Chapter Six

Miranda runs into Floyd at her favourite book store and they enjoy a lazy afternoon with a cup of coffee.

How I think of Floyd Moss is, he’s a mystery. He is tall, gently muscular, and often times peppered with black stains on his clothes, reeking of motor oil- one of the glamorous gifts that come from a job as a mechanic, but he is generally a quiet and reserved kind of guy who is focused on getting his work done quickly and thoroughly, without paying much attention to anything else.

Because of these traits, I often forget that Floyd takes the time to enjoy things like reading, as it doesn’t seem to fit well with the rest of his general personality.

So, when I walk into the bookstore on my chilly Sunday afternoon, sporting my nice, neat new head, I am surprised to see Floyd standing between two shelves in the fiction section�"the same place where I usually end up.

I catch his eye and smile, waving.

He raises an eyebrow, vaguely waving back, and I laugh, approaching him.

“I see you have good taste in literature,” I say, indicating the book in his hands, which happens to be by one of my favourite authors.

Floyd’s eyebrows work themselves into an expression of confusion, and he takes a step back.

“I know where this is headed,” he says. “I just…I don’t think we should speak.”

I ask, why not?

“I’m kind of in a relationship,” he says, looking anywhere but at me. I laugh. He really doesn’t recognize me.

“No s**t,” I chuckle. “That never stopped us from talking before.”

Floyd turns back to me and looks me over thoroughly this time, his intense brown eyes moving over and over my face, as though processing it.

“Mir-- Miranda?”

I grin, curtseying with an invisible dress.

Floyd’s eyes widen as his mouth hangs open slightly.

“Jeez,” he says. “I feel really stupid now. I swear I didn’t recognize you at all… What, um… what happened with you?”

He gestures with his shoulder as he asks this.

“Well,” I tell him. “I guess I just finally decided to take some pride in my appearance. Does it look stupid?”

“No, of course not,” says Floyd. “It’s just so different, is all. And… when did this drastic change take place?”

“About half an hour ago.”

Floyd nods slowly, his face worked into one of those “not bad” kind of expressions.

“So, where is Alice?” I ask. “How is she?”

“Oh, God, don’t even get me started,” Floyd groans, closing his book. “She hasn’t been to work in days. She barely even eats. All she wants to do is lie around and listen to that idiotic song forever and ever. She’s not even Alice anymore. I don’t know what to do for her.” He looks sadly down at his feet. “Oh,” he says. “And she told me yesterday that I’m one of her imaginary people who gets murdered. That’s real nice, right?”

I shake my head.

“I think I can see where that’s going,” I say. “She’s becoming paranoid that she’s gonna lose you. Did she mention who the other person was?”

“Nah,” says Floyd. “Afraid not. She said it was a girl, though. Someone that she hasn’t met yet …”

“Hmm…” I frown, trying to think about everything. “Maybe I should go over and talk to her. I think it’s about time she seriously considers getting some kind of treatment. She needs to rest, and I believe that a mental clinic could really provide the rest that she needs.”

“You’re probably right,” says Floyd, “but I don’t think you should go over and interrupt her while she’s pulling that thing she does. I’ll wait until she snaps out of it to go to the bathroom or something, and then I’ll have her call you. Sound good?”

I nod.

“Sure,” I say. “But in the mean time, just try not to think about it much. I know it’s hard, but I don’t wanna see you break down too.”

Floyd bites his lip, nodding and nodding.

“So,” I say, in a chipper attempt at changing the subject. “I’m gonna go get some coffee and look at a magazine or two. You can join me, if you don’t have anything better to do, or… whatever.”

Floyd nods again, replacing the book on the shelf, and together, we shuffle over to the magazine rack to browse.

I find a couple of modern medicine magazines to use for hiding my real interest- a makeup magazine. I watch as Floyd picks through the photography and literature magazines until he finds a couple that interest him. Tucking them under his arm, he gestures toward the coffee shop with his chin, and without words, we both head for the counter.

“Can I help you?” asks the clerk, before we even reach him.

“Let’s see,” I say. “I will have just a plain, black coffee, if you don’t mind.”

“Plain black,” says the barista. “Boy, you’re more of a man than I am. And for you, sir?”

He indicates Floyd, who looks up from his magazine, stuffing it back under his arm.

“Um… I’ll just take a cup of coffee,” he says.

“Cream? Sugar?”

Floyd waves his hand through the air, as though brushing the cream and sugar idea aside.

“None of that junk,” he says. “Just pure, unadulterated coffee.”

The barista grins.

“Coming right up,” he says, moving away from the counter to pour the coffee.

Floyd shifts his weight, looking around.

“You have good taste in coffee,” I murmur to him.

“Eh? Ah, well… I have a palate for bitter things.” He looks at me, or rather, it’s almost as though he’s looking through me, refusing to make proper eye contact. “Most people don’t like mustard,” he says, “but I could eat it plain.”

I smile.

“Who on Earth doesn’t like mustard?” I ask.

Floyd snorts.

“Alice.”

“Two black coffees,” says the barista, setting down two cardboard cups on the counter. “That’ll be $2.88.”

I move in to drop some money on the counter, but Floyd shoves me out of the way.

“I’ll get it,” he says, handing the barista a five-dollar-bill. “Keep the change.”

“Hey, thanks! Enjoy that coffee, now. You two be sure to take good care of each other!”

I giggle as I take my coffee and magazines over to a tall table with big, tall chairs.

“Why can’t people ever see a guy and a girl hanging out without assuming they’re an item?” I say, quietly with a smile.

Floyd dumps his magazines onto the table and climbs onto the chair.

“Because,” he grunts, as he hoists himself up. “They’re ignorant.”

I frown, slightly at Floyd’s gruff demeanor.

