Introduction

I can't tell sometimes if what I'm doing is fate or a result of indecision on my part.  I tend to look at all the different people I've met, who I see, the characters in books and in movies, I see them, most of them, as having the answers, knowing what to choose.  And I look at myself as lost. Stuck between knowing and surmising about myself, not quite sure if what I know is what I think or vice versa. 

I know lots of shit about lots of things yet lately I question myself on my actions not sure if what I know is what I am trying to decipher about myself.  Example: I know I'm beautiful.  I know that I'm prettier than those other girls, yet there are always girls that get chosen over me.  So what’s wrong with me?  Completely irrational if you're the one thinking it and I'm dishing the advice.   I know what I want but I think sometimes, okay, a lot, that what I really want is something completely different and I'm just doing now what I wanted then and haven't really figured out if this is still me or what's changed and how.  And then I know I still have no clue.  That's when I begin to wonder if I'm crazy. 

Not an irrational thought there if you look at it from a creative standpoint.  Always having been an artist I've been fascinated by the mysterious tendencies in life and death, the morbidity in both and the interpretations of the other crazy artists, because sometimes those crazed hallucinations evoke brilliance if you are paying enough attention.  Artists like Van Gogh or Munch, authors like Virginia Wolfe or Ernest Hemingway.  All brilliant in a sense, thought provoking and emotional on so many levels.  They tend to pull you in with whatever feeling you might understand from their work and play on your fears as well as your amusements.  Is this why we appreciate them after death?  The craziest works from the crazies aren't appreciated until they've been picked apart and analyzed by other crazies? 

Whatever the case, I've always felt a strange connection to them, as if they've painted or written interpretations of what I've experienced in colors and languages I alone understand.  I know that in some ways I've channeled their energies partly because I am an artist and partly because I'm just that strange, so that I might find motivation and inspiration in what literally caused them to jump off into the swift waters.  No matter how much I've tried to deny it or pretend that just because I have the ability and intelligence to be something other than an artist, that I should be something other than an artist.  Difficult decision, no?  Maybe it's the result of indecision that I chose another path and now fate is smacking me in the face, pushing me by way of unhappiness and brief moments of insanity to revert back to my strength.  So I write.  A lot.  Not enough, but I'm getting there.

Chapter 1

"Hey girl!  How was bio today?  Did you get your test back?"

"Yeah, I did great, as usual.  It's an easy class for me though.  Want to get a coffee?"

"Sure, my treat.  Brag."

“Bite me.”

“You’d enjoy it too much.  Why should I give you that kind of pleasure?”

“Because I’d enjoy actually getting some for a change.”

“Dirty.  That’s all I’ve got to say, Val.”

Carrissa McLaren, my best friend.  Sometimes she’s the only motivating factor that I employ for getting out of bed.  Maybe it's her fiery personality and quick wit.  Or her red hair and ear piercing phone calls at 7:39 A.M. informing me that class begins in 21 minutes and I had better be there, or else.  She’s totally book-smart, equally life-smart, half as dependable at times, but my sole form of support, and I, hers.  She's beautiful, funny, tall, skinny, guys desire her to the point of ignoring every other girl in the room, including myself, until she makes sure to introduce me that is, and then I'm quickly forgotten just like the rest of them while they go on ogling her perky breasts she so masterfully displays as she entwines their small brains in conversation that is sure not to go over their heads…the southern ones. 

Everyone loves her.  But I wonder sometimes why she sees herself as inferior to these people in retrospect, people that will never be half as good as her in life or death.  So many people will never appreciate or understand her devotion to her friends and of course, to her clinically insane mother.  This girl is a fighter if I've ever met one.  But at the same time, the inferiority complex she exhibits in rare form saddens me.  Maybe it's what motivates me to care about her so much.  Quite possibly it’s the reason that no matter what time on what day I know to answer her calls.  Too many close calls to take any chances if you get my drift. 

"So did you still want to go to the concert this weekend, Ris?"

"Um, okay.  Who's all going?"

"You, me, and everyone else that bought tickets.  Sound like a plan?"

"You're driving."

“And you’re drinking.  Put on your party shoes my dear.  We’re taking a cab.”

“Oh god no.  We are NOT going to get half trashed and find an after party.  Oh no.  You…I can’t!  I have to work at eight tomorrow.”

“All the better reason to start earlier.  You aren’t getting out of this.  Not now.  Not later.  It’s on.”

“Worst friend ever.”

“You’ll thank me later.”

We do everything together.  Homework, pizza, hair, p.m.s.  Sometimes when we can't see each other we spend the day on the phone talking, or texting if we can't talk, until our wrists are sore from the position you must assume to use the opposable thumb in an activity for which it hasn't yet evolved.  Yet.  The next generation will have plenty to say I’m sure.  Strange form of communication, yes, but we get our fix and we're there for each other even when we can't be.  Those are the days when at least one of us is mentally stable enough to keep the other from reaching complete insanity and, god forbid, doing so in public. 

"I've got to get to work.  Aaron has today off so I'm covering until the filthy bastard comes back from Mexico tomorrow."

"What the hell is he doing there?"

"Probably nothing too productive.  Drinking, sleeping, laying in the sun.  All of which I'd rather be doing than hanging in this shit hole."

"I hear ya.  I've got to close the shop tonight and it’s Tuesday so you know what that means."

"The Roosevelt family?"

"You know it.  The infamous loose belts to be nice.  Show up at close, order as much as possible and then insist on staying to eat it.  Sometimes I stare at the old guy and wonder when he's going to explode.  I didn't know they made pants that big.  Violent shudders all around just THINKING about it!  I should just quit, go live in the woods, be my bad hippy self."

Carissa laughs. "The hairy legs qualify you for that position."

