Plastics

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock

Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring

Snowin' and blowin' up bushels of-

The figure jerked, arm slipping out to blindly fumble against the top of the end table for the phone, grasping it at last to pull it beneath the sheets with her. ‘Why the fuck,’ Courtney wondered, finally managing to silence the offending device, ‘did I set my alarm to Christmas music?’ Her task complete, Courtney pushed the phone back out of the covers, setting it unceremoniously back onto the end table before retreating back under the blanket and closing her eyes once more, thankful for the reprieve.

A reprieve that was not meant to last, as barely a minute or so passed before the second, backup alarm started to sound. She let out a groan and pushed herself into a sitting position, glaring balefully at the device before letting out a sigh of surrender and pushing herself back into a sitting position. ‘You win, you fucking thing.’

Once the second alarm was silenced she sat her phone back down and got up, eyes drifting toward the other side of her bed. It was empty, just like it had been every morning for way too long now. Just like half the closet and the top drawer of the medicine cabinet and-

‘Don’t think about that. Too much to do.’

So she pushed down those thoughts and got to work, gingerly stepping across a floor strewn with bits of cloth and strips of fabric; over discarded samples and a few too many empty to-go containers. She paused briefly to run her eyes over the feminine dress form taking up an entire corner in the small apartment. ‘At least you’ll never leave me.’

Right. Not thinking about it.

The shower, miracles of miracles, actually had hot water, though she didn’t stay in there too long out of respect for her neighbors and her own time table. She did come out of the apartment’s small bathroom fully refreshed and ready to take on the day.

There was a message on her phone.

“Hey, I need you to come in early.”

Fuck.

—

Of all the stores in the Pacific Place Shopping Center, Dillards certainly was one of them. Specifically, it was the one where Courtney stood at a counter 6 hours a day taking money from insipid idiots who wouldn’t know how to match fabric to skin tone if their lives depended on it - not that Courtney would ever tell any of them that to their faces. Not if she wanted to keep the part time job, anyway.

“Thank you, and have a nice day!” she called after the retreating back of the latest colorblind patron. The customer in question stepped out of the store, bag full of overpriced clothing clutched in hand - and Courtney let her shoulders drop. ‘Finally.’

Her stomach grumbled. Quarter hour longer till she could bug her boss about lunch, and not a customer in sight-

“Oh hey, Court,” a voice called, and Courtney’s shoulders somehow dropped even further.

‘Fuck.’ “Hello, Brandon.” Brandon. AKA the asshole who worked concessions at the AMC two doors down.

“Thought I’d see if you wanted to catch a movie after your shift.”

“I’m gay, Brandon.”

His smile faltered. “I heard you broke up.” 

Courtney’s fingers dug into the counter. “That doesn’t change my sexuality. Not interested.”

He frowned before but finally wandered off, mumbling the whole time about getting blown off. Courtney watched him go.

“Wagner! A smiling employee attracts customers!” her boss snapped, and Courtney jumped.

Fuck.

—

‘Should have just eaten my sandwich,’ she mumbled to herself as she poked at her chinese food. She’d packed one, only to leave it forgotten inside of the break room fridge. She’d needed to get away.

The mall was… well, it was a mall in the age of Amazon. It wasn’t crowded, at least, not shoulder to shoulder, though it was busy .

Wait another week, when online retailers would start to move past their guaranteed-by-Christmas delivery dates - then the mall will be crowded.

“Excuse me,” a voice asked. 

A woman. A pretty woman, her own age, smiling at her. Courtney swallowed. “Yes?”

“Is anyone using this chair?”

Oh.

Courtney shook her head, and the woman took the chair, dragging it over a few feet to join another already crowded table. Courtney looked back at her food.

Fuck.

–

It was raining on the commute home.

Because of course it was.

It wasn’t that Courtney minded the rain. Truth is, most of the time she loved it. It was just today, in particular, when the rain felt like nothing more than some strange culmination of her entire mood; the period at the end of the sentence that was her life of late. Life sucks, let it rain.

And then, sometimes, delivery drivers will leave packages leaning up against the building when the cluster mailbox is right there -

‘It’s a miracle this wasn’t stolen.’ Courtney mused as she held up the box, her name and address brightly visible. Miracle. It wasn’t stolen because it was storming like mad. The box was soaked through and one drop more away from collapsing.

Sighing once again, Courtney pulled open the door before beginning the long climb to her apartment on the 4th floor, box clutched under one arm-

Cardboard died. Her purchase, a roll of fabric she was needing for a project, fell through and plopped against the floor.

“Fuuuuuccc-”

It wasn’t until her foot made contact with the wall in frustration that Courtney realized her internal scream had made its way external, but then she was hopping back in pain because she kicked a fucking wall and the ground’s slick and she’s on the staircase and-

A hand shot out just as she started to fall, balancing her and allowing her to catch herself. “Whoa! Are you ok?”

Courtney looked up at the speaker, heart pounding. Her blue eyes met with brown eyes underneath brown hair; a girl’s face. One almost familiar looking, though Courtney couldn’t place it. “Yeah, sorry. Just… shit day.” Her foot hurt.

The woman nodded. “I get that. Work? School? Love?”

“All three,” she croaked, then shook her head, unsure why she was spilling to a stranger. She had to be more out of it than she thought. “Sorry, I-” She pointed past the woman, up the stairs leading toward her apartment. “I need to go.”

The woman nodded, scooting past Courtney on her way down. Courtney stood aside, eyes locked on the woman as she tried to identify where she knew her from. She was tall an - it was hard to tell exactly how tall on the stairs, but Courtney had to guess 5’8” or 5’ 9”. Realizing she was staring, Courtney tore her gaze away before finally shaking her head in defeat and bending down to pick up her package.

“Nice seeing you again, Courtney!” The woman called, and Courtney stopped, stumbled, spun.

The woman was gone.