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blondemoment22

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The rest of the evening was spent wallowing in impatience. Every other thought was Gavin, and the remaining ones were debating whether or not I should dig my black lacy underwear out from the bottom drawer of my dresser and finally put them to use. That had been an interesting day with my mother at Victoria’s Secret; and an awfully ironic place to have The Talk…

            But no, it was way too soon to be thinking about that. Even though he and I had passed the getting-to-know-each-other thing years ago didn’t give us permission to get it done after a measly month of official boyfriend girlfriend status. Anyway, I was probably just horny as a symptom of PMS. I was delusional with hormones and I could not let that affect my non-existent sex life.

            We all crashed around four in the morning after giggling for hours about mustaches. I was the last to rise from my coffin at 1:30pm the following day.

            “Plain Jane!” Liza sang into my ear. “Wakey wakey!”

            I rolled over, groaning into my pillow. Bits and pieces of my dream fluttered about in my head, but I couldn’t put them together into anything that made sense. That pissed me off because I knew it had been a good dream.

            Something heavy hit the back of my head, crushing my face down. I swore loudly, twisting around to sit up. Aspen snickered on her bed, flailing her arms. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, that wasn’t me!” she gasped.

            “Was that a pillow?” I asked incredulously.

            “Yeah! It’s goose down.”

            “Balls. It’s heavy is what it is,” I said. I pulled my hair over into its part and rubbed my eyes. I glanced around, surprised to see an empty sleeping bag. “Where’s Kaelyn?”

            “She had to go to work,” Liza replied. “And thank god, ‘cause she was so bitchy.”

            “Yeah, you noticed?” I said, deadpan. It wasn’t too clear but if you’d been listening hard enough, everything she’d said the night before had a coating of sarcasm.

            Aspen gave a little pout. “Let’s eat.”

            We devoured an entire box of Fruit Roll Ups. Oh, and some Cheerios for necessary health purposes aka preventing diabetes.

            “Damn, my stomach hurts,” I whined.

            “Mine too.”

            Liza opened her mouth then shut it again, reassessing whatever she was about to say. “Do you think,” she began slowly, “that coffee would like counteract the sugar?”

            “You need an intervention!” Aspen said.

            “I know,” she huffed.

            “Honestly, you do.” I writhed in the chair. “While we’re talking about addictions, someone needs to drop me off at Gavin’s.” They eyed me like I was fresh road kill. Oh, bad simile. I hoped they wouldn’t tear my flesh off. “No. Whatever you’re thinking, I already refuse.”

            “I was going to offer to pick up some condoms for you, but if you want to catch his herpes then go ahead,” Liza said. She ran her fingers through her hair and made a face. “I call shower.”

            “I can drive you to his house after you get ready and stuff,” Aspen said, although she didn’t sound very enthused about it.

            “No, I’ll have him come get me. He’d be happy to show off his car.”

            “Hasn’t he had that thing forever?”

            “If a year is forever, yeah.” I smiled. I was mainly considering its… backseat potential. No! Bad PJ.

            I hopped in Aspen’s basement shower, the one filled with dead bugs and whatever live ones I had the pleasure of drowning. It was eerie down there. The pipes rattled and hummed behind the super thin sheetrock walls and the guts of the sink showed where a counter should have been. Once I was relatively clean I twisted the water off and the knob squeaked insanely loud. I hurried upstairs to get dressed in Aspen’s room. She was lazing on the couch flipping through channels. I heard the fan going in the bathroom so Liza must still be primping.

            My version of primping included a hairbrush and a stick of concealer. I kick it sk8r grl style.

            I flipped open my half-dead phone and clicked Gavin’s number. He answered on the second ring with a bored, “Jello.”

            “Is tasty,” I finished.

            “Hey, PJ.”

            “I’m at Aspen’s. Do you want to come get me?”

            “No,” he said sarcastically. “She’s the one who lives on that one street right?”

            “Yeah, in that one house,” I mocked.

            “Shut up. I’m on my way.” He hung up.

            I sat on the floor and dug my mp3 player out of my bag.

            I would never willingly tell anyone, but my heart belongs entirely to the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. Normally, hitch-up-your-overalls-and-spit-tobacky bluegrass makes me cringe, but these guys are my therapy. I can’t focus on being an angst ridden teenager when Mr. Bojangles is dancing for me in worn out shoes.

            I blame my mom for corrupting me when I was a child. She went through a stage in her art when she was painting out her anger and frustration at my father. She would blare music she couldn’t stand hearing to get her in the right state of mind to chuck red at the canvas, and the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band happened to be included. I stole the CD from her a few months later and she never asked for it back.

            Gavin rapped his knuckles against the door just as “Melissa” was starting. I opened if for him and he plucked an earphone out to listen. He furrowed his eyebrows. “What the hell is this?”

            “Just enjoy,” I instructed coolly. He couldn’t drag me from my wonderland of grass chewing. Not yet.

            “I know this!” he exclaimed. “My uncle listens to this kind of thing. Did y’all know he owns a pig farm in thar West Virginia?”

            I narrowed my eyes at his pathetic hick accent. “Ha.”

            His nose scrunched up and he snorted, making my scowl melt.

            “What shenanigans do you have planned for us today?” I asked.

            He shifted his weight. “I don’t know. I figured we could just walk around downtown.”

            “Sweet.”

            I started out the door but Aspen yelled, “So you just leave? What about, ‘Thanks for the good time, Aspen!’ or ‘Thanks for letting me eat all your food!’”

            “Thank you, I love you.”

            “Sure,” she grumbled. “That’s what they all say.”