I smirk.  "I know, and I'm not shaving them any time soon either."

“Watch the attitude Miss Defensive.  You don’t have to explain yourself to me, I hang out with you too much.”

That's always been a joke that everyone finds immense humor in.  Me not shaving and listening to my hippy music that other people have to smoke schloads of pot or drop some acid to understand.  Not me, of course.  I've always wanted to hide in the woods, preferably in Mexico or South America somewhere.  I want to live in a tent underneath an enormous canopy, bathe in a shallow stream or cool lake, and let the sun warm me as I dry off on a huge, smooth rock sticking out of the middle of the water.  Maybe hear birds singing in the early morning as the sun reaches over the edges of the horizon, filtering through the trees while the forest comes to life in it's warmth, the minnows jumping at the gnats on the surface of the still water early in the morning and again at dusk as the air cools and the area gets quiet and life settles in for a long night of sleep.  In the spring the flowers would scent the air tinged with pine tree and in the fall those same evergreens would drop pinecones for the animals to hoard and use for survival in the winter.   

I could live here.  I could live on nuts and berries and roots.  Away from civilization at it's finest, or worst, depending on how you feel about it, perhaps for the rest of my life.  And I could just be.  I could write here, sing whenever, dance to the music of nature found beating in tune to my life, rely on the sun, moon, and stars for an approximation of time and date.  Screw appointments.  Fuck going to a job that I hate for the rest of my pathetic working life.  Fuck bills that will never get paid, taxes and deductions for programs I'll never get to partake in.  Fuck shiny new cars and oversized houses with broken, drunken families that share D.N.A. but not the day’s activities.  Fuck you and your $300 purse that carries credit cards maxed to the hilt and cash you will spend on useless shit you don't need, yet buy anyway.  

"Fuck it."

My favorite phrase.  Only I mean it right now on so many levels.  I could disappear to a place no one would ever find me.  Now do you see why I feel crazy?

Chapter 2

"I don't know why you think you can't do it.  You know full well how capable you are, Val."

"I know I'm capable.  I'm just not feeling capable of motivation.  I'd rather stare at the wall and escape into my mind."

"Ha. Ha.  That's real funny.  Are you seriously going to throw away four years of hard work just for the hell of it?"

"It's not for the hell of it.  I just need some space to go numb in until I feel less frazzled.  I’ve had more than enough of everyone expecting so much from me, it’s exhausting!  Then I promise I'll pick up right where I want to leave off when I’m ready and rested."

"How many college students say that and never make it back?"

"Most of the employees working at the few call centers still operating in the U.S."

"You hate phones.  What will you do if you don't finish your degree?  Become a musician?  A communications major?  You know too fucking much to not finish and make a name for yourself."

"Want to get some Mexican food?  I have a super craving for some queso and salsa."

"I see your spanish class is teaching you mucho."

"Gracias! ¿De dònde vamos amiga?"

"Torinos.  They have killer sangria."

“You’re so easily distracted.  I think that’s one reason I keep you around.  Thanks for the lecture by the way.”

“Hey, someone has to do it.  You sure as hell aren’t discussing the repercussions of your shitty decisions with yourself now are you?”

“Eh.  I wouldn’t listen anyway.”

“God you’re fucked up.”

“You love me.”

“Only on Tuesdays.”

“What’s today again?  That’s right bitch.  You love me.”

I think sometimes people play dumb or the "woe is me" game because they like the feeling they get when someone compliments them in hopes of motivating them.  I'm guilty, I'll admit.  There have been times where I've fished for compliments just to see if someone was listening.  It's reassuring then because they usually aren't.  Even so, I get moody with a few people and try again just to see how much attention they are really, truly paying to me.  Or how quickly I can make them feel like the jackass they look like.

This time though, I could really use some deliberate shoving from behind.  Ris keeps telling me no.  She says with a little attitude as she cocks her head to the right, right hand planted firmly on right hip, left hand gesturing in only god knows which direction.  "Valerie Baden, you're twenty-three years old.  You're gorgeous, funny, talented, and sometimes, you're just too damn smart for your own good." 

She's right.  And I totally agree with her because I know I can get away with whatever I try, even just half assing it.  Right now though, I just want to take a nap.  I keep trying for this stupid major and I feel like I'm coming up short.  Who wants to be a doctor anyway?  Med school is so...involved.  So serious.  I guess in a way surgery is an art but now that I'm almost there I've kind of realized the art of cutting annoying patients open for whatever reason just isn't my cup of tea.  Or shot of vodka if I were to have my way at the moment.  Besides, shouldn’t I be passionate about the life path I choose?  Why does everyone have to strive to be so much more instead of so much of what they want?

Maybe I should go for a less intelligent degree.  Then for sure I'd be the best in the field.  But she's right.  Again.  I hate phones.  Almost as much as I hate the dumb asses that finally reach you after an amazing feat of learning to use one.  All you get out of it is your hope for our species crushed by the ridiculous questions or suggestions that find their way through the air and radio waves to your unfortunate ear.  If it weren't for music I think I might want to go deaf.  Then again, silence has its own way of being too loud.

Did I ever mention how much I love melted cheese and hot-as-shit salsa?  I should have. De-lish.

Chapter 3

Ahh.  Another depressingly beautiful day.  Sun shining.  Birds chirping.  The pool glistening all alone behind my craptacular apartment.  And here I sit, like a good student, working my ass off in the one lab that always smells like butt.  Ugh.  Light a candle someone please!  Just because there are only dead bodies and various parts of them doesn't mean this place can't be somewhat comfortable.  I know what you're thinking and it's true.  Very morbid indeed.  I guess I just enjoy the stale silence offered in the morgue environment.  The obsessive-compulsive in me just enjoys the sterility of the place but the hungry for knowledge brain cells enjoy the very conducive-for-learning environment.  Sick and wrong on many levels.

