My brain needed a break from processing what happened last Friday. 

Losing my job was still weighing heavy on my mind, and I needed a distraction from the relentless loop of thoughts that threatened to consume me. So, I drove over to the local mall, which saw some heavy traffic. Despite the peeling paint, store vacancies, and the slightly plummeting quality-of-life, it survived the ever-changing landscape of the industry. And that's thanks to the consumers within. 

For me, it was more than just a hollow consumerist shopping center; it was a sanctuary. For some, like me, it provided an escape from the stresses of everyday life, a chance to clear the mind and take in the scenery. For some, it could be an anxiety pot, but it was my refuge. 

After coughing and wheezing through the gift shop with its overpowering perfume and dodging the alluring scent of mall cinnamon pretzel cookie pizzas, I made it to the Chill Pill Music Center.

There, I saw an old friend, Edita Palladino. Twenty-six. Well stacked. Nice flowing hair. Soft, milky skin with a few piercings, complete with a nose ring and tongue piercing. She wore a striped black and gray sweater with little buttons and pins crowding it. Overall, very cool, yet super hot.  

Edita stood behind the counter, maintaining a professional demeanor as she assisted a particularly clueless middle-aged customer.

"Excuse me, you sell music here, right?" the customer asked.

"Certainly, sir. This is a music store, after all. We have a wide selection of rock albums in the clearance section at the back if you're looking for something cheap."

He slapped his palm on the countertop impatiently. "Oh no, thanks, I don't listen to any of that foul Satanic rock music with all the yelling. Do you have anything with a bit more... pizazz? You know, something more upbeat." 

"Sure thing, here you go," she said, grabbing a random CD she could from the pop section. 

The customer’s eyes lit up. "Yes, that looks perfect! I'll take it."

As Edita rang up the purchase, she couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Despite his initial confusion, they managed to find common ground. For her, with every customer passionate about music, there are a dozen more who are in it for superficial reasons. And through all that. she kept her composure, something I admire about her.

"Hey, Eddie!" I exclaimed as I went up to the front desk. “Long time, no see!" 

She glanced up, a hint of surprise flickering across her face before her expression returned to its usual stoic demeanor shortly after. "Hey, Flo!"

“I see you’re carrying this place after all this time?" I remarked. 

"You know me. Music is my passion, but I’m not here by choice. Passion doesn't pay the bills, so I'm just trying to earn a steady paycheck. Plus, I can't even change the music to something I'd like most of the time. I'd rather listen to the screams of a thousand monkeys echoing through the halls of Hell than listen to whatever crap they shovel out in here. It would at least have some soul to it."

"I've noticed. It's not my thing either. But whatever sells, I guess."

"If selling out is your thing," she chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Anyways, what brings you here?"

"I got fired from the fast food joint. The grill broke down, and the manager was fed up with me, so I was let go.”

Edita frowned, her eyes filled with concern. "That's rough. But maybe it's for the best. You never seemed happy there."

"Yeah, maybe," I muttered. "It's just... I needed the money, you know?

Her expression seemed to soften with empathy. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Any leads on a new job?"

I shook my head. "I've been putting out applications, but nothing solid yet. Figured I'd distract myself here for a bit."

"Well, you're always welcome to hang out here. It’s not much, but it's whatever." She shrugged with a casual tone, but her fingers betrayed her. Edita fidgeted with the buttons on her sweater and darted her eyes back and forth, trying her best to keep it cool. “I wish there was something I could do. If I had any pull around here, I'd try to get you in. But you know how it is." 

I nodded in appreciation of her sentiment, even if she couldn’t express it well. "I'll figure something out in the meantime." 

"Good," she said, almost as if to downplay the moment. "You always do." Edita fixed her gaze towards me before quickly returning to messing with her sweater. "So now that you're here, fry boy, what's the plan?" 

"You planning to go on break anytime soon? Thought we could take a stroll," I suggested.

“Well, nothing I haven’t seen before, but for you, sure, why not? Let me check.” She called out to her manager, yelling, “Hey, I’m going on break. You cool with that?”.

From the back of the store, a voice responded with a nonchalant, “Sure, I don’t really care.”

"Thank you, Fearless Leader," Edita sarcastically muttered.

A moment later, Jojo, one of Edita’s younger laid-back coworkers, emerged from the stocking room, wiping her hands on her apron. Her long, dark hair was tied back into a loose bun, and she wore a band t-shirt under her store vest and had a collection of decorative bracelets across her wrists.

“Hey, Jo, mind covering for me while I go on break?” Edita asked as she grabbed her purse underneath the counter.

“Sure thing! I got it covered, no problem,” Jojo said with a grin, leaning against the counter. “Go on ahead, enjoy your break.”

Then, she stared me down, her gaze lingering a bit longer than I was comfortable with, and added, "Hey, Foil," drawing out my name.

I simply nodded and said, “Oh uh, hey Jojo,” indifferent to her advances. I glanced in her direction before she quickly looked away. 

Weirdo.

My lack of reaction seemed to have unaffected Jojo as she bit her lip, smiling with glee until she knocked over a stack of CDs all over the counter. 

Edita rolled her eyes and jerked my arm to lead the way out of the store. "Alright then, let’s roll, Flo."

We explored the mall together, walking past clothing stores where people shopped to appear rich yet broke once they left and a store that specialized in making knick-knacks look like butt cracks. We laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Eventually, we grabbed slices of pizza from a place that promised “authentic New York-style pizza,” but it had a hint of cheese masked by bitter tomato paste atop a burnt piece of crispy cardboard. 

I looked over at an abandoned building around the area, what once was a skating rink, the mall relic of a bygone era. 

"Do you ever think about the skating rink you worked at sometimes?" I asked Edita, taking a bite of my pizza.