“I just think it’s funny,” I say. “Especially in situations where it’s, like, a brother and sister, or something, and a waiter at a restaurant asks if they’re celebrating their anniversary. Stuff like that.”

Floyd nods passively, burying his nose in one of those photography magazines.

He’s totally not even looking at me today, so I decide I won’t bother trying to hide my makeup zine.

Picking it up, I begin to thumb through it, back to front�"my nimble way of dodging the hundred pages of advertisements in the front.

So many beautiful pictures flood my vision… gorgeous, colorful makeup ideas on all different types of women, even some Hispanic ladies. I’m grinning like a fool as I flip through the pages, hungry for new ideas and tricks.

Every photo I see, I want to try and my heart races as I layout my plans to go makeup shopping when I’m done here.

After seeing what a flat iron and some makeup can do, I realize that I will never go back to the way I was. Never.

I thumb the pages, greedily absorbing all the new tricks to learn.

It isn’t until I hear Floyd utter a small, barely audible sniffle, that I break away from the magazine and nonchalantly look up.

Floyd is glaring into his magazine, his eyes and face pink.

“Hey,” I say softly, in barely more than a whisper. “Are you feeling okay?”

He sets the magazine onto the table and picks up his coffee, taking a swig as he gazes away out the window.

“No.”

“Is something… I mean, would you like to talk about it? You know I can help you.”

Floyd turns his head very slowly and pierces me with a stare that I have never seen from him before.

“I’ve just got things…” he straightens up and clears his throat. “I’m just having trouble coping with the s**t that Alice is putting me through right now. I mean…” he bends his head down a bit, but keeps eye contact with me. “Alice has never really been… How do I say this? Attentive? I mean, I do everything for her all the time, and she never really seems to care how I feel enough to even ask me if I’m doing alright. I mean, I am not an attention w***e in the slightest, but I do feel that I deserve more attention than she gives. Especially when I’m always up her a*s trying to make sure that she’s comfortable. You know? I thought relationships were supposed to go both ways.”

“Well,” I bite my lip for a second, debating whether I really want to share my embarrassing personal tidbits. But Floyd was just quite honest with me. It would be rude of me not to be honest back, and so I continue.

“To be honest,” I breathe, “I’ve never really been in a relationship before… So I don’t really know too much about it, but I do think that relationships should be a joint effort, rather than just a one-way road.”

Floyd’s expression changes from angry to slightly sympathetic.

“You’ve never been with anyone?” he asks in a surprisingly quiet and polite way.

I shake my head.

“Nope. And I’ve never even kissed a boy!” I laugh at myself, hoping to break the ice a bit. “I mean, I once kissed Alice , but that was for a silly reason.”

Floyd finally grins.

“Oh really?” he says. “And what silly reason was that?”

I place my hand on my forehead, my face feeling a bit warm, probably from all the blood suddenly rushing into it.

“Oh, just… some friends were having a sleep over and they decided to play truth or dare. Alice took dare, and so they dared her to kiss one of the girls�"anyone she wanted. And since we had been close friends most of our life, she chose me, since she was most comfortable around me.”

Floyd gulps down some more coffee, his slightly larger than average mouth still twisted into a grin.

“You guys need to do that s**t when I’m there.”

My mouth opens wide in a mixture of amusement and shock that Floyd would actually say something like that, especially aloud.

“Well, you know.” I’m beginning to sweat on top of the blushing, and I feel really gross.

“Oh, come on,” says Floyd. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Besides, it’s not like Alice is very interested in making out with anyone right now, anyway. She won’t touch even me, despite how I’m supposed to die, or whatever.”

“That is definitely a downer,” I say. “But you know…I’m here for you if you ever need to get out of the house and hang around. I have no real friends other than Alice and you… So, you know. Don’t hesitate to call or whatever.”

“Well thank you,” Floyd says, sincerely. “I really appreciate that. And I know what you mean. My only friends are the guys I work with, and we don’t see each other outside of the shop, so it’s been really boring with Alice doing her little… psychic show and no one to talk to. Seriously, if she ever speaks to me, it’s always tearful and about her little vision.”

“This really isn’t like her,” I mutter. “She’s always been so damn optimistic and happy. Then again, a lot of the patients I get, their families always tell me the same thing�"that they were once so happy, and it just suddenly went down the drain. It just happens, I guess. We really need to get her some help.”

“Yes,” says Floyd. “I definitely agree. I mean, at first, I just thought it was something that would go away really quick, and I was pretty opposed to the idea of a mental institution, or whatever… But it’s just gotten so bad that I don’t care anymore. As long it helps.”

“Well, if professional care can’t help her, then she has no future.”

Floyd wrinkles up his nose, downing the last of his coffee.

“I’m starting to wonder,” he tells me. “I don’t really know what they could do that we couldn’t, but I only know how to fix cars, and not really people, so what do I know?”

I take a sip of my coffee and zone out.

“I’m dreading going back to the apartment,” Floyd says, bitterly. “Is that bad? It’s like… I hardly even want to see her anymore. I keep feeling like a dick… like I should be more compassionate, but I guess all the years of her being a bit hard toward me have built up and now I’m unintentionally seeking my revenge.”

“It’s never easy for anyone to have to deal with someone who is mentally ill. In many cases, men smother their depressed wives, or slip acid to a schizophrenic. It’s not pleasant, but I know that you really do care about Alice and that you would never hurt her. Just wait and see. We’ll get her the help she needs and she’ll once again be the Alice you know and love.”

I give him a warm smile as a drop of sunshine peeks through the clouds and splashes across Floyd’s eyes. He squints against the light.

“I wish I knew what to say to that,” he says. “Maybe I need some therapy, too.”

“Don’t we all,” I say. “Don’t we all…”