I guess it could also be a good place for randomly wild and passionate sexcapades should the strange need ever arise and the opportunity present itself.  Sex.  What would it be like?  It's been so long it's possible I've forgotten how.  Can you do that?  I’m not sure if I could just pick up bike riding after this long of a time period.  Oh great.  Now sex is on the mind.  Might as well just give up now.  Stupid kidney.  Why couldn't you have been a little bit more exciting?  Where’s me a man that is breathing voluntarily?

"Let's go meet cute boys after work later, Ris."

"Are you kidding me?  I have my thesis due at 9 a.m.  Where are we going?"

"Anywhere there are horny, good-looking, hard bodied men."

"Aren't you forgetting single?"

"At this point, I'm not sure that's really much of a requirement."

"You are terrible.  We're both going to hell.  You know that right?"

"Great, I can check up on my beachfront there.  Satan has been keeping an eye on it for the winter."

“You’re offensive.”

“You’re religious.”

“And?”

“And I don’t judge you do I?”

Carissa says with a mouthful of snap pees that I can smell, “Touché.”

Why is it that girls my age are always looked upon as needing a boyfriend?  What?  Is 25 the beginning of the spinster years if you don't have one hooked?  It's not 1900.  It's not like I can't work and the only education I'm able to obtain are reading skills basic enough to learn how to cook and how to diaper a baby.  Besides, we tend to live a few years past 45 or 50 now.  I think it's safe to say 30 is a great age to start thinking about wanting a bad marriage.  Every time I visit or speak with a family member from home I get the ‘When are you getting engaged/married/ pregnant’ question and all I can think of is ‘fuck you, I’ve got two years before I need to be hounded any further’.

The truth is that I really just have no desire to reach that mile marker on my life path.  It's not like I've met anyone that I would even consider considering for the title of my boyfriend/husband.  I don't need that.  It doesn't complete me like it does other people.  I learned young how to take care of myself.  And no, I don't get lonely.  I have a cat.  Believe it or not, not all women need a man to function and survive in this day and age.  I don’t have a field that needs to be sown or a cow to milk.  I’m a big girl.  I have two legs.  Even if I didn’t I’d still take my ass down to the supermarket, by myself, and do what I need to do.  No man can say that for himself without invoking anxious memories from their firsthand experiences.

"You know you're going to be the crazy cat lady that lives down the street in that scary house overgrown with ivy along the chain linked fence with a broken gate.  The neighborhood kids are going to doorbell ditch you every Friday night.  You know this right?"

"Of course I know that but it would be a wooden fence.  Chain link is tacky.  Cats are more honest anyway.  What's the harm in it?"

"Eventually you're going to have to meet a guy and get to know him before you sleep with him."

"Are you referring to that blonde guy from last night?"

"Yes, and every other guy you can't remember the name of after a couple of beers."

"And a wild 20 minutes of meaningless sex.  Don't forget that event."

"Twenty minutes?  Jesus what are you?  Oh never mind.  My point is I know you get lonely Val.  When are you going to find someone you can get to know first and build a solid, healthy foundation for a relationship with?"

"I guess when he exists.  So far that's a no-go.  Plus, I have enough other shit going on so the last thing I need is someone getting in the way and then fucking up what I've worked so hard for."

"I’m not going to stick by your side, alone, forever.  Haven't you been thinking about fucking shit up by going and living in the woods?"

"It's not fucking up if I really want to.  I'm just not as focused as you Carrissa.  I’ve wandered."

"So come back."

"I'm not so sure I can.  Or if I really want to.  It’s pretty over here."

“The proverbial grass is greener on the other side argument.  Get real.  You’ve got to have something better than that.”

“I don’t.  Not right now anyway.  I’ll get back to you on that.”

            I know she’s right; eventually I’m going to have to let myself become acquainted with a strapping young man that has no desire what-so-ever to sweep me off my feet.  Despite what my horoscope always says I’m just not feeling up to the task.  Who knows, maybe I’m just not meant to meet a decent guy.  I probably pissed off enough people in my past lives to deserve to die alone.  Not necessarily lonely though.  I’m really good at being alone, it doesn’t bother me.  Especially after the last few shitty relationships I was so blessed to have learned from.  All of those snotty bitches that are always jealous of how gorgeous the boy of the moment is never get to see what happens to me behind closed doors, nor witness how shitacular they treat me.  Foundation gets expensive when you had to use it as often as I did. 

            Needless to say, I get cheated on a lot by those stud muffins.  And most important to point out, quite a few of them aren’t even within remote relativity of Mensa material.  It’s possible I may just be a bit too smart for the typical jocks I go for.  Now if only I were more attracted to the nerdy guys that play role playing games on Friday nights and lack muscle tone except in their joystick thumbs, all would be well.  Hmm, I’m thinking I’ll just stick to cats.  At least they bathe regularly.

Chapter 4

“Val, you have to meet this guy.  He’s a total babe and I swear the nicest guy I’ve ever lusted after, but don’t tell Jackson.  He gets jealous.”

“You always meet the nice guys.  Does he have any interest in girls like me by chance?”

“Actually, Jacks and I were talking and he does have this one friend, Mike, who we both think you would get along great with.”

“You seriously think I’m going to let you set me up with another one of Jackson’s friends after what happened the last time with what’s his name?”

“Randy?  Oh yeah, sorry about that.  No worries though, this guy isn’t a clown and I promise he doesn’t already have a girlfriend.  Or a kid.  Or one on the way.”

“Oh god, he had one on the way?”

“Yeah, sorry I left that one out too.”