"All the times," she replied with wandering eyes. "I remember the atmosphere, the music, the lights, and all that. "

We talked for a while about nothing and everything until my thoughts wandered back to Yolanda. She was tied to my past like no one else was.  That’s why it’s hard to be around her sometimes. She was a constant reminder of the past I was trying to move beyond. When she alwa

Edita seemed to sense my drifting thoughts as feel her presence staring at me. "Hey, you good? You were out for a bit," she said softly.

I snapped back to reality, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just thinking about somebody."

“Oh, uh, who in particular?” she quickly chimed in.

“A friend. Her name is Yolanda and—”

“Sorry for interrupting, but Yolanda?” Edita asked as she rubbed her chin. “I think I remember her from a while back. Is she the one with messy hair, circular glasses, a flannel, and... Crocs?”

“Yeah, that’s her. Spot on.”

“I tend to remember different faces from different places. She came here occasionally to buy music, Salsa in particular. Good stuff. Anyway, how long have you known her?”

I leaned back and reflected. “It would be three years at this point. But it felt longer, to be honest with you.”

She tilted her head in confusion. “Three years? So, about the same time, we’ve known each other. Why haven’t you ever mentioned her?”

I shrugged, trying to keep it casual. "It’s just never come up, I guess."

"Really, Flo? That just sounds weird. You’ve known her for years, and you said she was a big part of your life, but it seems like you never let her in, like really in. I mean, have you ever been to each other’s places?”

I fiddled with the edge of my sleeve, avoiding her gaze. "Well, I’ve been to her folk’s house a couple of times but not vice versa. I just... like keeping my apartment as my own space. You know, somewhere I can unwind without any interruptions."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with my answer. "Um, you mean like how I’ve been over hundreds of times in the past? And you didn’t mind that?"

I looked up, meeting her eyes. "It’s different with you, Eddie. We’ve got a different kind of ... dynamic."

Edita leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "I get it. But you should at least give her a chance. It’s clear that you care. Because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t even bother thinking about her." 

"Yeah." I sighed. "I care about her, but there’s just something about having her over... it doesn’t feel right.”

"Sometimes, letting people in can help more than you think."

"Maybe it’s just me being stubborn."

"Or maybe you’re just afraid of losing something close to you. You’ve gotta ask yourself if shutting her off is really helping you or holding you back. But that’s just me."

“Sure. Can we talk about something else right now? I’m not ready to unpack all that right now.”

Edita nodded slowly, sensing my slow shift into vulnerability. “Alright, I won’t push. Besides, it’s about time to go back anyways, even if the manager doesn't really care.”

Edita walked back in first, and her presence immediately drew the attention of her coworkers. 

"Hey, Edita! Back already? Thought you’d be out longer," Jojo teased, leaning casually against the counter.

"Yeah, Flo here wanted to check out the scene," Edita replied, throwing a wink my way. She then turned her attention back to Jojo and the others. "So, what’s been going on while I was gone?"

"Not much," Jojo shrugged. "Just the usual—trying to educate customers who have terrible taste in music. There was someone who actually listened to FracturedSyde, and they thought it was good!"

They all laughed until another of Edita’s coworkers, Kyle, a lanky white dude about the same height as me, came out of the woodwork, eavesdropping. 

"Hey, Ed, did you two just get back from a hot date or something?" he called out mockingly.

Edita rolled her eyes and shot back at him. "Ugh, really, Kyle? A hot date? Grow up. You’re thirty-four years old. Go back to your station."

Kyle chuckled, acting like he wasn’t bothered, but he backed off, holding up his hands as if he were surrendering. 

"Alright, alright. I’m just playing."

Edita dismissed him with a wave of her hand, and they continued to riff on the annoying customers and their odd requests. There was something special about their bond, the way they bounced off each other and made the best of their situation. It reminded me of what I used to have— surrounded by people who got you. I felt like an outsider, longing for something I wasn’t sure I could ever get back.

Edita glanced over at me and decided to excuse herself to break the silence. “Hey, while you’re still here, do you happen to have some music you want to add to your collection?” 

I shrugged. "Well, I've got a boombox radio at home, and I might grab a few CDs to give it a spin."

"Sure, pick what you'd like," Edita generously offered. "Let me guess, you want Lung Collapse: When the Wind Blows? Or...Overexposure's Shadow of A Doubt?"

“Shit, you're right. Am I that predictable?" I asked, impressed.

Edita grinned, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "Well, I've known you long enough to read you like a book. Besides, your taste in music hasn't exactly evolved much."

"That's fair. Add them to my tab. I do see something else I like,” I said with a slick grin. 

Edita, taken aback, asked, “Oh, already? Point it out.”

I pointed directly at her.

“Huh?! Me? Pick something else, idiot." She rolled her eyes and shook her fist but blushed while doing it.

I darted my eyes back and forth, looking at the assortment of the colorful display of albums before me. 

"Okay, you got the new solo Weapons of Mass Distortion album. I've meant to listen to it, but it hasn't been released on YAPSTER yet.”

"Ah, Molto Bane, Flo. Fine taste," Edita said.

"Thank you, Eddie!" I gleefully remarked. 

"Hey, it's what I do. I do what it do," she boasted.

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind. It was nice talking to you again.”

"Anytime, Flo," she replied. "Just remember, you've got people who care about you."

“Guess you’re right,” I said, smiling for her. “I’ll see you around.”

I turned around with a change to a bittersweet smile, already missing the gang, who called out to me, waving as I left. Their voices faded into the background of the swarms of people around the mall.

As I headed out to my car, I looked back at the mall again, thinking about the people I left behind in the past. 

Seeing Yolanda, Edita, and her crew again sparked something within me. It wasn’t just about missing old friendships.