Bandana Girl

Sequel to "A Part Of My Life"


Into The Beat

I am so bored. The day has been so slow and so hot. The cashiers
are just lounging around letting me and the two other courtesy clerks
do the work. Lazy bums.

"Hi." I blink and focus on the blurry guy in front of me. He looks
familiar. "Remember me?" he asked with a sheepish smile. No, I
don't tall and handsome. Perhaps, if you step back so I don't break
my neck looking up at you, I might recognize you. "I was with those
guys the other day," he mumbled.

Guys? An image of a guy with nice hair and some other guys giving
me looks pops into my mind. That had been weeks ago. Oh, he was
that nice one.

I must have done something, because he's looking down at me
fearfully. He stumbles over his tongue, spitting on me a bit. Finally
he gets out, "I'm sorry about the way they acted," That's so sweet!
His eyes move around frantically, as if he's looking for an escape.
Aw, cute, just like a bunny.

He steps back cautiously. "Well, yeah, I have to go now," he tells
me, then darts away. Weird. I guess it's the uniform. Guys dig
chicks in uniforms. They usually run away from my-hot-self, too.

I should have worn deodorant.

When I get home, Becca is fussing with Dad about taking the TV in
her room with her to her new apartment. Dad fusses back and they
both throw hissy fits. Doors slam on both sides of the house and all
is quiet now. I wonder if my family would make a good TV show.
They entertain me and I even live with them.

The quiet is ripped away, when I crank my pop-rock music on. I
doodle in my sketchpad. Soon I have enough doodles and bubble
word signs to cover my door completely. I tape the papers on and
admire my art. It is the best. It speaks volumes and breaks down
social barriers and solves world hunger. All the bubble signs say the
same thing. Keep Out - Guard Dog On Duty.

"Look, Frog!" I squeak in a high happy voice. Frog wags her tail on
my bed. I repeat this until Frog is howling and clawing at the door in
hysterics. She's a cute chihuahua. Black back and white and brown
on the face and legs. The green collar I bought her has a frog charm
dangling from it.

"Come eat!" Mom calls.

I eat a bit of the food, then go to my room and give the rest to Frog.
I draw her. Soon I'm bored. Loud voices erupt in the house. I go
watch Mom and Dad and Becca all verbally duke it out. It's about the
TV again. Mom plays arbitrator. "We don't need it," she kept telling Dad.
He huffed and puffed.

His temper and patience were gone after another few minutes of yelling.

"FINE!" he snarled and stomped into his and Mom's bedroom. And he
was out the door to see a movie or buy coffee.

I follow him. "Can I go?" I ask. This was new. I never went with him
anywhere. He grumbles to himself a bit and agrees. He seems happy that
I want to go. If you call huffing and puffing and gripping the steering-
wheel like it's the neck of something he hates happy.

I run in and grab some shoes and socks and my purse. My money is in the
purse, that's why I need it. Besides, it's so cute and fits me. I hop in the car,
shutting the door. Off we go!

The scenery is pretty where I live. Big clouds stand like mountains on the
horizon. Leaves tinkle on the trees, almost like gold jewelry I've seen on
women in the Middle East. Grass in the vacant lots rush like waves. The
tires hum against the road, making me inch toward the radio dial.

"No!" Dad snaps with a lot of teeth. He doesn't care too much for my music,
I guess. Or sound. I need my music, the beat of it. I snap the radio on and
punch a number. He ignores my pop-rock music about daring girls and
heartbroken girls and heart-stealing girls.

At the coffee place in town he orders, in a foreign language. At least it's
foreign to me. Vendi moochi frappa-something. What is that? Water and tea
are the only thing I understand on the menu. And hot chocolate. I should get
that.

Dad makes the decision for me. "The same for her, too," he tells the Asian
guy behind the counter. I should work here, I think, staring at the guy. Dad
walks over to a quaint little table. My, what darling chairs! I'm turning into
one of the weird people that do what I just thought.

I sit with him and watch the people in the room. They're weird, just sitting
there talking about nothing, smoking, drinking coffee. It looks boring. Why
would anyone want to sit around talking about whatever it is they're talking
about? Dad drums his fingers on the table. He has good rhythm. Annoying,
but good.

"Austin," I cringe at my own name, "what have you been up to lately?" he
asks. I mumble vaguely about work and a party someone I know was
having last week that I didn't get to go to. More like didn't want to go to.
The girl was a beer, drugs, and make out party type. No kegs for me,
check please!

He started complaining about Mom and Becca and the TV. I'm getting sick
of hearing about it. Luckily, he spots our moochias or whatever and fetches
them. I sniff mine. It's sweet and icy. I taste it. It's chocolatey, too.

My moochowia or whatever is soon gone, while Dad's isn't even halfway
empty. "You're supposed to savor it," he tells me as I lick what's left. I
grunt.

We didn't have any heart-to-heart talks that night, but I think we bonded.
Just a little. I kinda see why those people sit up there all day now drinking
coffee. It's nice just to be with other people and kick back.


Notes:

This chapter was fun to write. Notice that it's way longer than the others. I may have another sequel to this sequel. Isn't that great!? See, the emotion is building in the story. Becca still remains mysterious. And the bandana? Oh, yes, the bandana. I forgot about it.

Review now.