Serendipity

I’ve never been much of a comic book fan. I don’t typically enjoy anything that's made-up; I like to stay rooted in reality - otherwise you get your hopes up. Despite my distaste for fantasy, I routinely visit Comics and More! every Saturday morning at nine-forty. That’s forty minutes after they open, so I’m not obnoxiously arriving as the doors are being unlocked, but still early enough that the less-than-spacious store has less than five customers inside.

There’s a section in the back left where there are a couple heavily-used bean bag chairs, a small shelf with a lava lamp resting atop and an old lame sales poster that reads “Fantasy for YOU!” with a picture of Superman imitating Uncle Sam. The store’s layout allows for a clear path of vision to the checkout counter from The Comic Corner, so I usually remain here until my mom calls to tell me she’s home from the gym around eleven-fifteen. She’ll also be sure to say, “I wish you would have come with me!” I might consider her invitation an endearing attempt to spend more quality time with me if she didn’t regularly purchase my clothes one size too small and tell me it’s ‘motivation.’

The typical patrons of Comics and More! are divided into two strict categories - middle aged divorced dads and adolescent boys who are waiting on their mother to finish grocery shopping next door. So, unlike any other time in my life, I stand out here. Although, the look of confusion that I receive from the other customers likely has little to do with my lack of male genitalia. I don’t blame them for their puzzlement - I’m a sixteen year old girl reading an Understanding Basic Physics book alone in the corner of a comic book store on a Saturday morning. It’s a confusing sight.

As much as I enjoy confusing strangers by my existence, that’s not why I come to this store every Saturday morning. I started this weekly ritual about two months ago after I accidentally discovered its existence while searching for a public restroom. In case you’re ever in Metasis, Nebraska and forgot that you’re lactose intolerant - don’t go looking for refuge in Comics and More!. Especially if you also have severe social anxiety and upon realizing there is no public restroom your decided route of action is to awkwardly sit in the corner on a leather chair manufactured thirty years before you were born and desperately try to fart silently.

Now when I walk into Comics and More!, I’m there for the same purpose as any other customer - to divulge in a fantasy. Except my fantasy doesn’t wear a cape, or fight villains and doesn’t exist in fictional delusions. My fantasy wears vintage band t-shirts, silently mouths the words while reading and works at a comic book store on Saturdays.

***

This morning I woke up late. My routine Saturday morning wake-up call never burdened my ears with her bellow.

“Mom?” I cry out with a tinge of urgency. No response.

“MOOOM?”

This time my tone is clearly riddled with annoyance. Bfffft bffft - was that my phone? Where even IS my phone? Not ready to get up yet, I lazily feel underneath my pillow hoping that I had put it there to charge last night. My hand’s journey across my silk sheets was disrupted by a cold, hard block. Ah, I did remember to charge it. My floral lockscreen is crowded with notifications.

Mostly promotions for online stores, a weather alert, one comment on my TikTok, a Snapchat from my Elementary School best friend Auburn and one text from ‘Birth Giver’ that reads, “I’m in my room. Not feeling great. Skipping Malinda’s & the gym today. Love you.” Weird. I’ve seen my mother go to the gym with a fever of one hundred one. She must REALLY be sick.

Missing my wake-up call has thrown me way out of sorts. My mind is hyper focused on making it to Comics and More! before my corner has been claimed by prepubescents. I got out of bed in such a frantic rush that I barely even remember getting ready. While pulling down the hem of my shirt over my bit of exposed belly, I reach for my keys with my unoccupied hand.

This morning my galaxy keychain has the company of my mother’s bedazzled Mercedes-Benz key. Screw my Jeep - it’s not like she’s planning on going anywhere anyway. As if I wasn’t feeling rushed enough, the analog clock on my mother’s dashboard reads nine-thirty and with each passing second releases what feels like an alarm rather than a tick to my anxious brain.

Fuck. Those stupid kids are gonna take my bean bag.

As I pull into the parking lot, I can feel my heartbeat thumping in my throat. I’m only twenty minutes later than I usually am, but I can’t help to feel as though I’ve lost a millennia of my favorite passing moments. I park my mother’s car in the far back of the parking lot where there are no other cars to potentially damage hers, flip that damn analog clock the finger and finally start to head inside to my Saturday oasis.

The air inside Comics and More! welcomes me with its crisp embrace and familiar old-book scent. Instantly, the nerves that were vibrating my entire body go still in a calmful bliss.

“Uhhh, what are you doing here right now?” a familiar voice asks. My heart returns to its home up north and my briefly calm nerves begin buzzing - I didn’t notice at first, but there’s no other customers in here.

“Over here.” the voice says again - probably in response to my clearly confused state. My gaze darts toward the direction of the checkout counter where the voice is coming from. My eyes lock with a pair of bright green eyes just barely poking over the countertop.

