Chapter Five
I like comic books.
I like reading about super-heroes and vast struggles between good and evil. I love to draw my own comics, although I have no actual talent whatsoever and will be condemned merely to reading others for the rest of my life. It fails to trouble me too deeply.
What did trouble me was having to walk into The Comic Book Shop (a most aptly named enterprise) with one Mark Nakajima, and show him my real self once inside.
The Comic Book Shop is run by two guys who are a little older than me. They came up with a brilliant idea of making the store much like a regular bookstore, and leased out the space next to theirs in the strip mall, knocked down the dividing wall, and added a small cafe. Customers are more than welcome to sit around, reading comics while drinking cappucinos and eating the fluffiest muffins I've ever had in my life. This undertaking has been fairly successful, and on Wednesdays it's usually crowded with others eager like me to pick up the new issues of their favorite comics. You wouldn't think southeastern Virginia would be the thriving hive of geeks that it is, but upon walking into The Comic Book Shop, there's no doubt left in anyone's mind that the city we live in should be renamed Geek Central.
I explained all this to Mark as we stood outside the glass door, and he nodded rather shyly. I led the way inside and spotted one of the owners working behind the counter. We grew up next door to each other and had been friends for a long time. " 'Ey, Steve!" I cried out to him in a fake Italian accent as I leaned on the other side of the counter from him.
"Rosemary! How's my favorite cooking herb today?" He wrinkled his nose, forcing his glasses up his face. He was skinny, but had well-developed muscles, especially for a nerd like him who rarely went outside. Yet this same nerdiness had inspired him to take up martial arts at an early age, and he held two national kung-fu championships.
"You know, you're not the first one to ask me a similar question today." I smiled brightly and pulled the stack of comics he was pricing over towards me and began flipping through them.
"And here I thought I was an original thinker." Noticing Mark, who was standing two feet behind me looking extremely frightened, he asked, "Who's the square?"
"Square? What is this, Grease?"
"Summer lovin', had me a blast," Steve replied, shrugging. "But look at him? A suit? Totally square." He drew said geometric design in the air with a lazy pointer finger.
I sighed. "He's a doctor. He has a real job, not just farting around reading comics all day."
Finally realizing we were talking about him, Mark took a step forward and held out his hand to Steve. "I'm Mark. Mark Nakajima."
Steve took his hand and grinned at me. I glared back warningly. Steve is fluent in Japanese and like to show off whenever he meets an Asian person, even if they were of Korean descent. Instinct told me Mark wouldn't take too kindly to that, so I made a slicing motion across my neck with my hand. Steve got the hint and simply replied, "Steve Verrazano."
"Oh, like the bridge in New York?" Mark asked, trying to be friendly.
"Exactly." Despite the fact the two seemed to be nothing but politeness, I detected a frosty chill in the air between them that I could not determine the reason for. The fact that they were still shaking hands, each one trying to outgrip the other also supported my hypothesis. At the same time, they released each other and stood in silence for a moment.
"So . . . " I began, eager to end the awkwardness. "What's good today, Steve-o?"
"Oh, well," The glare he had been giving Mark faded and he turned to me, eyes bright. "We finally got in the book collection of that limited series you like."
"Really? Oh, Steve, I love you!" I took the book eagerly as he pulled it out from under the counter. I opened the cover and couldn't help but gasp in amazement. "Steve! You got the limited edition autographed one! Awesome! How much is this?" I instantly deflated, dreams of my paycheck growing small wings and flying away dancing in front of my eyes.
"You still have store credit, Rose, remember when you got mad at Marvel and returned, like, 50 books?"
I vaguely remembered throwing them over the counter and giving poor Steve a bloody nose, but I pretended like I didn't. "Oh, really? That's awesome." I held it to my cheek adoringly, then noticed Mark was staring at me, almost angrily. "What?" I asked innocently.
He looked at me, then slowly turned to look at Steve. He looked back at me, then at Steve. Looked at me, looked at Steve. Then he turned his head to the side and replied, "Nothing."
Depressed, I figured I had really done it now. Really, Rosemary? Freaking out over a book? Way to go, you embarrassed yourself beyond reproach. I felt slightly nauseous. To act that way over something so trivial in front of someone like Mark was the wrong move. I give up. When I go home I'm going to deep fry an entire box of twinkies and eat until they give me a heart attack.
Suddenly, I felt a hand grab my shoulder and push me out of the way roughly. "Holy crap!" A rough voice exclaimed. "Is that a Thaddeus Fott?"
