Cadillac Couches by Sophie B. Watson

I walked smack into a girl. I actually head-butted her by accident. We both rubbed our foreheads and looked at each other.
    â€œSorry, wow, I’m really sorry about that,” I said.
    She had long romantic red hair and peaches-and-cream skin with freckles. I felt a cloud of foreboding when I looked at her one hazel eye and the other green one. I scrutinized her face, wondering what the likelihood was that this could be the same girl, the same buck-toothed free spirit Sullivan had written about.
    She laughed and rubbed her forehead again. “You’re sure in a hurry for a person at a folk fest, is there someone you gotta see?” Her laugh was scratchy and sexy.
    Was this really her? I hope she’s not an Ani fan too.
    Cowboy hat, a mini-skirt. She’s just like I dreamt her to be. Except in my nightmares she was larger than life and I was a Lilliputian.
    I must have fainted. Again.
    Am I sleeping? It’s warm and I’m tired. Oh, oh . . . what is that? Am I being kissed? Jesus, what’s going on? That feels weird. My nose is itchy . . .  I tried to shake my head back into consciousness, my eyes were heavy and I felt a mouth on me again. A dry, unfamiliar mouth, smothering me. It was breathing into me. Then it pulled away.
    The next time I opened my eyes just in time to see her mouth coming toward me. She was plugging my nose too. There was a tent of red hair cascading around my face. She tasted like something tart, something . . . iced tea.
    I jerked up when I understood finally what was happening. The she-devil was giving me mouth-to-mouth artificial respiration.
    â€œHey, are you okay? You just fainted. You passed right out. And I didn’t think you were breathing . . . I think we gotta take you to the medi-tent.”
    â€œNo, no, I’m fine, I’m sure it’s just the sun, the beer, the dope, the music, you know . . .”
    â€œWell . . . shit. Are you breathing fine?”
    â€œYa, thanks for that, Alicia,” I said, still confused.
    Her eyes opened wide. “That’s not my—”
    I took off running, through the crowds, hoping she wouldn’t follow me. I rubbed my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to rub off her bizarre kiss. I felt stung, and slapped. After I was sure I was lost in the crowd again, I stopped for a rest breath and went to hide behind a Moroccan food tent. Gasping. An old man came back to get some more supplies for his kiosk. He looked at me and said, “You shouldn’t take drugs, you know, it’s very bad for young girls.” Then he wagged his finger at me, like an elementary school principal. He grabbed a water bottle from his cooler and gave it to me. I drank it all in one long gulp, grateful once again for the sweetness of strangers.
    I shifted my canvas arm bag from one shoulder to the other. I remembered the Ani DiFranco tapes and pulled them out. I sat down in the shade of a tree. I looked at the crowds around me, making sure I was anonymous again, with no demons in sight. I pulled out Ani’s song lyrics. My eyes were bubbling over with tears.
    Untouchable Face
    tell you the truth I prefer
    the worst of you
    too bad you had to have a better half
    she’s not really my type
    but I think you two are forever
    and I hate to say it but
    you’re perfect together
    so fuck you
    and your untouchable face
    and fuck you
    for existing in the first place
    and who am I
    that I should be vying for your touch
    and who am I
    I bet you can’t even tell me that much
    . . . y’know, I don’t look forward
    to seeing you again
    you’ll look like a photograph of yourself
    taken from far far away
    and I won’t know what to do
    and I won’t know what to say
    except fuck you
    The words weren’t 100 per cent relevant, but they were pretty damn close. I remembered her singing them. I badly needed to hear her singing them