surfaces and walls. If I had to give the look a name, I’d call it “Distressed Mountain Girlie Kickass Chic”.
And I loved it.
Which was good, I thought as I wandered to my couch, snatched up my iPod and threw myself down on it on my back, since I spent so much fraking time in it.
I stared up at the ceiling, smelling my candle burning (apple) and snatching up one of the many packs of gum around my house, unwrapping a piece and popping it into my mouth.
Bubblemint. I loved the taste, rejoiced when I discovered it, was addicted to it and chewed it all the time, even after midnight on a Thursday while I lay on my couch wondering what on earth I was going to do with the rest of my life.
It was likely that tomorrow Lexie, Laurie, Krystal, or a mixture of them or all of them would be in the library. Not to mention they could bring the rare but plausible additions of their other friends, Wendy, Maggie, Stella, Betty, Sunny, Avril, Amber, Jazz, Kayeleen, or God forbid, the crazy Twyla who scared me more than Krystal.
I’d been blowing them off now for a week, telling them I was busy with library stuff. Seeing as we were having increasingly frightening but strangely vague funding issues, this, thankfully, was not a lie. But it also meant their occasional visits became a lot more frequent and one, the other or several of them, together and separate, had been in the last two days back to back.
Laurie and Krystal had told me that word was buzzing through town, which meant Bubba’s biker bar and Carnal Spa then reaching out to the moon, that I’d gone to the Station and talked to Chace.
Word was, from their sharing it with me, correct. That word stated that I had gone in to make a report. Chace and I had been behind closed doors for ten minutes. Chace had stalked out, looking pissed and immediately went to his SUV. Then I had wandered out moments later looking like I’d been slapped and quickly exited the premises without looking back.
At this news, I’d lied and told them it wasn’t true at all. I told them about the boy I’d seen (and killed two birds with one stone by asking them to look out for him and call me if they saw him) and that was why I went there. Nothing had happened. Chace was looking into it and in the meantime I’d given Frank Dolinski a book and an artist had sketched a (very good) picture of the boy. All this done while Chace was absent from the Station.
They didn’t buy it and although I had to admit I liked that they came around, I knew the pressure would increase and I wasn’t looking forward to that.
But being the librarian in a small town wasn’t nine hours a day, Tuesday through Saturday of fun and laughter. Them coming broke up the day. They were funny. They were open, real and, unlike me, normal. And they liked me which felt nice. It wasn’t like I didn’t have any friends. But all my friends from high school had either moved away or were in committed relationships so I didn’t have much in common with them. We spent time together, just not very much. My other friends were accessed through a computer keyboard.
So it felt nice to feel like a part of their group.
I just didn’t want to share about what happened with Chace.
Maybe I would, one day, when it didn’t hurt so much to think about it. Maybe I’d invite them over for dinner and margaritas and we’d get hammered and I’d spill the beans.
That sounded like a good idea. An open, real, normal thing for a girl who had a life to do. Have her girls over, dinner, drinks, drunkenness and confessing your most mortifying, painful life moments so they could tell you all men are losers and make you another drink.
I popped my earphones in and since I should be winding down rather than gearing up, which was where my thoughts were taking me, I put on a one of my unwind playlists.
This worked until it came up in the queue.
Ella Mae Bowen’s rendition of “Holding Out for a Hero”.
Lying there like I did all the time, alone, late
And I loved it.
Which was good, I thought as I wandered to my couch, snatched up my iPod and threw myself down on it on my back, since I spent so much fraking time in it.
I stared up at the ceiling, smelling my candle burning (apple) and snatching up one of the many packs of gum around my house, unwrapping a piece and popping it into my mouth.
Bubblemint. I loved the taste, rejoiced when I discovered it, was addicted to it and chewed it all the time, even after midnight on a Thursday while I lay on my couch wondering what on earth I was going to do with the rest of my life.
It was likely that tomorrow Lexie, Laurie, Krystal, or a mixture of them or all of them would be in the library. Not to mention they could bring the rare but plausible additions of their other friends, Wendy, Maggie, Stella, Betty, Sunny, Avril, Amber, Jazz, Kayeleen, or God forbid, the crazy Twyla who scared me more than Krystal.
I’d been blowing them off now for a week, telling them I was busy with library stuff. Seeing as we were having increasingly frightening but strangely vague funding issues, this, thankfully, was not a lie. But it also meant their occasional visits became a lot more frequent and one, the other or several of them, together and separate, had been in the last two days back to back.
Laurie and Krystal had told me that word was buzzing through town, which meant Bubba’s biker bar and Carnal Spa then reaching out to the moon, that I’d gone to the Station and talked to Chace.
Word was, from their sharing it with me, correct. That word stated that I had gone in to make a report. Chace and I had been behind closed doors for ten minutes. Chace had stalked out, looking pissed and immediately went to his SUV. Then I had wandered out moments later looking like I’d been slapped and quickly exited the premises without looking back.
At this news, I’d lied and told them it wasn’t true at all. I told them about the boy I’d seen (and killed two birds with one stone by asking them to look out for him and call me if they saw him) and that was why I went there. Nothing had happened. Chace was looking into it and in the meantime I’d given Frank Dolinski a book and an artist had sketched a (very good) picture of the boy. All this done while Chace was absent from the Station.
They didn’t buy it and although I had to admit I liked that they came around, I knew the pressure would increase and I wasn’t looking forward to that.
But being the librarian in a small town wasn’t nine hours a day, Tuesday through Saturday of fun and laughter. Them coming broke up the day. They were funny. They were open, real and, unlike me, normal. And they liked me which felt nice. It wasn’t like I didn’t have any friends. But all my friends from high school had either moved away or were in committed relationships so I didn’t have much in common with them. We spent time together, just not very much. My other friends were accessed through a computer keyboard.
So it felt nice to feel like a part of their group.
I just didn’t want to share about what happened with Chace.
Maybe I would, one day, when it didn’t hurt so much to think about it. Maybe I’d invite them over for dinner and margaritas and we’d get hammered and I’d spill the beans.
That sounded like a good idea. An open, real, normal thing for a girl who had a life to do. Have her girls over, dinner, drinks, drunkenness and confessing your most mortifying, painful life moments so they could tell you all men are losers and make you another drink.
I popped my earphones in and since I should be winding down rather than gearing up, which was where my thoughts were taking me, I put on a one of my unwind playlists.
This worked until it came up in the queue.
Ella Mae Bowen’s rendition of “Holding Out for a Hero”.
Lying there like I did all the time, alone, late
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