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I’m pretty sure Confucius was the one who said that, so it had to be true.
The first hour or so of work went by pretty quick. Between stressing about Ryan liking-liking me as if I were a sixth grader all over again and also dealing with the morning crowd that tended to pack the grocery store, the minutes ticked by faster than usual.
After that hour was when things took a sharp turn into “what the actual fuck”-ville.
It started when Walter came through the store entrance, walking straight toward my lane. No one was in line to check out, so he came up directly in front of me, looking slightly nervous behind his thick-rimmed brown glasses. His hair fell down across his forehead, and his clothes looked quickly thrown on—an old high school T-shirt and a pair of paint-stained cargo shorts that should have been outlawed long ago.
Ryan didn’t think Walter was my stalker, but that didn’t stop my pulse from spiking. He triggered a fight-or-flight response in me for some reason.
“Hi,” he said, his voice meek, eyes dropped to his hands fisted in front of him. “I, um, don’t think we’ve ever really talked.”
“No, we haven’t.” I really wished I had one of those bank-teller buttons underneath my register. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off here. It certainly didn’t help that the guy I thought was my stalker showed up at my workplace unannounced.
“I just wanted to apologize.” He brought his gaze up in time to catch the surprise flashing across my face. “That detective, Ryan, he talked to me. I didn’t—shit, Elijah. I had no idea you were going through that. I didn’t know there was a stalker or that you were suspecting me. I’m sorry for scaring you. Really, I am.”
His apology left me speechless. I blinked a couple of times, as if trying to blink away the shock.
Walter continued, speaking in one entire breath. “It’s just when I first saw you, I was completely blown away and completely transported. You really opened my eyes and made me see myself a little better. I’d been in the closet for all my twenty-six years here, but the night I saw you perform, I knew I had to come out. It didn’t go well. My parents stopped answering my calls, and my sister now sends me scriptures on a weekly basis, but I was happy even with all of that shit—since then, my parents have come around, but it was really difficult. Every time I saw you perform, I felt that same happiness from that first night, when I finally started living my truth.
“And it was because of you, and I’m so freaking grateful but also so sorry I made you feel uncomfortable. I just have a hard time talking to people, so I keep my distance. I didn’t realize you were also dealing with a stalker. If I knew—I’m sorry.”
Fuck. His sincerity hit me right in the feels. I could tell he meant every word that rushed out of his mouth, and it made me feel like complete and utter shit.
“It’s okay, Walter, it’s okay. I should have come and talked to you. It was a scary situation for me, but that doesn’t excuse hurting an innocent person. I wish it happened differently. If I knew, shit, I would have brought you up onstage with me.”
His eyes opened wide, catching some of the sunlight that streamed in through the all-glass entrance of the store. “Whoa, I think I’d self-combust. I mean, you’re like a goddess onstage. It’s wild to me, and I love it so much. There’s a freedom to you that I really envy.”
“You can have that same exact freedom. You’d be surprised what a nicely styled wig and a cute pair of heels would do to you.”
Walter’s face got a little brighter. I’d never noticed how friendly of a smile he had. “I’ve actually thought about doing drag once or twice. I don’t think I’ve got the guts, though.” He dropped his head back, hands going into his pocket.
“You have the guts to wear those atrocious cargo shorts, you have the guts to wear a glittery dress and bitching lipstick.”
Walter looked up at me, then down at his shorts.
“Sorry, it’s the inner drag queen in me. We read each other to filth and then have a kiki right after.”
Walter’s face scrunched up. “I don’t really know what any of that means.”
I laughed, which surprisingly spread to a less nervous Walter. “Reading is just when drag queens poke each other about their busted lace fronts or visible five-o’clock shadow. When the library is open, the playful insults get thrown.”
“Ah, I think I’ve heard that.”
“And having a kiki just means having a party. You’ll catch on to all the terms pretty quick.”
I couldn’t believe I was giving a rundown on the gay lexicon to a guy who I’d been sure was leaving me creepy-ass messages and who wanted to throw me in a trunk and keep me like a doll on a shelf. Life worked in mysterious fucking ways.
