Fall 2023

Trappings of Cotton, Leather, and Vinyl

By Mikayla Randolph

The flesh on the underside of her thighs stuck to the lime green vinyl couch as she waited for him to arrive. She shimmied and scooted and wiggled, attempting to find just the right spot. She could picture it, him walking in, standing over her, and as she tried to rise, the couch would cling, having suctioned to her cellulite, resulting in an embarrassing snapping noise as she wrenched herself free. She’d likely fall over; that’s what she’d do. What a horrendous first impression. She tugged at her skirt to try to cover a bit more skin, a protective layer against the territorial couch. After a minute more, she forfeited the losing battle with a frustrated sigh. 

She pulled back up his profile, bringing back up a smile too. Until she noticed the time and realized he was nearly ten minutes late. That’s alright; that’s manageable, she thought. She’d gotten there ten minutes early, as is usual for her, but she knows plenty of people who fall within that fifteen-minute window. She could get on with someone like that. Then it occurred to her, what if he was there already and had been missed? Face masks make it hard to recognize people you know, let alone someone you’ve never laid eyes on before. And here she was sitting down—almost hiding—to the side. He could have missed her too.

Her fingers reached up to adjust her mask as suddenly it felt too hot. Hers is a white cotton mask with blue flowers, just as she described to him. His should be a black mask with a white dog logo to the right. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for him. The bar was still spaced per guidelines, so it was easier to register the faces. No. He wasn’t there. A breath of relief escaped.

Her attention returned to his profile. She read it over again like she had many times before, his likes almost memorized by that point. She switched positions, crossing her legs at the ankles. She scrolled up to their first conversation, bonding over how horrid it was being shut-in, yet how terrifying the outside world had become. Early on, there was comfort and ease with him. Early on, she told him about her illness and how she couldn’t risk it. Early on, she confided in how isolated and alone it made her feel. He said he felt it too.

As she read it back, she shifted in her seat again. She swung one leg over another as demurely as possible, even setting her elbow atop the armrest. Before she knew it, another ten minutes had passed. Again, she searched from him among the crowd. Still nowhere in sight. The elastic of the mask began digging into her ears. She typed another message. If he was on his way, she didn’t want to bother him too much—she didn’t want to be that girl, but her breath was getting short and her feet jittery as her mind began to wander to dark places.

Read.

No three dots for a message being written.

No reply.

She wanted to rip the mask off now. Tear it off and toss it in a bin so she could breathe. It was too hot, too tight, her lungs were caving in, and her heart was racing. Air. She needed air.

Her arms wobbled as she pushed herself up off the couch; the vinyl tried to yank her back down. As she peeled her skin away, the couch unleashed a sharp sucking noise that seemed to reverberate off the walls, adding to her shame. It’s alright; it’s okay, she thought. After all, no one could see the reds of her cheeks under the mask.

As she raced up the stairs, her right hand slid along the iron railing. At last, after what seemed to take forever, she reached the entrance of the building. The cool night air kissed her skin, and her head tilted back to surrender to the sensation. Outside, people milled around while smoking, talking, waiting. She eyed them, looking for a black mask with a white dog logo.

No, not here either.

There was a faint tingling in her eyes now, the cold air encouraging her release, but she stepped to the side, turned her face down, and refused to let it happen. Not here, not in front of this group.

The blue light of her phone was bright, and it strained her already weary eyes. Again, she couldn’t help but look at the time. Forty-five minutes. Her fingers switched back to his chat, saw her two last messages waiting, read, and debated adding a third. Scrolling up, she looked at the last things he’d said, at whether or not there had been any hint this would occur.

None.

Nothing whatsoever.

It must be me, she thought. He must have seen me and decided to walk away. It’d be easy enough; all it’d take is a different mask. As the thought burrowed in, it made her feel cracked open like an egg cooked for breakfast. A few taps along the side of the pan, the fragile casing begins to crumble, tear it apart, and the inside falls out, left to bubble, sizzle, and spread out on the hot metal.

The air no longer cooled her. Every inch of her was now warm – hot even, and her breathing harder. She stepped out toward the edge of the road and lifted her arm to hail a cab. A rideshare would take too long. She needed to get home as fast as possible. She’d waited long enough.

As a cab turned onto the street, her thoughts lingered on how he’d pressured her. How he’d pushed her to meet in person for a date he didn’t bother showing up to. She wasn’t sure she was ready, and everything reopening still seemed so new—there must be kinks to be worked out first. Yet, he’d swayed and charmed, and she caved. More than that, she’d grown excited.

It’d been lucky that her job was already remote. Beyond that, she was content—mostly—at home with her dog and her cat and her own company. This, tonight, was not what she’d wanted to step back out into the world for.

She pictured the hostesses that’d greeted her—pleasant at first, but as time wore on, they had begun to gossip and hiss to one another, casting the occasional look her way, which made her sink further into that horrible couch. As she climbed into the cab, relief nestled within her, knowing that the night would soon be over.

 “Where’s a nice girl like you going tonight?” The driver smelt of oranges and old cheese. He smiled as he turned to greet her, the folds of his mask giving him away.

“Home.” She spoke without inflection as she provided the address.

“Alright, Miss,” he nodded as the car lunged forward, leaving with just a quick glance at oncoming traffic. 

