reluctantly got in.

The drive was only minutes away but seemed like of silence. When they arrived Heather draped her arm around her and walked her inside. They got in the elevator and Zola stayed silent.

"I'm sorry," she finally said.

Heather smiled back and squeezed her shoulders.

As they arrived to her room they saw someone sitting by the door, huddled in anticipation.

"Hello?" Zola asked.

Stephen quickly stood up and straightened his wrinkled shirt.

"What are you doing here?" Heather asked.

"Please hear me out, Zola. I know you're ignoring my calls. But please give me another chance. We really hit it off so well. I could feel that we had a deep and meaningful connection."

"Steve," Zola muttered, rubbing her temples. "We didn't. There was nothing there at all. I couldn't stand you. And you wouldn't want me anyway. I'm about the last person you should ever consider dating."

Heather stood by uncomfortably with her arms crossed.

"Is this about the poems I showed you? I have better stuff. I have a lot more I can show you! I even wrote some about you."

Zola's phone was ringing and the blood drained from her face, turning a ghostly white.

"I have to take this," she said and walked down the hall.

Stephen watched her talking from the door. She held the phone to her ear tightly, listening for what seemed like minutes and tears started falling down her cheek. Heather stood by him watching and widening her eyes.

She hung up and put the phone into her pocket, looking the other way while rubbing her eyes with the other hand and walked back to them.

"If you need some time alone..." Stephen said.

"What's wrong?" Heather asked.

"What? No. Nothing is wrong." Zola said. "Steve, I changed my mind."

"Stephen."

"Look, do you want to go out or not? Do you think you're the only boy that begs at my doorstep at night?"

"Really? That sounds, well, great. I know this really great piano bar a few blocks away. Tremendous atmosphere." he replied.

"Sounds amazing. Heather, I'll call you tomorrow. I need you to take me out to get a haircut anyway. But don't call me. I'm going to be very busy."

Heather stood quietly and watched her hold Stephen by the hips, walking to the elevator. Zola grinned back, blowing a kiss as the door closed.