I looked up to see the voice belonged to Mark, who was pointing at an action figure on a shelf behind Steve. "Still in the box? The limited run of 35 figures that contained only 4 fingers on the left hand?"
"What? Oh, yeah." Steve grinned. "Can you believe I got it for free in a grab bag at a convention? Part of my own personal collection."
Mark gave him a serious stare, placing his feet shoulder width apart and crossing his arms. "I'll give you five thousand dollars for it right now."
The look of surprise on Steve's face mirrored my own. Five thousand dollars? Hell, if he's going to throw away five thousand dollars, I could buy a new car, one that worked.
After a moment of hesitation, Steve set his jaw. "Sorry. Not for sale."
Without missing a beat, Mark replied, "Seven thousand."
Steve licked his lips, seriously tempted. The Comic Book Store may have been turning a profit, but I doubted it was anything more than the barest minimum of living expenses. Yet once again, he answered, "Sorry. Not for sale."
Mark seemed ready. "Ten thousand dollars. Right now."
Steve's entire body seemed to waver with longing. He looked at me, a searching expression in his eyes. I held out my hands and urged, "Do it, Steve! That's the Hollywood monies!"
This did seem to cause Steve to make up his mind, but not in the way I expected. "Sorry, bud. Not for sale."
Mark glared at him for a moment, before finally answering "Fine," and stomping off towards the cafe.
I remained at the counter, ready to berate Steve. "You idiot!" I slapped him on the chest. "That's a God awful lot of money, Steven, jeez!"
"Ow! OW!" He cried, rubbing the spot I had hit him. "It's a matter of principle, Rose, Jesus!" He sighed deeply, almost in regret. "Well, at least he passed the test of a true geek."
I raised my eyebrows in question.
"The willingness to spend a stupid amount of money on something that's screwed up." He laughed, and I rolled my eyes and walked over to the small table Mark was sitting at, sipping at his coffee, moping.
"You okay, there, Fott-a-holic?" In insider circles for the old sci-fi series Universe Journeys, "Fott-a-holic" was the term reserved for Thaddeus Fott fans, and it's not a flattering moniker. I pulled my chair out, and the metal made a grinding noise against the tile, causing everyone to stare. Doing my best to ignore them, I sat across from Mark and waited for him to answer my question.
Mark looked up at me, anger and disappointment mixing in his expression. "I've wanted one for years. I can't find it anywhere." He crossed his arms and seemed to be pouting in much the same way a small child would.
"I'm sorry." I've lived the long and trying life of a geek myself, and I felt his pain deeply. "I really am. I don't know why Steve's so stubborn, I've seen him sell out for way less."
There was a long pause before Mark finally replied, "I think I know what his motivation are."
Confused, I replied, "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing." Mark smiled (his third one in the past three days! I felt special!) and pulled the comic out from under my arm. "So what's this all about?" He opened it and flipped through a couple pages, as I babbled endlessly about the plot, the characters, the biography of the writer and artists, without so much as a pause for the slightest intake of air, but Mark seemed to take it all in patiently as he read. When I finally finished, he put the book down and asked bluntly, "So how long have you known Steven?"
"Eh? Oh, since we were little. We went to different schools, because he was Catholic, but we lived right next door to each other and I played with his sisters all the time."
"So you guys are friends, right?"
"Yeah, why?"
"No reason," he took a sip of his cappucino, looking away to the side.
"Hey," I began, wondering about something. "You called him Steven."
"That is his name, isn't it?"
"Well, yeah, but I was callin' him Steve. And that's what he introduced himself as. Come to think of it," I scratched my chin, "You always call me Rosemary, not Rose or Rosie like my friends do."
"Oh, well, I used to be really bad with names and faces, and the only way I broke that trend was to call everyone I meet by their full names and not their nicknames. Now it's just
habit."
"Yeah, but--" Something seemed off. I couldn't figure out what it was, though, and the conversation dropped off into silence.
Awkward silence are the most horrible experiences a human being can have despite being burned alive at the stake covered in Worcestershire sauce. That way, you have to smell your own delicious marination as you died. There is no greater torture.
Man, I was hungry.
My stomach voiced a similar opinion loudly. Why they call the noise it makes a "growl," I'll never know. To me, it sounds more like a squeaky toy exploding in the middle of an earthquake.
"Are you hungry, Rosemary?"
Blushing, I stammered, "Er, no, a little queasy actually." I forced out a weak smile.
"Did you want to go?"
"Yeah, that'd be best." We stood up in unison, pushing our chairs underneath the small table. I waved a farewell to Steve, who returned it cheerily, and we exited the building, standing in front of the door for a moment.