The lights of the city flickered past as she tried to remember her last date. It seemed so long ago now, having taken place before the world fell apart, so to speak. It had been hard then, but it was harder now. With the city shut down, it’d given her some time to breathe. She could get comfortable first, not rush to meet in person; that pressure had been diffused by the pandemic. It made the connection more sincere. At least that’s what she’d thought.

Keeping their chat open on her phone, a change catches her attention. Three dots appeared, the hint of a message to come.

They flickered.

They flickered.

They disappeared.

Her eyes became hot with tears that wanted to escape, but she held them back. In the rearview mirror, the driver’s deep brown eyes watched her. The corners of which crinkled with something close to concern. Kind eyes, she thought, but still, she shifted away from his gaze.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you.” 

He nodded, though his attention lingered as if he did not believe her.

“It’s been a quiet night,” he said after they’d driven a bit further, “It used to be so busy, the passengers coming in non-stop on a Friday night like this.” He sounded as though he was talking to himself more than to her. Still, she listened and appreciated the distraction. “You couldn’t drop someone off without seeing another arm popping up, calling you over. Could be like that until early morning. Never a dull moment. At least it used to be.”

“Don’t think people are there yet. It’ll get better in a little while.”

“That’s true. I understand that. My wife still stays in, only goes out for groceries. We might pick up dinner, but that’s about it. How about you? Have you been out much?”

“No, not really. This was my first time trying a restaurant since this all began.”

“Good for you. How was it?”

“Disappointing.”

“Yeah, sorry to hear that. I suppose that’s how things will be for a few more months, at least. It’s all strange, not quite the same. A lot of my passengers act different than they had before. In a city like this, they were often loud or brash and rushing, always rushing. A lot of chatter and laughter, things like that. It’s all fallen away. They sanitize, they whisper, or they don’t talk at all. The way it’s changed, you’d think it was impossible to talk with a mask on,” he laughed.

She hadn’t noticed. Then again, she was never the type of person to start up a conversation with a stranger. If that’d fallen away, she might have been the last to catch on. Still, she thought of herself, how much quieter her own life had become over the past few months. “Perhaps they fell out of practice,” she offered. “All that time shut-in, alone.”

“Maybe. You’ve got a point there. Being sociable could be like a muscle, loses its power when not used regularly. It’s certainly complicated what used to be easy. Like handshakes.”

“Handshakes?”

“Yeah. Before, it was the norm. You met someone you reached out your hand and shook. Perfectly natural, no thought to it. Right?”

“Right.”

“Not anymore. If you put out your hand, it’ll just hang there. The looks you’ll get could make your skin crawl. So, then what do you do? Wave or try to bump elbows? Have you tried to bump elbows with a stranger before?”

“No,” she smirked, “can’t say that I have.”

“Good. Keep it that way. It’s one of the most awkward things you can endeavor. Handshake was better. I miss the good old handshake.”

She nodded as her eyes rolled up towards the telephone wires they passed, which lifted and dropped like waves on the ocean. Her thighs sank into the sandy brown leather of the car. She didn’t bother shimmying or scooting or wiggling free; instead, she let the sweat gather and stick her to the seat.

“You don’t seem out of practice,” she said, looking back toward the driver.

“Thank you. I’m a talker, always have been, always will be. Not having anyone to talk to these months, well, that was a challenge. Heck, that’s part of how I got into all this.”

“Really?” She’d never even thought about how one became a taxi driver. It was like electricians or cafeteria cooks, didn’t pause to think about how they got there, only took it for granted that they were.

“Yep. Always enjoyed driving and people. Not one for being cooped up either, so no office was going to work for me. No bosses, no set schedule; it’s just about the only thing that could fit for me. Well, that and being heir to an enormous fortune.” He laughed as his own joke again, this time his cheer so contagious it even made the corners of her lips curl up a slight bit. Her breathing had calmed, and her eyes had dried. As the taxi turned onto her street, she thought she felt a bit more solid than earlier and was glad of it.

As they pulled up, he called out her arrival. She took out the cash from her black purse and leaned forward, her thighs sliding over the leather seat like butter to hand it to him.

“No.” His hands waved the money off, “You’re good.” Under his mask, a large smile returned, made more evident by the twinkle in his eyes. “Thank you for the chat.”

“Are you sure?” she pushed the money forward, right into the flap in the plastic barrier. 

“Yes. Have a nice night.”

“Thank you. You too.”

She lifted herself up, yanking at her skirt and seeing the outline of her shape left in the seat. As the cab drove away, her eyes followed it until it turned a corner and vanished. Her fingers unhooked the mask from her ears and crumpled it into her purse. In her hand, her phone vibrated. When she looked down, a message from him was waiting.

Sorry.

I couldn’t do it.

Her fingers tucked the phone away, leaving the message unanswered as she gazed around the neighborhood. The streets were bare, but in a few apartments and in some homes, there were silhouettes of the people inside. She watched them for a bit before turning to look at her own place. In the window, there was just a faint light, which she’d left on for the pets while she was away. It’d been so long since she was outside looking in at night that the moment struck her. Too long. But here she was, having made her escape at last. The breeze drifted over her, and a slight smile grew on her lips.


Mikayla Randolph resides in California, where she works in the tourism industry. She is currently editing her debut novel, a literary horror, and her work has been featured in The Chamber Magazine. When not writing, she enjoys reading, traveling, and taking too many photos of her dogs. https://www.mikaylarandolph.com/.

Fall 2023