The Adventures of Aloises Felinor La Quintanilla
By Francis Camaquin
Chapter 1: Derivative Drivel
There once was boy with very large pockets. He kept many things in those pockets. Everything he had acquired from his travels, he kept there. Pockets littered his pants and coat, hidden in the linings, sewn into the sides. He had added a new pocket every time he had filled up all of the existing ones.
This boy traveled nearly everywhere. He had seen and experienced many things, and he always tried to save something from each of his adventures so that he could remember the events. After one particularly arduous journey, the tired boy stopped to rest at a huge city. On his way to his friend’s house, he stopped at a shop with a window display that had caught his attention. Through the glass, behind the display, he saw the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He stood there in awe for a few minutes and he couldn’t move. She was buying a book from the shopkeeper and right after she paid, she walked out the door, past the boy to the cafe across the street.
What the boy did not know was the girl had seen him watching. She knew he was outside the store watching her. She was a very curious girl. Ever since she was very young, she had been getting into trouble because of her curiosity. On her way out of the shop, as she walked passed the boy, she combed her cinnamon hair behind her ear, the ear which was closest to the boy, and she gave him the tiniest, barely noticeable glance. It could’ve very well been the work of a whore, but she was no whore.
The boy, without hesitation, quickly followed the girl into the cafe and stood in line behind her at the delicatessen counter. He stood a few feet away and admired her from behind. She liked to be admired from behind. Not many girls he knew did, but this one did. On her head, she wore a cut cloth like a bandana which was bright blue, patterned with what looked like yellow tulips. Her sweater was a small white cotton button-up that hugged a few inches below her neckline and underneath it was a blue shirt. She carried a large beige colored bag, and its strap hung on her left shoulder and stretched across her chest and back to her right hip. Her right hand covered the top pocket of her purse and her left arm was in front of her, probably holding the strap.
“Shrimp salad on soft French, just half,” the girl said to the man behind the counter full of cold cuts. “And this,” she said while waving a Vitamin water. The man just nodded and wiggled his mustache as he sniffled a bit. In the three minutes it took the man to make the sandwich, the boy still hadn’t decided on his order. The girl picked up her sandwich and sat at one of the tables outside. “Make something quick,” the boy said. The man looked at him and wiggled his mustache. “I make everything quick,” he replied.
“Okay, uh, roast beef on sourdough, no pickles please,” the boy ordered.
“How about jalapenos?” the man asked.
“Uh, okay sure, if it’s quick” the boy answered.
“I make everything quick,” the man said again as he sniffled.
The boy quickly paid, snatched his sandwich up, and hurried out. He situated himself at a table right across from the girl and sat down. As he placed his sandwich in front of him, the girl looked at him and smiled.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello,” he replied.
“Can I ask you something,” she asked.
“Uh, sure,” he said.
“Why do you have so many pockets,” she asked.
“Oh. These,” he paused. “I put whatever I collect in these.”
“Like what” she asked.
“Uhm, nothing specific really. Like, stuff I find or stuff I buy, or stuff that people give to me,” he told her.
“Like what,” she asked again.
“Uh. I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Could you show me one,” she smiled.
“Okay. I guess. I guess so, but...” he paused.
“But what,” she asked.
“You keep asking me all these questions. Can’t I ask you one?”
“Okay sure,” she said.
“What book did you buy,” he asked.
“Oh, I didn’t buy it. I work there,” she replied.
“Oh. Okay, what book did you get,” he asked.
“Something by Charles Bukowski,” she answered.
“Oh.”
“Oh? That doesn’t sound like a good ‘oh’,” she said.
“From my experience, girls that like Bukowski are crazy.”
“Crazy?” she laughed.
“Yeah usually,” he answered.
“Okay maybe I’m crazy, but now you have to show me something.”
“Uh. Okay,” he said as he pondered what to show her. “Um. I don’t know what to show you.”
“Anything. Just put your hand in your pocket and pull something out,” she said and sipped her rescue flavored water.
“That sounds perverted, but okay,” he said as he stuck his right hand into one of his coat pockets.