"Say, Rosemary," said Mark. "How about we carpool to work?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, sure, we live so close it wouldn't make any sense not to. We can trade off weeks, I'll drive one week, you drive the next."
"That sounds awesome." I genuinely meant it. In Virginia Beach, the highway goes nowhere important and it takes twenty minutes to go absolutely anywhere. Saving half of my fuel would be a blessing.
"How 'bout we start next week? I'll drive, then you can do the next week."
"Yeah, sure, great." I smiled, and I realized I could see my breath as I breathed out. The temperature must have dropped fifteen degrees since that morning. "Let's go, though, it's freezing."
"Sure."
We each drove our separate cars back home, and I entered my house, grateful for the warmth and surprised to see Celia still there, sitting on my living room floor cross-legged playing video games. My dad was snoozing away in his lounge chair, oblivious to his surroundings.
"Celia! Didn't you have class today?"
"Meh, didn't feel like going." She took a swig of soda from the plastic bottle beside her. "Where you been? I expected you to come home a lot earlier."
"It's Wednesday. Mark and I went to The Comic Book Shop."
"Mark, eh?" She paused her game and looked up at me, grinning out of the side of her mouth. "So, he likes comics, then?"
I shrugged. "I guess so." I sat down on the couch and put my head on my hand. "I'm starving."
"So eat something." Celia replied pragmatically.
"I'm on a diet."
"You won't last a week." She turned back to her game, disinterested, then paused after a moment. "Wait. You went to The Comic Book Shop?"
"Yeah." I idly flipped through the comic I had received earlier.
"Was Steve there?"
"Well, yeah, you know he works Wednesdays."
"So, did he meet Mark?"
"Yeah, what's your point?"
Her grin stretched ear to ear as she once again turned to her game. "Oh, this is going to be fantastic!" She cackled without explaining.
I wrinkled my brow in frustration. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing, nothing at all," came the enigmatic reply. Changing tack, she added, "Starvation diets are bad for you. Eat something."
"Well, it's not like I can exercise with my ankle like this. Look, I'll get something to eat tonight."
"Tonight?" she asked before muttering a curse word at the television screen.
"Yeah." I grinned. There's another reason I love Wednesdays. "Karaoke."
I like comic books.
I like reading about super-heroes and vast struggles between good and evil. I love to draw my own comics, although I have no actual talent whatsoever and will be condemned merely to reading others for the rest of my life. It fails to trouble me too deeply.
What did trouble me was having to walk into The Comic Book Shop (a most aptly named enterprise) with one Mark Nakajima, and show him my real self once inside.
The Comic Book Shop is run by two guys who are a little older than me. They came up with a brilliant idea of making the store much like a regular bookstore, and leased out the space next to theirs in the strip mall, knocked down the dividing wall, and added a small cafe. Customers are more than welcome to sit around, reading comics while drinking cappucinos and eating the fluffiest muffins I've ever had in my life. This undertaking has been fairly successful, and on Wednesdays it's usually crowded with others eager like me to pick up the new issues of their favorite comics. You wouldn't think southeastern Virginia would be the thriving hive of geeks that it is, but upon walking into The Comic Book Shop, there's no doubt left in anyone's mind that the city we live in should be renamed Geek Central.
I explained all this to Mark as we stood outside the glass door, and he nodded rather shyly. I led the way inside and spotted one of the owners working behind the counter. We grew up next door to each other and had been friends for a long time. " 'Ey, Steve!" I cried out to him in a fake Italian accent as I leaned on the other side of the counter from him.
"Rosemary! How's my favorite cooking herb today?" He wrinkled his nose, forcing his glasses up his face. He was skinny, but had well-developed muscles, especially for a nerd like him who rarely went outside. Yet this same nerdiness had inspired him to take up martial arts at an early age, and he held two national kung-fu championships.
"You know, you're not the first one to ask me a similar question today." I smiled brightly and pulled the stack of comics he was pricing over towards me and began flipping through them.
"And here I thought I was an original thinker." Noticing Mark, who was standing two feet behind me looking extremely frightened, he asked, "Who's the square?"
"Square? What is this, Grease?"
"Summer lovin', had me a blast," Steve replied, shrugging. "But look at him? A suit? Totally square." He drew said geometric design in the air with a lazy pointer finger.
I sighed. "He's a doctor. He has a real job, not just farting around reading comics all day."
Finally realizing we were talking about him, Mark took a step forward and held out his hand to Steve. "I'm Mark. Mark Nakajima."
