Chapter 7, Whit, October 27, 1998

Darren Whitlock is following his mother through Wal-Mart with his head down.

“No Mom, I’m not doing Halloween this year, I’m 12 years old now. Besides, I haven't dressed up in years.”

“Come on Darren, it could be fun, you could help hand out candy, and surely someone’s having a costume party,” his Mom said.

“Mom, no, I’m not doing it,” Darren said.

“I don’t understand what’s gotten into you, all you want to do is sit in your room and draw from your silly books. You used to love dressing up.”

It’s true, Darren loved dressing up, until about the 2nd grade. That was when he noticed how different the girl’s costumes were. Girls could be princesses, witches, and genies, he was stuck as something lame. Anyway, dressing up was embarrassing, people would laugh at him, he was better just as himself.

“I’m going to look at cards,” Darren said.

“Don’t you want to help me pick out Halloween candy?” his Mom asked.

“No,” Darren said as he sulked away. He found himself drifting across the store, taking a round about path to where the collectable card games were. He cut through the girl’s clothing section then stopped when he realized he was alone.

Early this day he had read a fashion article in the school newspaper written by Stephanie Crawford, a girl that he’d had a crush on for months. The article covered fall fashions and mentioned how sunflower prints and layered pastels were “totally in right now.” Darren had pretended not to care, but he’d read the article twice, tracing the pictures with his eyes.

He hadn’t expected to find the clothes right in front of him.

There, on a rack endcap under a flickering fluorescent light, hung a soft yellow ribbed sweater with tiny embroidered sunflowers near the collar. It was simple, not fancy like the stuff in the mall catalogs, but it still made something bloom warm and anxious in his chest.

He stepped closer. No one was around.

He reached out and pinched the sleeve between two fingers.

Soft. Softer than any shirt he’d ever owned. The kind of soft that made your brain go quiet.

He glanced around again. Still alone.

He lifted the hanger just enough to hold it at eye level. The sweater was shaped in a way he couldn’t describe, gentle somehow. Pretty without trying. The way girls at school could be pretty without trying.

He imagined wearing it.

The thought hit him like a punch, bright, dizzying, wrong, right, everything all at once.

His heart thudded.

“Now that’s a cute one,” a voice said right behind him.

Darren nearly dropped the sweater. He spun around.

An older woman in a blue Wal-Mart vest stood there, smiling like she’d walked in on something adorable. Her gray hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and she had a name tag that read Marjorie.

“You picking that out for your girlfriend?” she asked warmly.

Darren’s cheeks went nuclear. “N-No, I’m… it’s I was just…”

Marjorie winked. “Good boyfriend,” she said. “Girls love when boys pay attention to the little details. Sunflowers are real in style right now. She’ll be thrilled.”

Darren’s mouth opened and closed like a caught fish. “I.. I don’t…”

But Marjorie had already moved on, pushing her cart of folded sweaters down the aisle.

Mortification flooded him. His ears felt like they were burning holes through his skull.

He was holding a girl’s sweater.

He dropped it back onto the rack so fast it nearly fell to the floor, then hurried away, head ducked low, trying not to look at anything or anyone else.

He didn’t stop until he reached the back of the store where the trading cards were kept. Magic: The Gathering, Pokémon, a lonely stack of baseball cards no one touched anymore.

His pulse finally slowed when he saw the familiar Magic the gathering packs sitting in a wire rack.

Safe.
Normal.
Boy stuff.

He picked up a pack and turned it over in his hand, trying to breathe, trying to forget the sweater, trying to forget the way it had made him feel solid and soft all at once.

But the memory clung to him like static.

He wished, not for the first time, that he could unzip himself and step into someone else’s skin.

Someone who could wear a yellow sweater without the world turning and looking at him like he’d committed a crime.

“Hey, you play?” Darren spun around to see an overweight young man, with dark black hair and beard standing behind him.

Darren looked down at the packs in his hand “Not really, I have a few cards,” he said.

“Well don’t waste your money on that 6th edition trash, look here, this is Urza’s block. You could get some rare stuff here.” The man said.

Darren looked at the box of trading cards that was kind of buried in the rack and took out two packs. “OK, thanks,” he said.

“Yeah, no problem. My name is Steve. Do you know the gaming store up on the square, The Tower?”

“Yeah, I bought a D&D book there,” Darren.

The guy made a funny gesture over the box of cards like he was doing a magic trick and pulled a pack from it. “For good luck I hope,” he chuckled, “We always play Magic on Friday nights. If you catch me up there I’ll give you a bunch of cards, crap cards, but still you can make some decks with your buddies and practice.”

“That’s so cool, thanks!,” Darren replied. The shame and strange feelings took a back seat to this exciting new development in his life.