Fiction, untitled.
Lobagirl, 01/19/03
The television droned as I picked at my breakfast. Bits of confetti and trampled noisemakers still speckled the kitchen floor more than a week after my roommate’s New Year’s gala. I heard the kitchen doorknob turn with a click, and Elise emerged, flipping her hair into a ponytail and trying unsuccessfully to keep her dainty pink slippers on her feet.
“Morning,” she chirped.
“G’mrng,” I replied, my mouth half full of yogurt.
I heard the muffled crack of breaking plastic as Elise crushed a noisemaker under her slipper.
“That was a great party,” she said with a grin. “Justin said it was the party of the year.”
“So we’ve got nothing left to look forward to,” I said, headache pains springing to my temples. “I’ll try to wake up for next year’s.”
Elise giggled. “I was thinking that we should do another one. Sooner than next year.”
She paused, the lilt in her voice hinting at a germ of an idea. “Valentine’s Day is coming up.”
Run for cover, I thought. Already the sight of red and pink hearts in the store windows had my gag reflex churning all the way to the liquor store downtown.
“Justin and I were thinking of going to a bed and breakfast for the weekend, but we could have dinner or something here before we leave. Is that cool?”
I shrugged. “I’ll be around… so, whatever.”
Elise’s ponytail swished over her shoulders as she cocked her head at me. “Are you going to have a valentine this year?”
My throat froze mid-gulp. I choked down my orange juice and tried to erase the cornered expression that I felt taking over my face.
“What about that guy last semester? The one from your archery class—what was his name? uh…Lance?”
“Luke,” I corrected. “He’s…around, I guess.”
“You should bring him over sometime. For your roommate’s approval.” Her smile was luminous. I felt my head surge.
“We’ll see how it goes,” I mumbled, watching her cheery visage brightening into a faceless beacon of post-coital bliss. I wanted to throw something.
“Keep us posted,” she cooed. She lifted a pair of matching coffee mugs from the counter and turned. I heard the door click behind her as my eyes shifted back to the talking screen.
The nasal alto narrating the morning financial report took a back seat to the throbbing in my head. I swallowed one last spoonful of metallic-tasting yogurt and tossed the rest into the trash. I scooped up my juice glass as I lurched towards my room. I could hear traces of Elise’s glinting laughter and Justin’s warm-molasses drawl vibrating through her door.
My thoughts blurred into the room around me, and soon I was surrounded by a steel-gray haze that augmented the pain already crushing my temples. I picked up my pace, and moments later I found myself behind a thick wooden slab of a door standing guard between me and the rest of the world.
Habit forced my gaze toward the monitor. Nothing had changed. A message affixed to his screen name had already told me dozens of times he was “gone 4 wknd,” the same words I watched him put up two days before—no explanation, no apology. I slouched into my chair as I absently clicked through a round of solitaire, the gray haze closing in again. A slow breath passed through my nostrils, giving me a truncated moment of clarity as my head started to beat a slow, steady rhythm.
I folded my arms on the desk, lowered my head, and started to cry.