why I was anymore.
I dish myself up some of the steaming noodles and cheese, and tip-toe down the cramped hallway to her door. I give it a quick knock and she hollers from the other side. “Yeah?”
I push the door open and frown when I see her. She is laying on her bed in her pajamas, and she barely looks away from her book as I step in. I hold up the bowl of food. “Sorry for earlier.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I shake my head and my frown lines deepen, which I hate. I can feel them setting in as I get older, which makes my stomach a bit queasy. Wasn’t I supposed to grow into laugh lines?
My mouth opens to say more, but no words came out. I step back and shut her door with a quiet click of the latch. I want to say I’m sorry for being a bitch, but I can’t bring myself to. I still feel a lingering cloud hanging over me.
I sit back at the counter and eat like an animal. If the traffic wasn’t so bad, it wouldn’t be what feels like midnight before I could have dinner. My mind wanders to the motorcyclist I saw weaving between the cars like they were dumb cattle. His tanned arms seemed to glare with glistening sweat, and the short glance I got of his eyes was enough to make me choke. I’m so swept up in my thoughts, I don’t even notice Sara until her finger jabs me in the shoulder.
I snap at her. “What is it?” and immediately regret it. I’m not even mad at her, but I don’t want to lose the image in my mind. Her face freezes and her eyes widen. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that...”
“Work?”
“Not even. The traffic was killing me.” I rub my neck and try to knead a knot out. Sara sits down next to me at the counter and leans on her palm. She drops her phone on the tile. I take it as an invitation to keep going. “There was...”
“An accident?” she says, trying to finish my sentence. I shrug, I have no idea what caused the traffic.
“No, a motorcyclist was pissing me off.”
“What an asshole.” Sara is flippant immediately. I grin, but my smile quickly fades when I realize she isn’t listening. “I can’t believe that Mark did this to me, leaving me for some tramp. I bet he’s at her trashy slum on the east side. Ugh, it makes me so mad.”
I roll my eyes and pat her on the shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll get all riddled with diseases, does that make you feel better?” I say. She chuckles a little and shrugs.
Outside, the wind picks up and makes the tree bat at the window, the naked branch only just growing buds. The flowers will bloom soon, but I can’t make myself happy about it. What’s the point anyway? All spring means is that my birthday is coming, and it’s another year that I’ve done nothing with my life.
Sara’s phone beeps and she plucks it from the counter. She skitters off into her room and shuts the door. The slam is so loud, I almost take offense.
After cleaning my dishes, I disappear into my room and start to get undressed.
The trees continue to batter the windows. It’ll be another night of restless sleep for me, I can already tell.
I slip into my night clothes and climb into bed. I want to stay up for a little longer, but I can hear Sara giggling in the other room. The walls are a little too thin for my taste. When Mark was in the picture, I could hear them banging all night long. It wasn’t the most worst thing in the world, but it was enough to make me dream of breaking down her door with a stool after the eleven-billionth time.
She must have already wrangled in another one. I still don’t know how she does it. These men seem to just flutter down from the sky - every time one disappears, five more emerge from the woodwork. Not bad looking guys, but just boring to me. Accountants, file-clerks (whatever that is), and bank tellers. I had my share of that before. A nice boy named Greg. Our passion was so barren I knew I’d never be attracted to his type again. The thing they all seemed to have in common was a thirst to change me, and not
I dish myself up some of the steaming noodles and cheese, and tip-toe down the cramped hallway to her door. I give it a quick knock and she hollers from the other side. “Yeah?”
I push the door open and frown when I see her. She is laying on her bed in her pajamas, and she barely looks away from her book as I step in. I hold up the bowl of food. “Sorry for earlier.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I shake my head and my frown lines deepen, which I hate. I can feel them setting in as I get older, which makes my stomach a bit queasy. Wasn’t I supposed to grow into laugh lines?
My mouth opens to say more, but no words came out. I step back and shut her door with a quiet click of the latch. I want to say I’m sorry for being a bitch, but I can’t bring myself to. I still feel a lingering cloud hanging over me.
I sit back at the counter and eat like an animal. If the traffic wasn’t so bad, it wouldn’t be what feels like midnight before I could have dinner. My mind wanders to the motorcyclist I saw weaving between the cars like they were dumb cattle. His tanned arms seemed to glare with glistening sweat, and the short glance I got of his eyes was enough to make me choke. I’m so swept up in my thoughts, I don’t even notice Sara until her finger jabs me in the shoulder.
I snap at her. “What is it?” and immediately regret it. I’m not even mad at her, but I don’t want to lose the image in my mind. Her face freezes and her eyes widen. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that...”
“Work?”
“Not even. The traffic was killing me.” I rub my neck and try to knead a knot out. Sara sits down next to me at the counter and leans on her palm. She drops her phone on the tile. I take it as an invitation to keep going. “There was...”
“An accident?” she says, trying to finish my sentence. I shrug, I have no idea what caused the traffic.
“No, a motorcyclist was pissing me off.”
“What an asshole.” Sara is flippant immediately. I grin, but my smile quickly fades when I realize she isn’t listening. “I can’t believe that Mark did this to me, leaving me for some tramp. I bet he’s at her trashy slum on the east side. Ugh, it makes me so mad.”
I roll my eyes and pat her on the shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll get all riddled with diseases, does that make you feel better?” I say. She chuckles a little and shrugs.
Outside, the wind picks up and makes the tree bat at the window, the naked branch only just growing buds. The flowers will bloom soon, but I can’t make myself happy about it. What’s the point anyway? All spring means is that my birthday is coming, and it’s another year that I’ve done nothing with my life.
Sara’s phone beeps and she plucks it from the counter. She skitters off into her room and shuts the door. The slam is so loud, I almost take offense.
After cleaning my dishes, I disappear into my room and start to get undressed.
The trees continue to batter the windows. It’ll be another night of restless sleep for me, I can already tell.
I slip into my night clothes and climb into bed. I want to stay up for a little longer, but I can hear Sara giggling in the other room. The walls are a little too thin for my taste. When Mark was in the picture, I could hear them banging all night long. It wasn’t the most worst thing in the world, but it was enough to make me dream of breaking down her door with a stool after the eleven-billionth time.
She must have already wrangled in another one. I still don’t know how she does it. These men seem to just flutter down from the sky - every time one disappears, five more emerge from the woodwork. Not bad looking guys, but just boring to me. Accountants, file-clerks (whatever that is), and bank tellers. I had my share of that before. A nice boy named Greg. Our passion was so barren I knew I’d never be attracted to his type again. The thing they all seemed to have in common was a thirst to change me, and not
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