Of All the Things that I Don't Know (Spot Conlon + OC)

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

I suppose every child has certain illogical fears as they grow up. A monster under the bed or a boogie man peering through a window are fairly common, albeit, terrifying themes that keep young ones up at night. I had experienced my fair share of monster related horrors as a little girl, but upon becoming old enough to work at my parent's store when I turned fifteen, I soon realized that fantastical nightmares were far less terrifying than actual people.

I had always dreaded confinement in my daily activities and working in the store was no exception. I craved fresh air and ample amounts of stimuli to immerse myself in, but ten-hour work days inside the fairly spacious corner store that my parents owned boded poorly for this requisite.

My mother, possessing a similar disposition as myself, understood my inherent need for diverse activity, and thus formulated a plan that would not only be agreeable to me, but also would possibly increase their customer base. My mother sent me throughout Manhattan to inquire into residents' potential interest in a delivery option for their grocery and medicinal needs. I had enthusiastically spread the idea through as much of the borough as would tolerate me and after several weeks and the go ahead from my parents, I began to make my way around town as the store's head of distribution. I had all the freedom I could ever want and I reveled in it blithely.

There were always certain difficulties on my daily journeys about town, but even these seemed more of a challenge than an obstacle to me. A rude landlord or an inappropriate client were fairly common occurrences, but never anything I couldn't handle. My parents, having been blessed with three daughters, were always very realistic about the dangers facing girls in our city. So not only had they never been shy about sharing these actualities with me, they also didn't hesitate to arm me with a multitude of ways to protect myself if such things should come to pass. Thus, due to my feelings of readiness, I mostly kept my daily activities to myself, and my parents very seldom inquired into them. I supposed they assumed that if something needed to be mentioned I would not hesitate to bring it up.

Yet, about a year after I commenced my new position, I began to feel a strange apprehension during my daily responsibilities. There was nothing concrete that I could point to as the root of my hesitation, so I kept it to myself, hoping that in the end, it would amount to nothing. As more time passed, however, I started to experience a more distinct awareness that someone might be following me. There still was no direct evidence to support this idea, but the unnerving intuition that my comings and goings were being abnormally monitored remained. But, with only my instinct as my proof, I still could not produce any solid confirmation that my feelings held any validity. So, I continued to veil my uneasiness for fear of being laughed at, or, even worse, having my newfound freedom taken away. It was, of course, an absurd notion anyway. Who would be following me? I was no one of importance and did nothing of interest. Yet, despite these rational narrations that I habitually relayed to myself, the unsettling feelings persisted.

I further attempted to quell my apprehension by positing these feelings onto tangible issues. I had an overactive imagination, my mind was playing tricks on me, and once I began my relationship with Jack Kelly, I was able to associate my paranoia with the guilty conscience I had developed from lying to my parents. Thus, my denial suspended my fears for quite some time.

Until one day I could no longer ignore the legitimacy of my perceptions. And strangely enough, Spot Conlon was the only other witness to the eerie events that transpired.

After our first meeting at Tibby's, I had found it difficult to stop thinking about the famed Brooklynite. His confident stance, glowering blue eyes and haughty smirk danced across my mind throughout my waking and sleeping hours. And, truthfully, this irked me a great deal, undoubtedly due to the fact that I had barely spoken to this boy, save a short hello at Medda's, and yet my thoughts still had an infuriating tendency of drifting to him. Eventually, I probably would have come to regard Spot as nothing more than an inconsequential contact, but seeing him as often as I did, and in the Manhattan streets, of all places, further buttressed his frequency in my cognizance.