The Follower

Two young girls just looking for something to do on a Friday night.

After a few hours of debate, we wind up driving out to the independent video store across town. We pull into the parking lot just as the sun was sets behind us. The sign, “Hollywood Video & DVD” has rust and grime in the corners from lack of care over the last decade.

                Vanessa’s attention wanders as we slowly float down the aisles. I look at the cases, she looks at the carpet. We give the new releases a glance, but I’m more inclined to look at the classics. I read out titles. “Robocop. The Rock. Rocky Horror Picture Show... ever seen that, ‘Ness?”

                “Huh? Sure, when I was a kid. I didn’t like it.”

                “When you were a kid?” I snort, “You should give it a chance. You couldn’t have gotten it when you were a kid.”

                “I didn’t like it, it creeped me out,” she picks up another DVD case. “Run Lola Run. This girl looks like you, Mare.”

                “Her hair’s crazy.”

                “You’d look good like that. Hey, you hear this song?” She pauses and lets the background music in the store play. “This song was in that Xbox game trailer.”

                “What’s it called?”

                “The game or the song? Either way, I don’t know, I’ll have to look it up later.”

                At that, she turns and wanders off to the video game section. There is already a couple there, the girl humouring her boyfriend. Their fingers are tightly interlinked and he examines a game while she pulls him in the direction of the DVDs. I catch Ness glaring directly at them from behind. They must be a bit older than us, out of high school I’m sure. I watch her watching them as she follows along the aisle; I watch them whisper and deliberate whether to get the romantic comedy or the buddy comedy as a compromise. He briefly proposes a horror, but she shoots him down with a cruel, obvious look. She nuzzles her head up on his arm as they walk up to the cash. I put Run Lola Run back on the shelf, and a guy in a suit jacket and t-shirt picks it up. He looked aside at me and smiles. I avert my eyes as quickly as I could.

I go back over to Ness and asked, “See anything good?”

“No,” she answers. “I don’t really wanna watch a movie tonight after all.”

“Well thanks for dragging me all the way out here,” I smile, “Let’s get some eats.”

Two units down in the plaza was Sub Shack. They’re understaffed, training and working slowly on each sandwich, so the line is an unusual length. Vanessa fidgets in place, bending her knees and tugging at the cuffs of her shorts and the hem of her top like a kid.

We get to second in line when I notice the door to the restaurant open. He steps to the end of the line and begins waiting nonchalantly. He looms tall, with a scruffy half growth of beard on his chin. His eyes seem less than friendly.

“Hey,” Ness whispered to me, “Wasn’t he in the video store?” The guy in the suit jacket and t-shirt.

“Yeah I guess so,” I shrug.

“You think he followed us in here? I think he was following you around.”

“I doubt it.”

 I’m gonna get a seat.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I’ll just share whatever you get. Get the foot long.”

She shuffles hastily over to a seat and props her elbows on the table surface. I order a large veggie combo, which I figure would be the most acceptable compromise between our tastes. I try to resist the urge to slip a look back in his direction as they assemble the lettuce and tomatoes and cucumbers on the bread. Keeping my head steady and my eyes forward, I slip in across from Nessa, my back to the cash area.

“What’s he doing?” I ask.

“Don’t look,” she whispers. “He knows we’re talking about him. He’s not looking. He’s got his hands on the sneeze guard. He’s leaning over it like a sleaze. You can tell he’s impatient.”

“Yeah, they’re real slow tonight,” I say, taking a bite.

“He’s got his sandwich. Okay, shut up, he’s sitting close to us.”

“Okay, be quiet then” I say. She tenses up and won’t eat. “Relax,” I advise.

“On three,” she whispers.

“Ness...”

She silently mouths, One. Two. Three, then stood. She quickly stands and hurriedly walks out.

“Ness!” I stage-whisper, more to myself than for anyone else. I wrap the remains of the sandwich up and follow her out to the car. I dig my keys out of my purse and remote unlock the car. Nessa jumps in immediately, I try to slip in nonchalantly.

“Okay,” I say, “Stop freaking out. Now he’s in there, he’ll forget about us.”

“Just sit a minute,” she says, holding my forearm as I unwrapped the sandwich again, “I wanna see.”

