About twenty-fives minutes later, you’re on the other side of the city and a ways away from campus, pulling into a bound parking lot. You take a quick scan of the apartment complex through your slightly foggy window. It looks really nice; clean and fairly quiet, with great lighting from tall street lamps generously scattered all over the sidewalks.
The engine dies and its motoring sound is replaced by those of screaming crickets, croaking frogs, and other typical nightlife as you reluctantly embrace the cold air once again.
“This way,” she says, pointing toward a wide brick pavement that stretches and bends into a semi-circle.
As you follow its path, the yellow brick road from The Wizard of Oz comes to mind, and you can’t help but find your comparison of it to this pavement ironic and quite fitting at the same time.
If there’s one thing that movie taught you, it’s that brick roads only lead to trouble, and you can only imagine the kind of trouble this particular one is going to land you in. This may not be Kansas, but it’s still the frickin’ Midwest.
You walk up to a door—presumably hers—and you immediately notice the welcome mat below it that reads, ‘WELCOME, BITCHES!’
You smile and shake your head. That’s definitely Nicole for you. On some level, you actually admire her carefree attitude and sense of humor. She’s kind of like Trixie in that aspect. Sometimes, you really wish you could be that way; you wish you didn’t always care so much about what people think.
Nicole pulls out a plastic key card from her extra-large designer purse. She slips the rectangular card into the slot, and the bar beeps open with a blinking green light, audibly releasing the lock.
She pushes the door open and you walk in after her, still feeling a bit of apprehension and disbelief that you’re actually going through with this.
You’ve never been to Nicole’s place before. You’ve never even hung out with her outside the bar, and you never in your wildest dreams imagined that you would be doing so under the current circumstances.
You walk right into her living room, and she immediately kicks off her shoes and carelessly flings her purse onto the nearest couch, releasing her hair from its ponytail as she heads toward a corridor.
“Make yourself at home, babe,” she says. “There’s wine and beer in the fridge, and some leftover pizza from yesterday. I’ll be back in a minute with something for you to wear.”
You whip your head in her direction. “Oh, I already brought some clothes with me,” you say.
She turns to face you again with her hand on her hip and her brow arched in curiosity. “Yeah? Let’s see what you got.”
You fish out your grey one-piece pencil dress from your backpack and hold it up for her to see, feeling silently proud of the sophisticated cut and color of the attire. It’s one of the best outfits you have.
Nicole cocks her head to the side, her recently freed hair moving with it right before she arches her brow again, but this time it’s not because she’s curious.
“Yeaaah…no,” she says bluntly, making no attempt to veil her disapproval.
“What?! What do you mean, ‘no’? This is like one of the best outfits I own!” you admonish, looking at it again as if you’re trying to convince yourself of what you’re saying.
“Yeah, and we’re attending a multi-millionaire’s birthday party, not trying to give a PowerPoint presentation at a multi-millionaire’s business deal meeting,” she scolds sarcastically, using her usual animated hand gestures for added effect.
You can’t help but scoff incredulously. “So what exactly do you guys wear to these things?” you ask, feeling a bit irritated that your poor dress just got shot down without so much as a second glance.
“Sit tight, Roni. I’ll find you something. We’re like the same size so I’m sure you’ll be able to fit into my stuff,” she says before walking away again, presumably to her bedroom.
“Wait, how are we the same size?” you call after her, your tone still incredulous, but you get no response. Knowing Nicole’s typical style, you don’t even want to think about what she’s going to pull out of that closet of hers. You seriously have a bad feeling about this. About all of this.
“Oh lord, what kind of mess have I gotten myself into this time?” you mumble, resigning yourself to whatever this surreal night brings with a sigh.
You look around, and your eyes excitedly drink in the sight of the spacious sitting area. You can’t help but feel jealous of how chic and put-together it looks; with picture frames and flower-filled vases lining a glass coffee table and cream white countertops, and beautiful oil paintings hanging on the equally cream-white walls.
Her place really does look amazing, and you can’t stop yourself from comparing your owned cramped space of an apartment to this college student haven.
You head over to her fridge and take out a piece of cold anchovy pizza from its extra-large box. You’re surprised at how delicious it is, and before you know, you’ve had two more pieces.
You hadn’t realized how hungry you were. Come to think of it, you barely had anything all day with all the rehearsing you had to do, and all the anxiety you’ve been feeling lately only makes you hungrier.
You pop open a can of beer and drain half of it in one long slurp. The malty liquid is deliciously cool against your throat and easily washes down the tasty pizza in the best way. Your eyelids flutter shut at the gratifying sensation. The combo seriously feels like heaven right now. You can’t help but groan in satisfaction.
“Glad I can help.”
Your eyes fly open as Nicole’s voice comes through out of the blue, startling you so much that you almost drop the beer can.
You smile sheepishly, suddenly feeling like a little glutton for almost finishing her leftovers and drinking her beer like you don’t have a care in the world.
She holds up a hanger, and your eyes travel to what’s hanging from it.
She has a wicked smile on. “Try it on.”
***
- Fascinated
- Happy
- Sad
- Angry
- Bored
- Afraid
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