Asking Cailey out

Friday comes around. I work the 10-hour shift at the coke plant, 7 to 5. We have a good day, nothing too hard, a brisk morning followed by a lazy afternoon. The boss is in a bad mood, so we can't leave early. I head home. The plan is to cook the ex- a meal and take her to the midnight movie-- "Night of the Creeps." Her joke is that we have 'joint custody' over this event. It's also a night I know the red-haired girl is working at the store. Things get complicated. This, I know. I research some pasta primavera recipes, resort to inventing one of my own, take my shower, take a few big gulps of the old tequila and head out the door. Her car is there. I've discerned it's the BMW with the Euro-style front plates. My heart races. I am lost in the produce aisle. My pattern is toroid as I double back for items I've forgotten. My vision has changed. I've had this before, the 6th grade, during a fist fight with another kid named Jason. The colors are saturated. The action is slow, detached. I perceive my actions as mechanical. I scan the aisles. Every time I hear cans being placed on shelves I think it's her. My heart races. I circle the store, collecting all the night's ingredients: import pasta and tomato puree, some basil, a zucchini, portabellas, wine, red pepper, a head of broccoli. It will be a good meal if I can just stay focused. I see a stock cart of boxes. I pass by it, looking down each adjacent aisle. She's not around. I circle back for a loaf of french bread and see my reflection in the mirror behind the bread shelf. I can see my heart beating in the bluish skin underneath my eyes. I look old, thin, afraid. My hair is short. The graying is obvious. I head back through the store for one more look. I see one of the other workers chatting to someone unseen in the greeting card aisle. I walk that way. She comes through fast with a box, startling me. Our eyes meet. I smile, say hi, and apologize for blocking her path as I clutch my hand basket close to my body . "No worries," she says. She's heading down the pet aisle. I'm on auto pilot. I make my move. I'm walking up behind her. She's wearing jeans. I take a brief glimpse at her ass, and it looks good. I feel both desire and shame. I walk up close to her as she pulls out dog chew bones and hangs them on their racks. My heart is racing. I'm blushing. I blurt it out. "Would you like to go out sometime?" The fear on my face is obvious. I smell of adrenaline and last decade's cologne. She smiles at me. "I have a boyfriend." I stare at the shelf. My voice is weak. "They all do." She laughs curtly. Her service training shows. She's blushing a bit. "Ok, goodbye." I make a feeble gesture of a wave, turn, and head to the check out. It's over. My 6 months of agonizing over how to approach Cailey McMillan ends the most obvious way it could. I make my motives known, and discover her unavailability to me. She's already in a relationship, one that doesn't include me. The dinner was a hit. The wine was even better. I go to the midnight movie. I drink two tall boys at the show. I'm high on two caffeine pills. I've been up since 4 am the day before. The movie is surprisingly good. Russ from European Vacation is the protagonist. His love interest reminds me of Cailey. I take Helen back to her place, drink a rum drink, and fuck the everloving shit out of her. My wounds heal. I am still a man. Fade to black.