Reality Check

You know that moment when you're dreamin' a good dream...and I mean a real real good dream...just gettin' to the best part...when you're awakened by some stupid tickin' or a persistent fly on a kamikazi mission to make sure if he's awake, by God, you will be too...and all you wanna do is go back to sleep? You lay there for a minute, squeezin' your eyes shut, tryin' your best to will yourself back into the depths of sleep, of the reprieve of the dream, the bliss of what could be...

But no. Stupid fuckin' fly.

I was havin' a magnificent dream, and Kevin was the starring actor. If I had to chase that fly with a bat only to succumb to burnin' down the house to be sure I singed its stupid buzzin' wings, that's exactly what I would do. Somebody was goin' to die.

It wasn't like I had never had these dreams before. But the fire between Kevin and I had been gettin' hotter for weeks. Ever since our afternoon together for Veteran's Day there had been a stronger-than-usual shock factor between us. It was like electricity every time we were together - the sexual tension practically settin' off sparks when we touched.

And it didn't matter.

I couldn't have him. I couldn't ever truly call him my own. It was something I wanted to ask him all the time. How did he feel about me? Really? Did he love me? Was he dating anybody else he wasn't tellin' me about? Did he love her?

But I didn't ask. I never did. We didn't broach the subject, as though all we needed to ever say was understood and therefore needn't be said...but it wasn't understood! But would understandin' make it any easier? Either way? If he loved me and couldn't have me, that would make it all the more painful, probably awkward, and could possibly prove to dismantle our friendship. If he didn't love me, and I really was left pinin' alone, that would surely be more painful than I could bare...and would again probably dismantle our friendship. So we bared the burdens of our functional and beloved yet undefinable relationship with an unspoken agreement not to speak of it (our true feelings) with me all the while workin' diligently to convince myself I didn't really want to know.

Completely sexually frustrated, and now irritated that my happy haze had been replaced by the swarmin' thoughts and girlie, irrational, ricochetin' emotions in my head, I again returned my attentions to the fly.

Stupid fucking fly.

Grabbin' the magazine from my bedside table, I rolled it up and flew out of my bed. I could see him sittin' on my dresser, all buzzy and cheerfully unaware that he was currently breathin' his last gulps of air.

After a few wild attempts, I managed to calm my thrashin' arms a bit and mercked the irritatin' little shit before I finally did have to ignite my own house in order to guarantee his demise.

I'll be honest, I was a little too gleeful in my trip to the toilet to flush his squished little body. I didn't even realize the devilish grin I had plastered on my face until I was watchin' him spin down into the pipes and a small chuckle escaped my throat.

Jesus Jeaux, you gotta relax. You need a change of scenery. A change of self maybe? Change is good.

I told myself all these things. Change.

What does a girl do when she awakes and impulsively seeks something she can immediately change in of herself?

She visits a beauty parlor.

“I need a haircut,” I told the woman at the front-desk at the salon.

“Was there a stylist you would prefer?” the woman asked.

“No,” I answered, barely payin' her any attention. My attention had focused on the pictures along the wall of the hair models. I was thinkin' something drastic. Drastic change would be the order of the day.

After my hair had been thoroughly washed (which is of course my favorite part of visitin' a salon) and I was cozied up in my chair with my stylist smilin' brightly behind me, she finally asked, “So what are you lookin' for today?”

“Short. Cut it all off.”

“How short? You have such beautiful hair,” she smiled again, runnin' her fingers through the long stretches of brown waves down my back.

“Here,” I gestured, drawin' a line with my finger from my ear to my chin. “Just chop it off.”

“Are you sure? It had to have taken you years to grow your hair this long.”

“Yes. I'm sure. Just do it okay. Donate it. Whatever. I don't care. Just cut it off. We're goin' for a change. Complete makeover okay?” I said startin' to feel a little exasperated with the woman.

“You can makeover yourself all you want and it won't makeover you life hunny,” she whispered, placin' her hand on my shoulder.

Words of wisdom from a girl lookin' much to young to be handin' them out...A life I knew I couldn't change...Feeling such a lack of control it felt like the roller coaster of my life went on unhinged from the tracks, my seat alone left forgotten and unattached...My hair, it seemed was the one thing I had total control of.

Grabbin' the scissors from her hands, I pulled my hair into a ponytail at the side of my head and in four easy snips, took complete control of that tiny sliver of my life.

“Okay, think you can clean that up for me?” I asked, handin' her the scissors.

Stunned – I'm quite sure that was a first for her – she barely nodded. “Straight across the back? Or, I think a slight bob would work well with your curls maybe?” she asked timidly.

“You're the expert, just do whatever you think would look best,” I replied tryin' to smile.

Luckily, my snarky behavior managed to keep the typical salon dribble to a low, minimizin' my chances of hurtin' the stylist's feelings any further.

So with my new haircut, waxed eye-brows, manicured fingers and still burnin' upper lip, I left to find Rachel to do my make-up and play dress-up. I wasn't worried that she'd have anything better to do...I figured she'd be so shell-shocked by my uncharacteristic requests, she'd know something was up and be ready to dish over the day's dramas.

Not to mention, all I'd have to do was give her one look at my new hair, and I was pretty sure my future would also include a large bottle of wine. She was handy that way.

A few hours later, I was workin' on my third glass of wine and my face had been colored with every kind of pen, brush, and powder Rachel had to offer. I had already poured my heart out about Kevin (even though I was always hesitant to discuss him with her) and sent her into a fit of laughter over the poor stylist I'd abused, and had leaned on her shoulder when I then burst into tears in the peak of my pity-party lamentin' my life, my disorder, and my secret but totally undeniable love for my best friend.

“Okay, finish that glass and we're going out! We're going to go drink and dance and flirt and scrounge up some fun. And you are going to stop thinking Kevin and you are going to start enjoying yourself. Do you have any idea how many people would love to be you? Come on now...drink up,” she encouraged, tiltin' my glass for me, so I had no choice but to gulp down the rest.

“That's a good girl,” she said grinnin'. “Come on now, lets get you dressed.”

“Alright alright,” I groaned, pullin' myself from her couch. “Have you talked to him today?”

“You seriously did not just ask me that did you?”

I only stared back. It was a stupid question. But apparently today was ask-and-say-stupid-unspoken-things-out-loud day.

“I'm not even going to dignify that with a response Jeaux. I'm not gonna do it!” she exclaimed, wavin' her hand in the air.

On the strip, the night went along like most any other. We drank, we danced, we turned a few heads. It was goin' along great. I had even managed to keep myself from thinkin' about him for more than five minutes at a time.

The combination of alcohol, loud music and smoke too thick to see through made me feel as though all of my senses were being clogged. Lights blinked, makin' the dancers appear to be movin' faster than they really were. It just made me feel like I couldn't find my next step quite right. Was the floor movin?

“We gotta go meet my friend Aubree at The Hideout. You ready?” Rachel asked.

Yes.

Outside, the crisp air made me feel a little more alert. I took two deep breaths, enjoyin' the fact that I could see again, and breath without coughin'. Maybe I wasn't as drunk as I thought I was.

But I soon wanted to be.

Across the street, through the window, I caught a glimpse of a very familiar profile.

It was Kevin. And he wasn't alone.