“Traitor.”

“Anyway, if you don’t at least meet this guy you’ll never forgive yourself.  Just talk to him for an hour or so at dinner.  I promise it won’t be as dreadful as the last guy.  Pleeeease?”

“Argh!  Okay, but this is the absolute last time I let you set me up at all.  Stop batting your eyes at me you hoochie.”

Carissa laughs, “Yeah, only if you get married.”

“Hey, I can find my own dates!”

“Ha ha!  Yeah, but it’s just easier if I do it for you and it actually has a chance of occurring.  Kind of like a prescreening process.”

“Only you suck at your judgment of guys that I might be interested in.”

“Friday good?”

“What time?”

“Eightish.”

“Murphy’s?”

“Eli’s.”

“Awesome, I love having my two favorite people around!  Not!”  I fake a gag motion making her smile.

 

            Sweet Carrissa, always thinking of me whenever she meets a current honey’s friends.  Bitch.  She always volunteers me to escort these Joe Shmoes all over kingdom come and never understands why I get so bored so quickly with these extremely non-exciting guys and end up sleeping with them to get rid of them.  (Guy’s are afraid of commitment.)  I’m just not like her, she likes to play it safe and date professional guys, just about 30, slightly balding.  These guys, I swear, are about 4 minutes away from their midlife crisis and buying a smaller, faster car, and trading in the old bitch for a younger, larger breasted college freshman.

            I think she does it because she knows they aren’t going to get up and leave just yet, they’ll get comfortable first with what she’ll give, but just give it time.  She needs to stop playing the has-been field, which she does well I might add.  I don’t want to insult her by saying no though, she looks forward to going out with me and having her “two favorite people around” her.  That little comment she always makes sends me on a guilt trip from hell, so I give in while making fun of her to lighten my disdain for the situations.  Every time she asks.

            It’s too bad it’s the kind of adult dating scene where you only see others having the fun you should be having, almost like we’re 21 again instead of mid to upper aged 20s and 30s.  I see all of the young couples out enjoying themselves immensely and I can’t help but be jealous.  Why can’t I have that?  I’m not that old and stale yet am I?  Mentally maybe but physically?  I should deserve something more attractive shouldn’t I?

Ooh, that guy is kind of cute!  I think I need a caramel frap.  I just can’t resist guys making coffee, it’s so hot the way they wear their little aprons with mocha stains and have foam dripping down their strong hands. Note to self, stop drooling in public.  Someone is going to think that I’m foaming at the mouth and draw attention to it.

“Caramel frappuchino grande, please.”  Smile sly hun, he’s gawking.

 

Chapter 5

“So I looked this guy right in the face and I kindly suggest he plead guilty and take the five years and probation we were offering.  It would just be incredibly silly not to take our advice considering we had the upper hand in the trial.  That much was obvious.  Anyway, so after discussing the terms and negotiating a few minor details he decided to take it.  Hopefully he’ll get denied by the parole committee but you can never tell how these guys are going to turn out after being incarcerated for a little while.  You see, the parole committee will meet up with him in the five years…”

 Mike Bergsjo, pronounced bershaw, is a new prosecutor and loves sharing the most riveting moments of his day.  I can hardly keep myself from yawning…again.  Ugh, I should go pee.  How to get out of this situation without making it a girls trip to the potty? That time frame would leave room for discussion about the date and how great it’s got to be going and the last thing I want Mike thinking about is me and him working out at all.  No more than I wish to think about him.  Eww. 

Okay, divert thoughts, there’s no doubt that if I just excuse myself she’ll follow me and want all the excruciating details about the wedding plans I must be making with this guy after an hour of incessant blabbing about how goddamn successful he is.  Suck?  Yes.  Impressive?  Not even close.  If it wouldn’t piss her off so much I’d mock her with the “but he’s so successful and stable” routine she always throws in my face.  Listen hunny!  I’m bored!  Give me something exciting and dangerous.  Where the hell is the bad boy when you need him?  I could use a tattooed jerk right about now.  They are my white knights covered in prison residue.

I’d rather be pulling my nose hairs out one by one with a set of tweezers than continue to sit here.  Okay that’s it, I’m gonna make myself puke.  Bad reaction to the clams right?  Here I go.  Hope it works.

“Excuse me, I’m not feeling so well, I’ll be right back.”

“You okay there miss Valerie?”

“I’m fine, thank you Mike.”

“I’ll go with her guys; you just stay here and keep the seats warm.”

“It’s okay Carrissa, I’ll be fine.”

“No don’t be crazy, I’m coming.”

“Miss ya already babe!”

“Okay if he calls me babe again I’m really going to throw up.”

“You okay Val?”

“I’ll be okay I just had a bad reaction to the clams I think.  We should probably get me a cab or something.”

“Crazy!  We’ll just make it an early night and get you home.  We have to get up early anyway and help Mike move.”

“No, no, you guys really should go see that movie, you’ve been wanting to for a couple of weeks.  Besides, you should have some form of quality entertainment after that enthralling description of case number 134.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

“Positive.  Tell Mike I’m sorry and thanks for a, uh, riveting account of his work.  I had  a great time.”

“Liar.”

“Let him down easy will ya?”

“Yeah, yeah.  Bad Clams.  I’ll make sure he knows.  Go home.”

“Thank you so much.”

“You owe me Miss Baden.”

“Night Miss McClaren!  Love ya!”

            Exit scene front door at a dead run.  Hail taxi.  Possibly let a random sheer scarf flit out of the window in the greatest faux movie scene ever.  Does that happen?  I need a drink.