“Umm, what are YOU doing THERE right now?” I hear my own voice respond. Those grand green globes narrow and rise to meet my level - remaining locked with mine. My fantasy is now colliding with my reality. Breaking our eye contact, he turns away from me and deadbolts the front door… Oh God. Maybe this is my nightmare colliding with my reality instead. What the fuck is happening today?

“There’s a tornado warning, you don’t know?” He says with a dumbfounded tone.

Still completely frozen standing between him and The Comic Corner, I turn my head to look outside and realize the sky is scattered with gray. I turn back towards him to see he’s still looking at me with a slight upward slant on the right side of his lip.

“Oh. No, I didn’t.” An embarrassed snort follows my words.

He lets my words linger between us for a few seconds and then erupts into a laughter that I could listen to forever. Holding his stomach with one hand, he catches his breath and says, “Wow.

You’re checked out of reality, aren’t you?” Ha, how ironic.

Shrugging my shoulders, I let out a cheeky chuckle and informed him, “Mostly just the last couple of months.”

***

It’s been thirty minutes of silence and mindless social media scrolling. The weather notification I neglected to check this morning said the Metasis and surrounding areas are under a severe tornado warning until two in the afternoon. Not a single word has been spoken by either of us since our brief exchange when I first got here. My nose has been buried in my phone, and his nose has been buried in a red spiral notebook sloppily labeled ‘PSYCH 101’ in black permanent marker. Every so often I’d sneak a glance at him, but never long enough to get caught. Suddenly, my phone screen is the only source of light in the room - illuminating my ever-present double chin.

“Awh, man. Not the power.” I hear from under the counter, followed by what I'm pretty sure was a whimper.

“Are you okay over there?” I ask, equally curious and concerned. Rather than a response, I hear a shuffling moving across the carpet in my direction.

“Not really.” His voice is now much closer and startles me.

“I’m sure it will come back on once they pass.” I attempt to reassure him.

The bean bag next to me squeaks from him shifting. Now that my eyes have adjusted to the dark

I can see his perfect silhouette sitting right next to me.

“What’s your name? I’ve just been calling you Physics Girl in my head.” In his head? He thinks about me?

“Physics Girl? That sounds like the lamest superhero ever.” I say with a slight laugh.

“It’s Amelia. What’s yours?” I hadn’t realized until now that I have been calling him ‘my fantasy’ for two months. This whole time I hadn’t even given him a nickname.

“Samuel.” His name leaves his lips and brands itself onto my brain. Samuel. Samuel. I don’t know how, but his name feels familiar.

“Holy shit. HOLY SHIT. It’s in the parking lot. Amelia. Oh my God.” Samuel panics.

Through the glass of the front door I see the tiniest tornado in Nebraska’s history touched down in the parking lot. Samuel grabs my hand in his state of panic and each atom in my body seized all movement. Unlike my clothes, his hand is a perfect fit.

Hand in hand, we watch the tornado tease us from behind a fragile glass door. I’m not sure if he even realizes he’s holding my hand like a teen girl watching a horror flick, but it’s all that I can focus on. His grasp is tight enough that I can feel his pulse against my thumb indicating me of every beat. Thump, thump, thump, thu-, “Why do you come here?” His question breaks my focus on his internal melody.

“Oh, uh. Well,” I cannot possibly tell him the truth, but I also don’t want to lie.

“I just enjoy the space.” Not a complete lie, but definitely not the full truth. I can live with that.

His thumb begins to rotate in slow, small circles on top of mine and he takes a deep inhale, “You know, I was gonna put my two week resignation in a couple months ago. They were offering me thirteen dollars an hour to bag groceries next door.” I’m not sure how much he makes here, probably minimum wage, so that’s an enticing offer - especially for a college student.

“Why didn’t you? What happened?” I regret asking because as soon as I do he removes his hand from mine.

“You did.” his voice hushed, “When you walked in here that first Saturday, but especially when you kept coming back.” Oh God, please don’t let this be a dream. Please.

“You never said anything to me. I didn’t think you really noticed.” I admit.

“Ha! You never brought anything to the counter.” he jokes. I laugh under my breath - I guess he’s right.

His silhouette leaves my side and returns to the counter, “If you ever had, you’d know the emergency light switch is over here.” The power returns, revealing his boyish grin and worn out

Metallica t-shirt. I stand up as if I’m about to say something back, but my mind goes absolutely blank. “Why did you cut the lights off?” I’m playing dumb and we both know it.

He cocks his head still smeared with a grin and closes the distance between us. “Sometimes you just need some proper motivation.” He answers while taking my hand in his again. I simply smile at him in a state of disbelief.

“Amelia,” his fingers intertwined with mine, “We live in Nebraska. I’m not afraid of a ‘lil tornado.” I released the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and laughed.

“Samuel,” I counter back, “I don’t really enjoy this space.” My one free hand gesturing to The Comic Corner and returning to my side to meet the hem of my shirt - which, somehow, now sits at the perfect length.