“Okay, hold on, nothing’s gonna--”

At that moment, we se him stand up, still with half a sandwich in front of him, wrap it neatly, and carry it under his arm to the door. He steps through and begins to look around, seeming to examine every car parked in front of the plaza as he passed. Before he can come up to ours, I turn the key in the ignition.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Nessa squealed.

“Shhh, shut up!” I hiss back, pulling out of the parking lot with reckless abandon, hoping he won’t catch on that we were trying to get away from him, or see which way we were headed in the darkness.

I speed to the next red light. As we stopped, Nessa drummed wildly on her lap, pulsing with adrenaline. She doesn’t like buckling her seat belt. At this point I wonder whether there was any danger of if it was just a coincidence, whether she was just looking for an excuse to get out. I think maybe she was just emphasizing her concern to make the night more interesting. But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t felt it myself.

We drive a few more blocks to where the suburbs start to melt back into the city center. Hoping he hasn’t been able to follow us, I pull into the parking lot of a coffee shop. My sandwich has spilled out of my lap and is currently in pieces around my ankles.

I ask, “Can I have some of yours?”

“I left it at the shop.”

“Of course. Okay, I need to calm my nerves. Coffee?”

“Sure,” she murmurs.

Again, she leaves me to get a seat while I ordered us both a coffee. I measured out our sweeteners and cream and sat across from her, glancing at the door and out the window. The night backdrop was dark except for headlights, but I had to see if I could see anything, in case our new friend found his way to us.

“I can totally see it,” I say, “We’ll tell people, ‘Remember that time we almost got kidnapped?’”

She was more shaken up than she probably should have been, just stirring her coffee and looking down into it.

She won’t tell me what’s going on. She’s a year younger than me, and I know the fact that I’m going away to University next month is eating away at her. No matter how many times I say so, she doesn’t believe we’ll still talk, that she’s a part of my life. She’s worried it will be a repeat of the last time we had a fight. And I never say so, but that was her fault.

Six months ago, we weren’t talking. Six months ago, against my better judgment, I cut her out of my life and let her seek attention from others, because that word means too many different things. She’s never clarified the story, but that was how she ended up tumbling down a flight of stairs. She was upstairs with him, and he went to check on something on the main floor. She didn’t like being left alone, so she followed him and slipped in her hurry. I can just see her sitting alone in his room, waiting for him to come back. Nervously, she sits up. She’s had a few drinks, so she’s feeling woozy, but she makes it to the banister. She can’t see him, though, so she cranes her neck over the edge. She’s at the wrong angle, so she tries to step down just one, but she misses the edge.

And down she goes.

That was how she found her way back to me, because at 3 AM I was the only one online, and she wouldn’t tell me why she couldn’t sleep. Because she wasn’t allowed. But the more I learned, the more I worried about what might happen if I couldn’t be there for her. But keeping people in your life sometimes means making their problems your problems.

“Hey,” I grin, “Remember when I taught you how to give a fake blowjob, and you were like, If he still comes, how is it fake?”

She brightens a bit, “Yeah.”

That’s how I feel about our friendship. We never really connect anymore, but we still seem to like each other enough that it doesn’t make a difference.

“So we didn’t end up getting a movie,” I point out, “At least we didn’t get kidnapped.”

“That’s one in the plus column,” she agreed with a laugh, and finally sipped.

“Let me take you home.”

She nods and we walk back out to the car. I pull up to her door.

“Wanna come in?” she asks.

“I shouldn’t.”

All I want her to say is “I understand, see you tomorrow.” Instead, she leans over and hugs me.

For a moment, she rests her chin on my shoulder. I stroke the back of her hair. Our cheeks rest against each other and for the first time in months, we both get the same idea, turning our lips toward each other and offering a soft peck, holding in place but not pushing any further.

She reaches back behind her for the door latch. It won’t budge until I unlock it for her. When I do, she doesn’t turn away until she’s out. She keeps the door open for a moment. Neither of us can fill the space between us with words, so she finally just says “Good night, I guess.”

I tell her back, “Good night.” She closes the door and watches as I drive off.

We don’t connect like we used to, but as long as we both feel like we’re still friends it will be like there’s no difference until it all falls apart.