rapids. It was at the edge of summer, and for some towns, there would be an influx of people looking to get away. And maybe it was really a blessing that Rockport sat on its own, close enough to the bigger cities but far enough that people avoided their little haven.
Summer was like a storm drain, and students quietly bled through the exit roads on the highway as humidity and heat settled over the long stretches of farmland. The halls of public spaces emptied out, and Nik could breathe again.
Spring was busier, but it was the ghost-town mall that reminded him he was the furthest away from the hustle and bustle of New York than he could ever be. The bus dropped him off just a few feet from the door, and inside he was met with the familiar echo of the food court and the lingering spices from the Happy Wok, which had been there since he could remember.
He used to count steps when he was a kid, but it was all muscle memory now, making his way toward the wall, his cane letting him know when he’d gotten just far enough. The call to the piano store—a sharp right instead of a left—was nagging at him. But he wanted to make sure he had his outfit taken care of before the concert first.
Of all places, he never expected the people at a skate shop to provide what he needed. And chances were, the prints on his button ups were something ridiculous like pot leaves or hula dancers. But they felt good on his skin, and his best friend was the store manager, so he got the good discounts and time to vent that always made life feel a little less heavy on days when he struggled to breathe.
His cane hit the sign that was always out front, and he made a sharp right through the entrance. The place was always cold from the AC that never shut off, even in winter, and the floor beneath his feet had a rough feel like unpolished wood. There were no aisles, instead precariously placed racks of clothes, skating equipment, socks, and hats. Shoes were along the walls, but he favored his expensive loafers, not caring it made him look like a twat—his brother’s favorite insult.
“Hey, man!”
Nik recognized Jay’s voice instantly, and he offered a smile, tucking his cane close to him. “So, my brother went to the Dollar Barn or something, and I need concert shirts before I go into anaphylactic wool shock.” He tipped to the side and showed off his fading hives to emphasize his point.
Jay snorted, and Nik heard the creek of the half door by the register, then the soft padding of his skater shoes on the floor. “Is this like fully formal shit or casual weekend shit?”
Nik cocked his head to the side. “Somewhere in between. It’s kind of our pre-concert. I’ll be in my tux for the one at the end of the month, but I already have that.” The concert was the exact thing he was trying not to think about, because it had been a long, long time since he’d showcased any of his work for anyone. Not since he’d been dragged back into this small-town life.
“I have something for you. We just got it in.” He heard Jay give the counter two sharp pats, then wandered off, and Nik sighed before he turned his head to listen. There was faint Reggae music on in the background, turned low because Jay was sensitive to noise, and Nik could appreciate that. But apart from him, the place felt empty. His hand reached out to the left, searching until his fingers brushed wood then the mirror.
The concept of mirrors always confused him, just like the idea of a horizon or the sky. It took him years to understand that things existed beyond touch and sound, that warmth had glow, and glow was more than the way the sun peppered across his skin. His fingers dragged along the glass, around the side to the hats. He had no idea what the logo was, but it was softly embroidered onto the front. He wasn’t really a hats or sunglasses guy, though. Never had been.
He’d been stubborn even as a child, wailing when they tried to fit prosthetic eyes over the implants they’d put in a few months after his enucleations. His parents had insisted though, and he’d eventually relented until they got in the car, and then