by Laura Tesar
Carol had that feeling again. Warmly, it snaked up through her body, leaving something like stone embedded in her tissues. Behind her eyes felt moist and her mind felt devoid of everything, like a "for rent" sign should be sticking out of her ear. Too much silence, Carol concluded. She pushed the play button on her stereo. Angry American music blasted from the speakers, heavy bass guitar thump underlined by a broken voice. Three songs passed and still she could feel it. She paced the room. She stopped in front of her closet, opened the door and toyed with her clothes. Carol loved the feel of soft material against her skin. Words like cashmere and silk excited her and gave her a soft fuzzy feeling. Carol knew what to do now.
Transparent princess phone in hand, she flopped on her bed. She dialled her best friend. Got voice mail: "You've reached Becky's voice mail. Please leave a short message. I'd love to hear from you unless you're Mathew. If you're Mathew please hang up and never ever phone again." (beep)
"Time to shop. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. " Carol was sure Becky was just screening her calls. She always did whenever her and Mathew had a fight. Most likely she was sitting around her house moping and maybe trying to find a spell to hex him.
Fifteen minutes later Carol pulled up in front of Becky's house. Becky was waiting outside on the step, hunched over a book. Carol honked the horn. Becky jumped a little, glared and walked over to the car. "I knew you were here," she said, "I just wanted to finish going over this spell. Do you think you could get some of Mathew''s pubic hair for me? I really don''t want to have to see him again."
"Eeww. Why would you want that? Can't you just make a voodoo doll or something?"
"Not if I want him to spend the rest of his life as a lonely bald man with a miniscule dick," Becky said with a curt nod.
"Oh, you don't want that. What happens when you get back together?"
"It's definitely over."
"Whatever. We're going to the mall by the way."
"Like there was ever a doubt. You''ve been spending lots of money lately. What''s up?"
"I'm tired of me. I need to redo my wardrobe. It's totally twentieth century."
Minutes later Carol entered the mall. She took a deep breath, and allowed the atmosphere to wash over her. Soft music hummed from the speakers, barely audible above the swarming voices of happy shoppers. Carol glided through the crowds and into a clothing store. She let her hand move over the clothes on the racks until something felt particularly appealing. In this instance a fluffy wool sweater caught the attention of her hand. It was an immediate must have. Credit card in hand, she purchased it without even trying it on. The feeling was especially strong today.
"I thought you were trying to update your wardrobe? Wool isn't very twenty-first century,"" Becky said as she mindlessly scanned the crowd.
"True, I can't seem to give up the classics. That''s why you're here to make sure I only buy man-made materials, and you''ve failed me Becky. Where were you when I bought this thing?"
Becky rolled her eyes and entered a music shop. Carol followed eagerly. Why hadn't she came here first? she thought, music is what she needed to drown out the silence. Instead of heading to the heavy metal section, which was so nineteen-eighties, and not even in the good way, she headed for the dance/pop section. She bought all the recent CD's she saw lining her friends CD racks. Maybe it was possible that cheery music could help, she thought, she'd never tried that. Ten CD's later, at Becky's insistence they left the store and sat down in the food court, fruit smoothies in hand.
"You need to cool that Visa. I swear I saw smoke in the music shop," slurp, "So tell me what''s really up."
Carol stared, her mouth puckering. "I hate the way I feel. I'm just so tired of everything about me. I'm so ugh. I just need something new.""
"New. Well then shopping is what you need. We'll spend the day reinventing Carol. A new look. It'll be fun"" slurp, slurp. "That should make you feel better. I was just reading a magazine and there's this whole revival of nineteen-forties fashion. We'll definitely have to get you a pair of stockings with one of those seams running up the back. Those are awesome."
Carol nodded. "But I wanted to get clothes that were twenty-first century. Something to say I'm here and now. Something to say I'm new."
Becky rolled her eyes. "Don''t you know anything? The twenty-first century is all about the past. I mean look around you, when was the last time you saw something totally new? Everything is just a copy, and when you think about it, how many new styles can they come up with? There are only so many materials and cuts. The whole thing is to update the past, take a style and use a different material or colour. Besides, retro is so in, and you can get great clothes at second hand stores for cheap, once you get the essentials."
A few minutes later Carol and Becky began scanning the stores. Most were still heavily stocked with nineteen-seventies inspired clothing, but according to Becky "that was so last year." Only the high-end fashion stores carried the first hints of the next wave in fashion. Carol cringed at the prices, but the feeling was still there. She couldn't help herself. She bought dresses,skirts and blouses , not to mention accessories, like hats and gloves.
The encouraging voice of the saleswoman and Becky's insistence that she looked "totally awesome" kept her shopping. The clothes were beautiful.She felt glamorous in them. The saleswoman said she looked like Maureen O'Hara. She twirled in front of the mirror. She thought she saw the resemblance too, a little anyways. In the clothes and among the gasps of delight from the salespeople she felt, for a second, powerful. But when she was alone in the dressing room the feeling from before returned, hollowing her insides.
Three hours later, utterly exhausted, hands full of bags, Carol couldn't shop anymore. The limit on all three of her credit cards was exhausted she was sure, and she didn't dare think about the bills.
"We have to make one last stop," said Becky, despite Carol's groan.
"Where? I definitely have enough clothes."
