Mistaken Impression

By

Dennis J. Kafalas

During my senior year of high school in ‘74, I took the only job offered at a Kodak photo shop. Luckily, Nikki the assistant, and I clicked. She had blue eyes, melon-sized breasts and long, straight black hair dangling across her plump bottom. She operated the photo processing side and I ran the front counter. We worked afternoons, three to seven, Monday to Friday. She was quiet, never smiled, but I loved when she’d accidentally rub against me at the counter—an awesome job perk because the two bucks an hour wasn’t much. I wanted to drive, but needed money for car insurance. My dad kept a ‘66 Ford Galaxie in the yard, and I’d sit in it, ticked I had a driver’s license, but no use for it. Nikki’s warm softness pressed against my elbow made not driving way more tolerable.

Nikki knew the customers, which helped when they grew annoyed with the rookie counter boy. She worked with her mom, who was the store manager and the person I relieved in the afternoon. Nikki’s workday was from noon until seven, so I assumed she went to a local college.

When the store was quiet, I’d flirt with her, but she had zero interest. Just to pass the time, I’d ask if she had any friends, what classes she took, or what music she liked, but she’d just stare into space, then go back into her shadowy cocoon of gloom where film hung, waiting to be processed. It was no wonder Nikki was stuck behind black, heavy drapes—no freaking personality at all.

After yet another day of silence, I shouted at the shuttered curtains, “That’s it, I’m out of here,” then pretended to leave. Instead, I waited, listening to the squeaking of her chair. Finally, when someone walked in I said, “I’m back. You can’t run this dump without me.”

I annoyed her by hiding in the washroom, or by not talking the entire four hours, but nothing changed. She didn’t even want me to take finished photo orders to the front counter. “Why can’t I help you?” I asked.

 “Being in the back with me doesn’t look right. People will talk.”

“Damn, I’ll take any talking at this point!” But she had no interest in me, even as a co-worker.

After two more weeks of silence and boredom, I went job-hunting, but nothing shook free, so I returned each afternoon, confined within the gloom. I was angry with Nikki for a time—so rude—but then didn’t care. Walking in the back door with something to read, I’d ignore her. Silence became my companion, and we passed the time like strangers. Sometimes, I’d forget about her and leave the counter unattended. She’d handle a customer, then go behind the drapes, never speaking a word. I finally lost it with Nikki over a photo by her desk.

She was hunched over the film cutter, carefully slicing black and white, ghost-like impressions into perfect squares. Tacked to the wall was Nikki’s wallet-sized, fifth grade school photo.

“Why do you have that?” I asked, ticking a scalloped corner with my fingernail to make it hang a bit off-center.

She straightened it, then said, “I like it.”

“Why?”

“I was happy then.”

“About what?”

Without facing me, she said, “Just normal stuff.”

“Like what?”

Nikki shrugged, and the stupidity of trying to reach her, to know her, angered me.

“I don’t get you,” I said. “Honestly, get a life! Aren’t you sick of sitting in this dungeon all day like a troll?”

She didn’t react.

“Got something wrong with your head,” I said, as the counter bell rang.

Mrs. O’Halloran, my old fifth grade teacher, waited. When I handed three packs of photos to her, she grabbed my forearm and pulled me closer. Her pale grey eyes locked onto mine.

“Don,” she said in a sharp voice I remembered well, “You be nice to that girl, or I’ll speak to the manager. Understood?”

I nodded. She walked to the door, turned, then pointed at me. “I mean it.”

Sitting back against the stool, I flashed back to the time a grammar book flew out of her classroom window—it was a dare, after all. Nikki was now at my side, putting inventory into the finished photo carrel.

“Even moves quiet, like a Ninja,” I said.

She finished without a word, but then it happened. From behind the drapes, Nikki giggled—a squeaky, joyful burst from within the dark nest of hanging film.

“I heard that!”

#

The giggle got to me. Every time she did it, she’d cover her mouth with her hands, so they became giggle burps. I schemed of ways to make her talk and laugh, but it wasn’t easy. Some days the gloom was heavy, but I kept trying.

One night at closing, I offered to walk her home. When she asked why, I said, “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

She rolled her eyes.