 

Chapter 6

            I should probably hope something like he wasn’t too disappointed or offended at the way I ended that but for god’s sake I couldn’t handle another minute of it.  Okay, promise to myself, no more dating men that Carrissa deems fabulous.  They never are.  I need more excitement than they can offer, more variety, more young fun.  I don’t really care if he was offended right now; maybe later I’ll take that trip to guilt land, but not right now. 

I can’t make everyone happy, not until I’m happy of course, not to be selfish but it’s just one of those things.  Besides, I’m fine with being a little selfish once in a while.  I give enough, when am I going to get huh?  Yeah I’m pretty sure I’m the only one with that viewpoint.  No wonder guys hate me.  I’m a real unpleasant bitch when I want to be.  Guess word travels fast or like straight people did, they invented a form of radar to detect self absorbed bitches.  Bitch-dar.  Not quite as flowing as Gay-dar but you get the picture.

I’m almost positive that all men have an underground information system about us women where they exchange thoughts and horror stories so the next poor sap may be warned about girls like me.  If not, well, they should.  Ugh, what is that smell?  Am I? Oh god, I am…

“Oh shit. Where the hell am I?”

“Honey, you best be movin’ that skinny white ass outta here.  This here corner is my shop.  Go on now.”

Oh god.  Don’t cry.  Just walk away.  Avert your eyes.  How the hell did I miss my turn?  And by three blocks!  Has it really been that long since I left the restaurant?  Stupid mind and the present vacations I take.  Argh!  Oh hey, nice looking guy in a nice car, ask directions of the least formidable human on this street.

“Back off bitch.  This is my John for the night unless you frontin’ the cash.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I’m just lost.”

“Girl, we all are.  Deal with it.”

Nix that idea.  Okay, now what.  Looking.  God what was I thinking about?  Oops, oh man, I stepped on his nice shoes, he’s going to kill me in that dark alley.  I’m going to end up in the dumpster and never be found until a dog sniffs me out of the landfill in pieces.  Are you Ed Gein’s nephew?  Fuck oh fuck.  Oh don’t cry.  Don’t show him you’re terrified.

“Can I help you?”

            Don’t make eye contact, he’ll go away.

“Oh hi.  I’m just lost.  I didn’t realize I’d walked this far.  I’m going now.”

“Where are you going?”

            Damnit you’re good looking.  Figures.

“Back that direction about three blocks then south.”

“You want a ride?”

“Uhh.”

            Who the hell does this guy think he is?  Does he really think I’m stupid enough to climb into his car just because I’m pretty and my skirt is a couple of inches above my knee?  Jerk!  Where’s pepper spray when you need it?

“Oh I don’t think so.  Thank you though.  I’m just going to walk.”

“Hey, no prob.  You just look a little too classy to be wandering around this street at this time of night.  You going to be okay by yourself?”

“I made it this far didn’t I?”

“Hey, I was just asking.”

            Mind the attitude!  No wonder people scram when you enter a room.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to snap I’m just a little bit nervous.”

            Good hell.  Why do women feel they have to start every sentence with an apology?  Stupid, stupid girls! 

“I’m Clay.  Gordon.  And you are?”

            A hand?  He wants to shake my hand?  Here?  Weird.  Yet strangely I’m tempted.  Who is this guy?

“Valerie.  Nice to meet you?”

“Hey, don’t be afraid of me.  I’m just as out of my element as you are.  I live up north.  I’m a small business owner in Sedona.  I have a mechanics shop up there.”

“Really?  You look too clean to be a mechanic.”

“I mostly do the back office stuff now.  My younger brother Jordan runs the garage.”

“So what are you doing this direction?  Picking up girls on the street?”

Clay laughs.  The sexiest and most comfortable nervous laugh I’ve ever heard. 

“No.  I just dropped my brother off at his friends to pick up his car.  Sure you don’t want a ride back just a few blocks?”

            Cramp in the left foot.  Go!  He’s adorably cute! 

“Okay but just back to third though.  Then I’m getting out.”

“Deal.”
            Whoa, this guy is nice.  Gets the door for a girl and everything.  Or he’s going to shove me in and put a gun to my throat and tell me to ‘drive bitch’.  I really like the way his sideburns frame his jaw line.  A little Cash on the stereo.  Cowboy?  That could be hot.  Wonder if he wears those tight pants and a hat.  Maybe a lasso or some chaps to play with.  Oh I’m doing it again.  STOP Val!  You’re thinking about sex with a guy you don’t even know!  Oooh what to say!?

“My brother really likes country.  Johnny is about all I can handle in that genre.  Rock okay?”

            Phew, glad he broke the ice. 

“Yeah, whatever is fine by me.  It’s your truck.”           

“And you’re my passenger.”

“It’s just a quick ride.  Really, you don’t need to get to know me.  I’m like an enigma and I’ll be gone in a heartbeat.”

“I’m intrigued.  Valerie you said?”

            Oh don’t look at me like that Mr. Drop Dead Sexy.

“Yes.  Why?  You forget already?”

“Spunky.  I like it.”                                                                                                      

Oh my god, did I just laugh like a giddy little school girl?  He made me smile.  That doesn’t happen.  Oh shit, his teeth are perfect.  Now what.  Quickly, think of something witty to say.

“Thanks.”

            Kiss me.   

Chapter 7

"So tell me about yourself." 

Oh god.  The worst way to start a conversation and of course he has to ask it.  Here.  Now.  What do you say?  It's the question that begs you to brag about your accomplishments and forget you have any shortcomings because eventually you'll find those out after I've made you fall in love with all that I wish was perfect about me.  Ok So I'm bitter.  I just don't want to be interviewed.  Fuck.  I just met you buddy.

"Well there's not much to tell, just an ordinary girl living ordinary ways, that's all."

"I doubt that very much Valerie."

"Well stop it, you don't know if it's true or not Mr."

