“Text Purity,” I said.
We walk through the crowds, and there must be some hidden rule that says everyone else in the park must walk the other way as the way we’re walking. It’s like a never-ending scene of little kids with cotton candy prizes and silly optimistic looks on their faces like Six Flags was heaven itself to an eight year old.
“What should I text her?”
“Text her..that I’ve been up for a week snorting meth and my one night’s sleep is catching up with me. I’m getting tired. And when I get tired I get cranky. And I don’t want to get cranky around you two because I like you.”
Clarity laughs.
“No, I’m serious.”
Clarity says: “I don’t want to sound bossy, but it seems like you have sort of a..or that you’re a..I mean it’s none of my business but why are you—”
“A drug addict?”
“Basically.”
“Just text Purity.”
Clarity starts punching away at her phone.
“She says she can’t come now.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re taking more pictures.”
“More pictures? Just for that guy in Florida to jack off to? I’m telling you. I’ve been living out here for a while and I know this culture a little bit better now. That guy is sitting in Orlando with his shades drawn and he’s jerking off to all those low-res pictures Cheryl is sending him of your sister. Until he finds the picture that he decides is worth getting off to, Purity won’t get the job.”
“You are extremely jaded.”
“Come on, it’s Disney.”
“Six Flags is owned by Disney?”
“Don’t bother me with details.”
“What do you want me to tell Purity.”
“I don’t know. That I’m a drug addict and I’m tired and I’m cold and I like hanging out with you—Clarity—but I think we need to bring the day to a close before I turn into a pumpkin or something. Am I mixing metaphors?”
Clarity stops walking.
“You’re cold?”
“Yes,” I say, like a baby.
“Ok, we can fix that,” she says.
“We can?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t think it’s silly that I’m cold?”
“You mean even though it’s like 70 degrees out here?”
“Right.”
“Of course not. I’m from Arizona, remember! I get you. Now come on. Come. On. This way. We’ll go to the gift shop and buy sweatshirts.”
And that’s what we did. We trekked all the way back to the front of the park to the main gift shop and as we stood at the open doors I said to Clarity:
“You don’t think this is silly?”
“What?”
“Buying a sweatshirt just for one day.”
“Who cares? You can afford it.”
“Are you getting one?”
“I don’t know what I’m getting. We’re going to split up now. Go find what you need and meet me at the register.”
I wandered around this gift shop, which had zillions of kinds of sweatshirts and my only task was to pick the one whose branding most represented me as a person and that I’d be comfortable wearing. I wanted a hoodie. I wanted something with a zipper. The zipper was out of the question—all of these were pullovers. I could be Winnie the Pooh or simply Piglet or I could be Wicked or I could be the worm from Alice in Wonderland, which I thought made sense given that he was a drug addict, too.
I watched Clarity from across the shop, looked at her pockmarked face, not smooth like Purity’s. I looked at her brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail, and watched her hold clothing up to her body, revealing her breasts.
She didn’t look at me the entire time. She didn’t look in my direction. I don’t know if there is such a thing as love at first sight but I know for sure that there’s such a thing as crush at first sight. Less and less I thought about my sweatshirt and more and more I thought about getting some trinket for Clarity..a keychain or a necklace or something just to say I enjoyed hanging out with you today.