“How about,” I said, “it’s a rough neighborhood?”

Holding the door key, she motioned for me to go. I stepped onto the back steps as she bolted the door, leaving me alone in the defining brightness of the parking lot lamp. Just as I headed to the front to meet her, the back window of the second floor hall opened.

“Thanks,” she said. Giggle burp!

            “You live here?” I asked, but she’d already locked the sash.

The next day I walked the twelve stairs with her. I stood while she sat on the scratched yellow linoleum of the apartment landing.

“I like you,” I said, hoping she’d smile.

In the evening shadows, she rubbed her trembling hands.

“Never see you around. Are you in college?” I said.

“No. I’m all done.”

“You graduated?”

She remained focused on her hands until the silence was uncomfortable. Was it a hint to drop dead? I stood, hopeful, as the sharp smell of heating oil floated up from the basement.

Finally, Nikki hid her hands under her arms. The air around us buzzed as if lightning were about to strike. My heart thumped. She parted her lips, tipped her head to the side, then closed her eyes.

The apartment door snapped open, and I jumped.

Her father stood over us in the doorway, the glare of the kitchen’s ceiling light on his bony shoulders. With knuckles firmly on the hips of his faded workpants he said, “You need to go, now!”

“Sorry,” I said, not to him, but to Nikki. She half turned, then stood, her long dark hair tied neatly into a looped braid. That’s different, I thought.

Walking home, I wondered why I hadn’t noticed the rattling made from opening the door, or the shuffle of footsteps. I missed, too, that Nikki had braided her hair and worn rose-colored lipstick. I was finally getting somewhere! I couldn’t wait until Monday.

On Saturday afternoon, Dad gave me the news. Nikki’s mom had dropped off my last paycheck. “Not enough business,” he said. “They’re closed.”

I thought of Nikki. “She never told me.”

“Don’t worry. Find another job, and I’ll loan you the difference.”

By the time I’d hustled down to the shop, an out-of-business sign hung in the window. All film was available at the pharmacy on the corner. The back door was locked, and the doorbell, painted over many times, was frozen in place. No cars were nearby; did Nikki’s parents even own one? Walking around the building, I called, “Nikki!” But no one appeared.

At the pharmacy, I asked for the Kodak shop owner’s phone number. The clerk said she’d check with her boss, which was her way of saying, get lost.

On Sunday, I waited by the church, hoping Nikki might attend mass. Later, I went back to her house, but the building was empty, the windows black. On Monday, I sat with my school guidance counselor, Mr. Gordon.

“Nikki?” he said, “the one from the Kodak place? Why?”

“Need a work reference.”

“Can’t do that,” he said. “Her contact info is confidential, if it’s even accurate. She’s been out of school two years.”

“Two?” I said. The grey-black images on long rolls of film popped to mind. “Can’t just disappear, can she?”

“Don’t know. I’ll give you a reference, but I’m guessing that’s not what you really want,” Gordon said.

I shrugged.

“What do you know about her?” he asked.

            “Not much. Pretty quiet.”

“Maybe you should talk to some kids from her neighborhood,” he said.

Smitty and Ed, from Nikki’s parish, were in the football locker room doing arm curls with free weights.

            “You worked with Nikki there, huh? How was that?” Ed asked.

            “Cool,” I said, “She was nice.”

            They laughed. “I’ll bet,” he said. “She was nice to everybody.”

            “Remember Fairley?” Smitty asked. “Graduated a while ago? Used to make out with her in that back room.”

            “You get any of that?” Ed asked.

            “No. Shut me out.”

            “Good thing,” Smitty said. “Might want to be careful. He knocked her up.”

            “What?” I said. “She’s like a nun.”

            “Dropped out of school,” Smitty said. “Had an abortion.”

            They spoke casually of Nikki, as if she were just another dumbbell curl to do.

“Bullshit!”

“Thought you should know,” Smitty said.

            “And Fairley, what? Just took off?” I asked.

“Went to college,” Ed said. “What did you think? He’d marry her?”

“It’s good the place closed,” Smitty said. “Before you fell in love.”

            They laughed, and my face reddened.

“Don’t tell me,” Ed said. “Going to take her to the Winter Ball, huh?”