"Not for you, for me. I want to see if the bookstore has any spell books. You refuse to get me any of Mathew's pubic hair, so I have to find a new spell."
"Oh alright."
Carol followed Becky into the bookstore, but she let Becky go ahead to the metaphysical section alone. Carol sat down on a chair just inside the store. She felt like crying. She wondered what was wrong with hers. She was confused and tired. She wondered if she was premenstrual, then chastised herself for buying into the stereotype, but still considered a quick Midol stop.
The sign on the shelf in front of her read self-help. Carol shuddered as she observed the hordes of middle-aged self-help junkies pass by the shelves and pick up books titled: 12 Steps To A More Proactive Life, Knowing the Inner U and One Day My Heart Opened Up.
As she scanned the shelves she became --much to her shame-- intrigued by a small book with a white cover that had brightly coloured stripes shooting up from its base in what Carol supposed was a rainbow. It had one word across the middle in large yellow graffiti-style letters: BORED?
Carol found herself fixated on it. Could that be what she was feeling? Was she bored? It didn''t make sense. She couldn''t be bored. She was always doing something: shopping, watching TV, listening to music, painting or something. Even so Carol couldn't help herself. She picked up the book and began thumbing through it. It was written by a Dr. Winston Van House, who had written a whole line of books which had received celebrity praise. According to the jacket of the book, he'd even done the talk show circuit. Carol decided to buy it before anyone saw her with it, especially Becky, who she knew would laugh at her.
Carol hid the book in one of her other bags. She then went in search of Becky, whom she found intensely pouring over a dark red book called Love Spells.
"I thought you wanted to put a curse on him."
Becky looked up. ""I do. This book has a whole chapter devoted to lovespurned and ways of getting even. Most of the spells need a personal item and I burned all of his stuff in my purging ritual. I'm so mad at myself. I should have thought ahead. It's all useless. Unless...Do you think you might reconsider?"
"I'm telling you make a voodoo doll, cause there is no way I am getting close enough to him to pluck pubic hair or anything of the sort, best friend or not."
Becky slumped her shoulders and flipped a few more pages before shutting the book with a thud. "You're right. I'll make a voodoo doll. There is some satisfaction in sticking him with pins."
"You could just let it go," said Carol.
"I will. This is just a step in the healing process. It makes me feel better to vent my anger."
"As long as you don't actually start sticking him with pins I guess you're still okay."
"Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind. So you're feeling happy again nowthat you've got your new look?"
"Definitely," Carol said with a small smile. "It was just what I needed."
Carol dropped Becky off at her house. The thought of going home grated on her nerves. She didn't want to be alone. She steered her car out of the city. In the country everything seemed alive. Fields of yellow canola stretched out in every direction, shimmering with the movement of the breeze. Carol unrolled her window and let the wind slap against her face. She felt quiet.
Carol decided to go down to the river. She'd never been there alone. She pulled into a camping spot. There was no one around but she could hear splashing and shouts just downriver. A thick stand of spruce trees surrounded her. It was a bit creepy to be all alone, but she didn't know where else to be. She grabbed the book and went to sit on a log by the river. She sat the book beside her, not sure she actually wanted to read it. In hermind only a certain kind of person read self-help books, and Carol didn't consider herself one of those people. Those people were mouse like librarian types who were scared of their shadow, or washed up housewives or potbellied men having a midlife crisis at the sight of their hair washing down the drain. But the book seemed to call to her. She peeked at it out of the corner of her eye as she skipped stones across the river.
There was no one around to see her, she argued with herself, so she picked it up and scanned the table of contents. There were sections like "What is Boredom?" "Dealing with the Grey" and "Take Charge of Your Life. "Carol sighed. She decided to start at the beginning: preface, introduction, chapter one. She was impatient after the lengthy introduction and found herself skimming chapter one, "What is Boredom?" In the chapter therewas a "causes" section. This caught her attention, and she began reading the list. Under number three: lazy imagination, was the word loneliness. It jumped out at her. The feeling that was always there just below the surface jolted intensely in recognition. Carol's breathe caught in her throat. She couldn't understand how she could be lonely. She had friends. She had a best friend. She had a boyfriend. She had family that called on Sundays. But when she thought about them she felt empty, she felt alone.
Mostly Carol realized it was because she didn't care about fashion or music or movies or sports or books or any of the things that interested her friends. Even so she knew about them all. It was all they ever talked about.
Carol stiffened. She didn't feel real. She pretended to care about all those things that others cared about. She guessed she wanted to fit in, but that wasn't exactly true. Carol stared blankly ahead. The reason she pretended interest in things that weren't important to her was because she didn't know what to care about. Everything around her seemed like garbage. It was all surface. Carol felt like she didn't know anyone, not even herself. Everything in her life was about being just right and she didn't feel just right.
Carol shuddered. She felt cold and silent. She didn't know what to do or if she wanted to do anything. She gave herself over to the loneliness. But she couldn't remain still, Carol felt restless. She walked to her car, needing to drive.
Forty-five minutes later she found herself in front of the mall. Carol had the urge to find something warm and soft. Credit card in hand she walked into the mall with a vision of a soft pastel cashmere sweater in her head. She knew it would make her feel warm and beautiful, and right then it was all she wanted to feel.