"That's Mr. Gordon to you ma'am.  I'm sure there's enough to you to be somewhat entertaining.  Try me."

"Ok.  I'm twenty three, I enjoy the gory details of death, I am fascinated by crazy people and abstract art, I think the two are synonymous, I love rock and roll, I hate fake people, I love my belly button ring and tattoos.  Oh, and I just ditched out on a really great date because I wasn't fascinated with his idea of what would impress me.  There.  Your turn."

Throw him a big, sweet, sappy smile filled with sarcasm and hope he doesn't throw you out. 

"Brutal.  Honest.  I like this."

"It isn't a first date buddy, I'm not trying to impress you.  You're just being nice and giving me a ride for another 1000 feet."

"Well what if it turned into something more?"

"I guarantee it didn't, nor will it.  And what do you mean something more?"

I wish I could just happen upon something more sometimes but life just doesn't work that way.  Maybe someone should've brought this dude up to speed.  Why do I have to be the one to break it to them all the time?  Mental sigh.

"Let me take you out."
"No."

Yes.  I'd love to go out with you.
"Please.  Don't make me beg you."
"Stop the truck please."

Ok he's slowing down.  I'm going to get out…now!  Before anything really bad happens and he leaves me for someone better.

"Thanks again for the ride Clay."
"Wow, you are difficult.  You're not even going to let me ask you for your number?"

"Are you a good person Clay?  Do you believe in Karma and the fates?"

Clay nods his head yes.  Aww how precious, he looks confused.

"Ok, consider this a good thing."

Wow.  Did I just dog out on two guys in the same night?  Someone evil would be proud of me.  If only I wasn't the most evil person I knew I could call, share my venture, and be praised for coming down to that person's level for a brief moment.  Only I'm the one that has set the bar so low you don't even have to worry about tripping over it.  God I need a bath.

Ugh my feet hurt.  I think.  I feel so numb right now I can hardly tell what I physically feel or if it's just residual feeling from my hardly happiness.  Awesome.  Please note the sarcasm.  I need some Trent Reznor, a little zone out time, some bubble bath.  Ooh I think there's some wine left in the fridge.  Sweet, I love tonight!  Sort of.  I wonder if Ris will bring me anything special, some weed, some Percocet.  Drugs.  Booze  The only highs I covet so.  Ok, besides sex.  Sliiiiiding under the bubbles.  Damn that's hot.  Yow.  I love baths. 

"What the hell are you doing?"

"What?  What are you talking about?"

"It's 4:30 in the morning and you're in the bath.  A cold one at that.  How long have you been out?"

"I, uh, a couple of hours?  I don't fucking know."
"What's wrong with you?  Did you know you could die passing out like that in a bath tub filled with water?"

"Ease up Carissa, I'm fine.  No worries.  Apparently there's been 'divine intervention' tonight.  Go to bed.  When did you get home anyway?  I thought you were staying with what's his name?"

"His name is Jackson.  Stop being such an asshole.  What's your problem anyway?"

"I don't know, I guess I just felt like getting fucked up and not having to report to anything or anyone for a little while.  You know, since I’m a responsible adult and all."

"You don't report to anyone ever.  Remember?  And responsible is hardly the word I’d use to describe you my dear."

"Hahaha."

"Look, Val, I'm really worried about you.  I think you should go talk to someone."

"What good would that do?  I think I'd need to sort out a few of my issues inside my own head first wouldn't I?"

Rhetorical question.  She's smart enough, she'll take the bait. 

"I'll get you a number.  You're calling for an appointment tomorrow.  Something isn't ok with you."

"I feel fine.  I'm just bored."

"Bored?  With what!?  You're the busiest person I know, how the hell could you be bored?"
            Another rhetorical question.  She knows the answer.  I've only told her a thousand times how I feel about my life and the events within it.  She tells me I'm just depressed and being dramatic.  I'm serious though.  I really am bored with it.  Nothing is challenging anymore, everything is so…mundane and typical.  So expected.  I want a fucking surprise.  God I hate it when what I say seeps right through someone.

"Please close the door so that I can get out of the bath.  Goodnight Carissa."

"Fuck you, Valerie."

“Love you too!”

Oh great.  Now she's pissed at me.  Sur-fucking-prise.  I don't even care right now.  Shit it's cold; I wonder where my robe is.  How long have I been in here? Oh my god it’s 4:39 am.  That vico-wine really did the trick.

Chapter 8

“So how was the rest of your night with Jackson?”

“Oh you do remember his name?”

“Yes, Carissa, I remember his name.  I wasn’t that out of it last night.”

“Like hell!  You were passed out in a cold bath tub.  What did you take?  I really am worried about you.  I know that you don’t give a rats’ ass but really Val, you need to do something with yourself besides party and homework.  Just let me know how I can help you.”

“Well you probably can’t since this is a decision I’m going to have to make for myself.  You know me, I can’t be helped.  In all seriousness though I’m just at a funky spot.  I don’t really want to talk about it.  I did meet a hot guy last night though.”

“You didn’t sleep with him did you?  After running out on your actual date who, by the way, wasn’t upset in the least.”

“Ooh sad.  And no, I didn’t sleep with Clay.  I wandered off my regular route walking home and ran into some hookers.  He found me there and whisked me off to my correct path.  Then I jumped out of the truck.”

She’s shaking her head and laughing disdainfully.  I knew she would enjoy the story.

“You never cease to amaze me.”  She giggles again.

“Yeah well he asked for my number but I ran off before he could lasso me in.  I think he was a cowboy.”

“Yummy.  Did he have ass-less chaps on by chance?”