“Not a bad idea,” Smitty said. “After a few beers, she’s a real party girl.”

They were right: the Winter Ball was a no-go. Thanks, Mr. Gordon, for the head’s up. A reputation like Nikki’s was life-fatal. Maybe that’s why her dad was an A-hole. Afraid it’d happen again.

Still, it didn’t make sense. Nikki never gave the impression she was easy. It took two months just to get her to smile. Screw those idiots. They figured all girls were pieces of meat, but Fairley, too? During freshmen year I thought he was cool, ha-ha.

I walked to the shop.

The store was dark inside, the entry locked. The counter sat in the shadows of a dim street lamp. Beyond it, the wool drapes formed a solid black wall. Frustrated, I banged on the door, the sound quickly fading, then dying.

Now, like a dream, the Kodak shop and Nikki weren’t real. I pulled on the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Damn!

In the back, the curtains moved, then a figure appeared. Nikki! Placing my palms together I said, “Please?” She looked up and down at the street, then moved quickly to the door.

She took my hand and led me behind the drapes. Wrapped in darkness I said, “I miss you.”

She didn’t reply. Nikki held my hand firmly, reassuringly. She touched my cheek, her fingertips gentle, warm. I put my arms around her, feeling the softness of her chest against mine. She whispered, “What do you know about me?”

“Everything.”

She sighed. “Is that why you came back?”

“No.”

Softly, she said, “Thanks for finding me.”

Her lips were warm against my neck, and her hair smelled of lavender. I tried to be calm, but fumbled for her mouth, and we knocked heads. She giggle burped, and I relaxed.

Together in blackness so deep, we couldn’t see. Only by touch could we find the tip of a nose, an earlobe, or by taste, our lips. In the dark, we were nothing but voices, invisible to ourselves. She stopped when my hand went under her bra.

“No,” she said, holding my wrist, and that’s as far as we’d ever go.

#

We met many times while her dad was at work. She’d speak more, but always in a hushed voice. She’d cry sometimes, not offering why, but the healed, white cuts on her thighs told a story in snippets, just like the negative photo images did, still hanging, unclaimed, at the corner by her desk.

With a key, I’d let myself in and we’d lay on the floor, swaddled in darkness, our backs on a down comforter. Often, our thoughts went unspoken, as Nikki reentered the broken places in her heart. Nikki said she’d loved Fairley, and he’d taken her to the clinic.

“I didn’t want him to leave me. I thought it would make it all better.”

Instantly, she sat up, throwing the comforter aside.

“Stupid! Once everyone at school knew, I didn’t go back.”  

“Fairley’s an A-hole,” I said.

She leaned against me and said, “All those questions about me,” she said. “What could I tell you? What could I say?”

“Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Just every day, normal things people ask...I couldn’t even talk.”

I stroked her hair. “But it was a mistake.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. Much more than that. Mom was so sad. Her A student, only child...it’s still in her eyes.”

She sobbed now, tears dampening my white cotton shirt. I held her, imagining Fairley’s head smashed with a baseball bat.

#

Over time, no new marks appeared on her, and Nikki was excited to have a part-time job as a bank teller. Now, when we met, she turned on a small lamp. Nikki’s eyes shone then, the hidden energy of her life visible. Sometimes, too, the spirited way in which she spoke would make the hanging film negatives flutter and shimmer like stars. They would fascinate me, these lives captured and held forever in celluloid eternity. Although we never spoke of it, being frozen in time was for pictures, not people, and we’d move on some day, but not now, not today.

A year later, and after the photo shop became a deli, Nikki and I met there only on weekends. We were seated by a window overlooking the street, when she said she wanted a boyfriend. I was crushed when it wasn’t me.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because we’re different now,” she said, and that’s all she’d ever say. She was now full-time at the bank, while I attended the local college, and the intensity of our relationship faded with each day. We’d met at just the right time, but now the moment had passed.

It took a while, but we parted as friends. I said, “No keepsake? No picture for me?” And she giggled, leaving me with the one memory I came to love her for, in the way that meant the most to me.

I did sneak off with the fifth grade, wallet-sized photo of Nikki, just to give her a reason, some day, to find me.

END