Day 18, Dresses

Enough with the pants business.

I wrapped up 2000 words or so last night around 3AM before I passed out, laptop open, lights on, cat snuggled, pants off.

It’s a miracle I woke up at 9AM without an alarm. Without a thought I got up and went to my closet to contemplate dresses for Josh’s party this weekend.

I tried on three and decided to keep one on. I made breakfast, made coffee, went to the corner store in evening wear and sat down to write some more. Funny how random things like what you’re wearing affect your writing.

For no real reason I feel pretty so my prose seems more confident. Weird.

5,000 words today or I’m grounded.

***

Excerpt:

Pam and I found a small bookstore/coffee shop on Newbury St. called Trident. I heard wind chimes as we made our way down Newbury looking for food and I turned and found an open storefront and was instantly drawn to it. We walked in and Pam was unimpressed.

“It’s a bookstore,” she said. “I want a burger.”

“Of course you do,” I answered, my gaze drawn to a nearby shelf of books on Eastern Philosophy. Of course you do, I thought. You want a burger because you have a gun.

I had been doing that all afternoon. We checked into the hostel and Pam complained about the communal showers.

“I don’t want to shower in a fucking stall,” she had said.

Of course you don’t, I thought. Of course you don’t because you have a gun. You might accidentally shoot someone in the shower with your gun.

We had checked out our room in the hostel and found that our bunks were in a room with two other girls. They were sitting on their beds with maps spread out before them. They smiled and introduced themselves. Karen and Martha. They were from Ottowa.

“Canadians,” Pam muttered under her breath.

Of course you don’t like Canadians, I thought. Of course you don’t, that’s why you have a gun. To protect your country from Canadians.

I noticed that tucked near Karen’s purse was a glass pipe. I could see some bud in it. Pot smokers. I had never in my life craved pot except for right then and there where I wanted to sit down next to Karen, take her hand in mine and ask for a hit.

My friend has a gun. I wanted to say to her as we got stoned. My best friend has a gun and she doesn’t like Canadians.

Not trusting the hostel, or the girls for that matter, Pam made us keep our stuff in her car parked a couple of blocks away on Commonwealth. Of course you would, I thought. Our things will be okay if we keep them with your gun. Your gun will keep our stuff safe.

Once we dropped some things off at the car we set off on foot in search of food. I wasn’t hungry. Of course I wasn’t. I hadn’t been hungry in months. I was tired though and I wanted coffee. Of course I wanted coffee. I always wanted coffee.

Trident was the perfect little place to grab some.

“Laura,” Pam called out to me as I picked up an ornate copy of the Tao Te Ching. “We need food, not philosophy. I know you have an eating disorder, but I don’t.”

“They have a cafe here,” I said. I wasn’t 100% sure if they did. I had seen a sign that said ‘Please Seat Yourself’ but wasn’t too sure where the seating was and if they had food.

“But it’s all Easterny kinda stuff,” she said. “I think it’s healthy.”

“You say that like that’s a bad thing.”

“I don’t want healthy! I want something that’s going to stop my heart. I want something dripping in lard.”

“I think your eating disorder is worse then mine.”

“Ha. Funny.”

Pam took the book out of my hands and put it back on the shelf. A girl in her twenties with short blue asymetrical hair and multiple lip piercings asked me if we needed anything to let her know. She had a black apron tied around her waist with two flour hand prints staining the front. I hadn’t expected her to sound friendly but she did and she smiled, her piercings raising as the corners of her lips did.

“Thanks,” I said and smiled back. The girl turned back around to head back behind the ‘Please Wait to be Seated’ sign and I wanted to reach out for her and tell her that I needed some coffee. I wanted to tell her that I needed coffee and that my friend had a gun in her car and that we were only in town for my therapy appointment for an eating disorder I was sure was just a phase.

“She’s got a tattoo on her elbow,” Pam said. “Man that’s gotta hurt.”

“I like her,” I said defensively. “Just because she’s different doesn’t mean that she’s bad.”

“I didn’t say that she’s bad. Did I say that? No, I just said that an elbow tattoo’s gotta hurt like a bizzatch.”

“Can we eat here?” I asked.

“Jeeesus.” Pam sighed and cocked her hip to the right like she often does. Her right arm came to meet her hip and she looked at me like I was crazy. “Seriously?”

“Please,” I begged. “I really need to sit down and I like this place.”

Pam stood in silence for a couple of minutes before deciding to appease me.

“Ok, but if I’m still hungry after this we’re going to get fucking burgers somewhere.”

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