Now we’re both laughing loud.  This is why she’s my best friend.  She can get mad at me, tell me what I need to hear, or what she thinks I need to hear at least, and then we can laugh it off and still be best friends.

“No he didn’t but I did notice a guitar case in the backseat.  He drove this big, blue, lifted Silverado with a chrome grill.  You know how I like the big Chevy right?”

“Three-quarter ton extended cab with a short-bed.  Yes.  I know.” 

She’s mocking me.  Like usual.

“That’s the one!”

“Was he nice?”

“Gorgeous.”
“That’s not the same as nice.”

“His shoes were impeccable if you really want to know.  I didn’t stay and chat long but he lives in Sedona, or has a garage up there anyway.  I didn’t delve deeper.”

“Why are you thinking about him?”
“No idea.  But weird thing, I felt compelled to warn him about karma and the fates.”

“Oh that’s such bullshit and you know it.”
“Yeah well it’s just as supported as that god and Jesus thing you believe in.”

“You got anywhere you’re going today?”
            That’s a good question, I hadn’t really thought about it.  I think maybe attend a chemistry class later if it’s really Thursday like I think it is.  It’s such an easy class but I may need to attend more often than just to turn in homework and run my labs.  The professor mentioned something about docking my points for lack of attendance.  I wasn’t really listening.  Then food.

“It’s Thirsty Thursday, you want to go to that awesome little bar down on Baseline?”
“You’ve read my mind.  I heard there’s a band playing there tonight, like nine I think.”

“I’m down.  Meet you back here at eight for a clothing pow-wow?  I’m going to need some Carissa advice.”
“Duh.  Well I’m off to work.  Love you Valerie.  Bye.”

            I am so not jealous of her job.  She works with a gynecologist as her assistant/receptionist/doormat and seems to love it.  If she hates it she hasn’t said anything, plus she earns a decent living for someone in college.  I think she likes not having to deal with a bunch of men either like she used to at this old bar she worked at.  Talk about slimy men in a bar.  I wouldn’t even go there to visit it was so bad and I love being in bars.  The one time I did I had to have Ruben the bouncer kick him out and call the cops just so I could get to my car without having to worry about being raped, robbed, or murdered in their alleyway parking lot.

Chapter 9

            Alright, it’s 8:30, where the hell is Carissa?  Oh well, I’m stealing her short black skirt and I don’t care what she says.  I had time to work in a tan today so I need to show off my legs a little bit.  I love that the weather is warm finally.  There’s no place like Phoenix in April; it’s so beautiful.  I think I hear the lock on the front door. 

“Ris?”

“Hey, sorry I’m running late.  We had a little emergency after a girl came in bleeding after her back alley abortion.  God I just wish people would be smarter about those things and parents, I mean really, do they have to be such assholes when their kids get pregnant?  This girl was out on her own working the streets.  While pregnant!  Her parents kicked her out and then her john finds out she’s pregnant and…”

“Relax.  You can’t get so upset.  Did she get to the hospital?”

“Yes.”
“Ok.  And social services will help her get back on her feet.”
“You’re right.  You’re always right.  I’m just too uptight.  I need a drink.  You’re wearing my black skirt?”
“Is that alright?”
“Fine.  Where’s your orange knit dress?”
“Closet.  Left side.  Hanging.”
“Go get the car.”
            Alright!  Finally, something exciting to get out for.  Poor girl though, I hate it when she comes home all upset about the poor souls she encounters at work.  I can’t blame her, it’s a really shitty situation but you can’t take it all to heart and then bring it home, it’ll destroy you.  She’ll have to talk about it later when we get home, which is normal.  She can hold her composure no matter how much liquor we’ve had but as soon as she knows we’re alone and it’s private she unloads.  It’s like dropping a bomb, she just explodes all of the information and emotions at you and you have to listen.  Well, I do.  But I don’t mind.

“Hey will you stop at the gas station?  I’m going to grab some gum.”

“You don’t need gum, you’re drinking tonight.”
“It’s for after.  Jackson is meeting me at the house later.  I gave him a key, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Just don’t let him move in unless his ass is paying rent and cleaning the bathroom.  Oh, and I still want to be able to walk around in my undies without having to worry about your boyfriend seeing or either of you being bothered by it.”
“I’ll warn him to shield his eyes from your white ass.”
            Well maybe I won’t have to be the recipient of the exploding bomb later.  I wonder how serious it is with this Jackson guy anyway.  I don’t really feel like finding another roommate or moving.  I think I may be a little jealous, too, of her talking to him about stuff.  Oh well.  It’s not like she can depend on me to be home when she needs it all the time anyway so maybe it’s a good thing. 

“Ok, I’m ready.  Lets go.”

Chapter 10

“You grab the beers Val, I’ll grab a table up by the band.”

“Awesome.  Be right there.”

            We’re basically yelling over what I would assume to be the loudest crappy rock music I think I’ve ever heard before.  Oh well, this is what I thrive on when things get unexplainably shitty during the week.    

“Two Bud Lights please.  Keep the tab open.”
            Baseline Pub is probably my favorite bar but it’s a little bit small to be having this many metal heads in such close proximity to one another.  I’m betting myself a bowl of ice cream that there’s a fight later.  I’m kind of hoping I lose to myself; there’s some Caramel Praline in the freezer right now waiting for me.  Oh I love Caramel Praline, it’s all sweet and crunchy and…

“Here.  To drinking the night away.”
            I love the sound of clinking bottles. 

“Cheers.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming out tonight and supporting local music.  This next band is a little local but known throughout the state for their blues vibe and I hear the lead singer is hot and knows how to work the strings on his guitar.  Make some noise for The Enlisted!”

            Obligatory noise making, screaming, whistling, and clapping from the crowd.  Me and Carissa included of course.  After an introduction like that who wouldn’t be…oh god. 