Steve took his hand and grinned at me. I glared back warningly. Steve is fluent in Japanese and like to show off whenever he meets an Asian person, even if they were of Korean descent. Instinct told me Mark wouldn't take too kindly to that, so I made a slicing motion across my neck with my hand. Steve got the hint and simply replied, "Steve Verrazano."
"Oh, like the bridge in New York?" Mark asked, trying to be friendly.
"Exactly." Despite the fact the two seemed to be nothing but politeness, I detected a frosty chill in the air between them that I could not determine the reason for. The fact that they were still shaking hands, each one trying to outgrip the other also supported my hypothesis. At the same time, they released each other and stood in silence for a moment.
"So . . . " I began, eager to end the awkwardness. "What's good today, Steve-o?"
"Oh, well," The glare he had been giving Mark faded and he turned to me, eyes bright. "We finally got in the book collection of that limited series you like."
"Really? Oh, Steve, I love you!" I took the book eagerly as he pulled it out from under the counter. I opened the cover and couldn't help but gasp in amazement. "Steve! You got the limited edition autographed one! Awesome! How much is this?" I instantly deflated, dreams of my paycheck growing small wings and flying away dancing in front of my eyes.
"You still have store credit, Rose, remember when you got mad at Marvel and returned, like, 50 books?"
I vaguely remembered throwing them over the counter and giving poor Steve a bloody nose, but I pretended like I didn't. "Oh, really? That's awesome." I held it to my cheek adoringly, then noticed Mark was staring at me, almost angrily. "What?" I asked innocently.
He looked at me, then slowly turned to look at Steve. He looked back at me, then at Steve. Looked at me, looked at Steve. Then he turned his head to the side and replied, "Nothing."
Depressed, I figured I had really done it now. Really, Rosemary? Freaking out over a book? Way to go, you embarrassed yourself beyond reproach. I felt slightly nauseous. To act that way over something so trivial in front of someone like Mark was the wrong move. I give up. When I go home I'm going to deep fry an entire box of twinkies and eat until they give me a heart attack.
Suddenly, I felt a hand grab my shoulder and push me out of the way roughly. "Holy crap!" A rough voice exclaimed. "Is that a Thaddeus Fott?"
I looked up to see the voice belonged to Mark, who was pointing at an action figure on a shelf behind Steve. "Still in the box? The limited run of 35 figures that contained only 4 fingers on the left hand?"
"What? Oh, yeah." Steve grinned. "Can you believe I got it for free in a grab bag at a convention? Part of my own personal collection."
Mark gave him a serious stare, placing his feet shoulder width apart and crossing his arms. "I'll give you five thousand dollars for it right now."
The look of surprise on Steve's face mirrored my own. Five thousand dollars? Hell, if he's going to throw away five thousand dollars, I could buy a new car, one that worked.
After a moment of hesitation, Steve set his jaw. "Sorry. Not for sale."
Without missing a beat, Mark replied, "Seven thousand."
Steve licked his lips, seriously tempted. The Comic Book Store may have been turning a profit, but I doubted it was anything more than the barest minimum of living expenses. Yet once again, he answered, "Sorry. Not for sale."
Mark seemed ready. "Ten thousand dollars. Right now."
Steve's entire body seemed to waver with longing. He looked at me, a searching expression in his eyes. I held out my hands and urged, "Do it, Steve! That's the Hollywood monies!"
This did seem to cause Steve to make up his mind, but not in the way I expected. "Sorry, bud. Not for sale."
Mark glared at him for a moment, before finally answering "Fine," and stomping off towards the cafe.
I remained at the counter, ready to berate Steve. "You idiot!" I slapped him on the chest. "That's a God awful lot of money, Steven, jeez!"
"Ow! OW!" He cried, rubbing the spot I had hit him. "It's a matter of principle, Rose, Jesus!" He sighed deeply, almost in regret. "Well, at least he passed the test of a true geek."
I raised my eyebrows in question.
"The willingness to spend a stupid amount of money on something that's screwed up." He laughed, and I rolled my eyes and walked over to the small table Mark was sitting at, sipping at his coffee, moping.
"You okay, there, Fott-a-holic?" In insider circles for the old sci-fi series Universe Journeys, "Fott-a-holic" was the term reserved for Thaddeus Fott fans, and it's not a flattering moniker. I pulled my chair out, and the metal made a grinding noise against the tile, causing everyone to stare. Doing my best to ignore them, I sat across from Mark and waited for him to answer my question.
