NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT;; open

[NELL DOE DALE]

Nell’s shoulder ached because of the boombox she carried on it, but at the same time, she felt pretty badass…in a defucnt 1990’s gangster way. It must have been the Ray-Bans that made her feel exceptionally BA, and she used the hand that was carrying a cardboard box to push them further up the bridge of her nose. She made a steady path across the grounds to find a good spot for her. ”Shepherd!” She turned to her left as she heard her name called out, and a friend of hers beckoned her over to where he was. ”The hell are you doing with a boombox?” Nell grinned at him. ”You like?” She set down the boombox and the cardboard box, then took the taffy out of her mouth to further explain, ”I went to a yard sale the other day, found some pretty cool stuff.” She didn’t need to lurk around yard sales anymore, but she couldn’t help it—one man’s junk is another man’s treasure.

Her friend—everyone called him by his last name, Kirby—ejected the cassette tape she had in there and laughed when he saw The Sugarhill Gang. And then realization dawned on him. ”Oh god, you’re not planning to breakdance or some shit.” Sitting down, Nell started to cut apart the box with a pair of scissors she had in her bag, thinking of how much better it would have been had she brought a box-cutter. What had stopped her, though, was the fear that it would be considered a weapon and she’d get in trouble because of it. ”I’m not. But I’m sure some people will.” Next she took out duct tape and adherred the box to the concrete that served as a pathway. ”The way I figured it, breakdancing isn’t something that goes out of style.” Nell stood to admire her handiwork as Kirby said, ”…But it did. Last millenium.” She waved a hand at him, and walked back over to wear she put her bag. ”Either way we can just chill…” she pulled out two bottles of soda and passed one off to Kirby. ”You’re fucking Mary Poppins. What else do you got in that bag?”

Sitting down in the shade of a tree next to her cardboard placemat, she grinned. ”That’s a secret.” Then, she hit the play button on her boombox and sat back, watching some students walk by. A few stopped as if considering, but went on a bit afterwards, while others just gave them outright stares. Nell didn’t care about the looks or anything. It was a nice day, and she was just enjoying herself. If they stared, cool. She might have felt a little more self-conscious since she was wearing shorts and a tank, but not even her scars could make her feel terrible. Plus, the worse of them weren’t even showing. Now she could pass them off as childhood injuries—“this is from when I fell off my bike and this one is from when I skidded my knee on concrete”—instead of feeling awkward because of the fact that she could barely remember how she’d gotten certain them, especially the ones on her legs. It was either repression of memories that saved her or blood loss and intense pain that aided in the foggy memories. Or maybe it was the years of mistreatment that made it all blend together.

As she sat back and listened to the boombox next to her, she weaved a ringlet of flowers for Kirby and placed it atop his head. He wasn’t at all pleased, of course, so she made one for herself and said, ”Twinsies?” Taking off his, he tossed it on her lap and said, ”I’d love to stick around and listen to 90’s rap with you, but I have class.” He held out his fist with a smirk, and she bumped her own against it before opening up her hand and cupping his. ”Lame,” Kirby said before turning to walk off as Nell stuck her tongue out at him before taking a large gulp of her soda and nearly choking on it. Well, at least she could suffer the embarrassment alone, even though her set-up was attracting attention.

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NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT BY PETER, BJORN & JOHN