“What is it?  You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“That’s the guy.  The guy from the truck.  Clay.”
“What!?  You’ve got to be kidding me.  Here?”
“Yeah.  The lead singer.  The hot one!”

“Holy shit.  Talk about your Karma and your fates aligning.”

“What do I do?  Oh god I hope he doesn’t recognize me.”
            She laughs loud, throws her head back and slaps her knee.  Bitch! 

“Well if he does you’ll get to talk to him.  You know you want to.”
“I don’t want to be a fucking groupie.  Give me some credit here.”
            Oh shit I think he’s looking at me.  No, he’s looking away, oh yes he’s looking at me.  Well if this isn’t awkward I’m not sure what it.  I’m smiling.  I hope he doesn’t think I’m stalking him; that would be extra weird…as if it could BE any weirder. 

“We’re The Enlisted.  Make noise if you like this shit.”
“He’s a nerd too it seems.  Nice catch Val.”
            She laughs again.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying this.  I’m going to have a cigarette.  PS I hate you!”

            I feel too awkward to sit there and stare at him while he plays, like I’m a voyeur barging in on his personal space.  I can hear him from the door though, he sounds amazing.  I bet he looks amazing too.  I can imagine his strong fingers plucking away at the guitar strings while he closes his eyes to stretch out a meaningful note.  Wow.  Just wow.  There’s nothing like amazing rock music, a driving beat bombarded with a thick base sharing time with the heavy drum beat.            

            I used to play.  I used to get the same rush of being in front of a crowd playing my heart out for all to hear and few to understand.  Why did I stop anyway?  Oh yeah, that whole education spiel my mother gave me to send me on a mega guilt trip.  She wonders why I can hardly talk to here these days without realizing that I get sick of being belittled and having every ounce of who I am as a person picked apart until I feel like causing myself to bleed out on her floor just to spite her.  I was never the golden child anyway so I’m not sure why I ever let her get to me but it’s a little late for reaffirmations now.  I’m pretty sure the stress from all of that is what keeps me smoking and drinking at any given moment.  Speaking of…

“Mind if I bum one?”

“Have at it.”

“Aren’t you with that red headed chick sitting up front by the band?  She’s so hot.  Why are you sitting out here instead of listening to that kick ass band with her?”

            Oh lovely.  Apparently my existence is only acknowledged when my dear friend is around.  Who the hell is this guy anyway with his beat up Chucks and long, greasy hair?  What’s it been, like 5 months since he’s shit, showered, and shaved?

“Probably a similar reason to why you’re out here.  I’m enjoying a cigarette.  You’re welcome by the way.”

“Oh yeah, thanks.”

“Whatever dude.”
            I walk around to the side of the building, hoping he goes the hell away.  Some guys are just clueless.  I’m sure he didn’t intend to piss me off with his phallic inspired comment but he surely did annoy me.  I’m sure I’ll go back inside and he’ll have mustered up the balls to wander over to her with a bottle of beer and introduce himself without making any reference to having bummed a dirty from her best friend who is outside and thoroughly miffed.

            Ah the music has stopped, I wonder if they’re done now.  Again with the cheering and the clapping.  They did deserve it though, awesome songs.  I’m just never going to tell what’s his name that anyway.  Hopefully he doesn’t remember having seen me and just leaves.

“Karma and the fates huh?”

I think I muttered a fuck underneath my breath based on the way he just looked at me.  I meant to keep it in my head.  Oops.

“Avoiding me again?”

“I’m not avoiding anyone, I just needed some air.”
“Bull shit.  Valerie right?”

I nod.

“Has anyone ever mentioned that you’re crazy.”

“Yeah probably a few dozen times.  So glad you could catch up.”

“I have this ability to catch on when someone’s more than just avoidant and probably extremely depressed.”

“What are you fucking talking about?  What would make you think that I’m depressed?”

“Your demeanor for one thing.”
“Oh since you know me so well from our six minutes of conversation since we met.”
“You’re the one that mentioned something about the fates.  I even looked it up so I would know what the hell you were talking about when you damn near jumped out of a moving truck.”
“You have to admit it was an awesome escape.  How was I supposed to know you weren’t going to follow me home and cut me up into little pieces?”
“Wow.  You’re deranged too.”
“A little.”

            The worst thing about this whole conversation is that we’re actually having a conversation.  I wanted to avoid this whole scenario not engage in it.  He really is extraordinarily beautiful though.  Especially now that I can see he has feelings.  And the panic rises.

“It’s kind of weird you ended up playing here tonight.  I’m being honest when I say I am kind of relieved.”

He laughs that comfortable laugh I remember from first meeting him.

“It is kind of weird.  Seeing you here anyway.  Small world.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“So can I have your number now?”
I laugh this time.  Surprisingly, he excites me a little bit.

“Ok, you can have my number now.”

“Man, I can’t wait to tell my friends.”
“Seriously?”
“No.  Just wanted to see the look on your face.  I won’t tell anyone I got the mysterious Valerie’s phone number and that I’m going to take her out to a great restaurant next weekend.”
“Does she know?”  I quip.

“She does now.”

All I can do is smile at him.  Guys don’t talk to me like this.  He’s not even moving in for the sexual kill.  I wonder what it would be like to actually be taken out to dinner where I wasn’t expected to pay for myself and then get myself off after.

“I’ll call you.  Do me a favor though, this week.”
“What?”

“Don’t drop the attitude and play hard to get.  It’s fun.”
“Oh shut up.  Maybe I just won’t answer the phone when you call.  How’s that for hard to get?”

“Just as long as you call me back after I pick my dignity up off the floor and brush off your footprints.”
I laugh deep.

“I promise.”