Mark looked up at me, anger and disappointment mixing in his expression. "I've wanted one for years. I can't find it anywhere." He crossed his arms and seemed to be pouting in much the same way a small child would.
"I'm sorry." I've lived the long and trying life of a geek myself, and I felt his pain deeply. "I really am. I don't know why Steve's so stubborn, I've seen him sell out for way less."
There was a long pause before Mark finally replied, "I think I know what his motivation are."
Confused, I replied, "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing." Mark smiled (his third one in the past three days! I felt special!) and pulled the comic out from under my arm. "So what's this all about?" He opened it and flipped through a couple pages, as I babbled endlessly about the plot, the characters, the biography of the writer and artists, without so much as a pause for the slightest intake of air, but Mark seemed to take it all in patiently as he read. When I finally finished, he put the book down and asked bluntly, "So how long have you known Steven?"
"Eh? Oh, since we were little. We went to different schools, because he was Catholic, but we lived right next door to each other and I played with his sisters all the time."
"So you guys are friends, right?"
"Yeah, why?"
"No reason," he took a sip of his cappucino, looking away to the side.
"Hey," I began, wondering about something. "You called him Steven."
"That is his name, isn't it?"
"Well, yeah, but I was callin' him Steve. And that's what he introduced himself as. Come to think of it," I scratched my chin, "You always call me Rosemary, not Rose or Rosie like my friends do."
"Oh, well, I used to be really bad with names and faces, and the only way I broke that trend was to call everyone I meet by their full names and not their nicknames. Now it's just
habit."
"Yeah, but--" Something seemed off. I couldn't figure out what it was, though, and the conversation dropped off into silence.
Awkward silence are the most horrible experiences a human being can have despite being burned alive at the stake covered in Worcestershire sauce. That way, you have to smell your own delicious marination as you died. There is no greater torture.
Man, I was hungry.
My stomach voiced a similar opinion loudly. Why they call the noise it makes a "growl," I'll never know. To me, it sounds more like a squeaky toy exploding in the middle of an earthquake.
"Are you hungry, Rosemary?"
Blushing, I stammered, "Er, no, a little queasy actually." I forced out a weak smile.
"Did you want to go?"
"Yeah, that'd be best." We stood up in unison, pushing our chairs underneath the small table. I waved a farewell to Steve, who returned it cheerily, and we exited the building, standing in front of the door for a moment.
"Say, Rosemary," said Mark. "How about we carpool to work?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, sure, we live so close it wouldn't make any sense not to. We can trade off weeks, I'll drive one week, you drive the next."
"That sounds awesome." I genuinely meant it. In Virginia Beach, the highway goes nowhere important and it takes twenty minutes to go absolutely anywhere. Saving half of my fuel would be a blessing.
"How 'bout we start next week? I'll drive, then you can do the next week."
"Yeah, sure, great." I smiled, and I realized I could see my breath as I breathed out. The temperature must have dropped fifteen degrees since that morning. "Let's go, though, it's freezing."
"Sure."
We each drove our separate cars back home, and I entered my house, grateful for the warmth and surprised to see Celia still there, sitting on my living room floor cross-legged playing video games. My dad was snoozing away in his lounge chair, oblivious to his surroundings.
"Celia! Didn't you have class today?"
"Meh, didn't feel like going." She took a swig of soda from the plastic bottle beside her. "Where you been? I expected you to come home a lot earlier."
"It's Wednesday. Mark and I went to The Comic Book Shop."
"Mark, eh?" She paused her game and looked up at me, grinning out of the side of her mouth. "So, he likes comics, then?"
I shrugged. "I guess so." I sat down on the couch and put my head on my hand. "I'm starving."
"So eat something." Celia replied pragmatically.
"I'm on a diet."
"You won't last a week." She turned back to her game, disinterested, then paused after a moment. "Wait. You went to The Comic Book Shop?"
"Yeah." I idly flipped through the comic I had received earlier.
"Was Steve there?"
"Well, yeah, you know he works Wednesdays."
"So, did he meet Mark?"
"Yeah, what's your point?"
Her grin stretched ear to ear as she once again turned to her game. "Oh, this is going to be fantastic!" She cackled without explaining.
I wrinkled my brow in frustration. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing, nothing at all," came the enigmatic reply. Changing tack, she added, "Starvation diets are bad for you. Eat something."
"Well, it's not like I can exercise with my ankle like this. Look, I'll get something to eat tonight."
"Tonight?" she asked before muttering a curse word at the television screen.
"Yeah." I grinned. There's another reason I love Wednesdays. "Karaoke."
