You know when you get those moments when your heart starts beating louder than a drum, those moments when your chest constricts and you feel like if you even breathe wrong it'll burst out of your skin, those "oh shit" moments. Well I had one of those moments when I was sixteen, standing in my kitchen watching the flames envelope those cheap flower curtains my mom bought at Walmart. Now you'd think the logical thing for me to do would be to run as fast as my fat legs could carry me, but I didn't. I just stood there enthralled by the way the flames danced across those curtains, the way they ate those flowers up like they were nothing. And I stood there, just taking it in, not noticing the flames rising higher and the thick smoke surrounding me. That is until I felt strong arms gathering me up and dragging me out of the house. You could say that that moment was an epiphany for me, or you could say it was the stupidest moment of my life, but either way I know it changed my perception on things. Because after the first 10 seconds of the heart drumming, chest tightening, "oh shit" moment, I wasn't scared. I was surrounded by fire, smoke flowing up my nose so it made my eyes water, but all I could think about was how beautiful it looked. I wasn't scared.
And maybe that's the reason why I'm doing 100mph on my motorcycle after taking 10 shots of tequila with my friends...and I swallowed the worm if you were wondering. And I'm loving every minute of it. I do this almost every week, get drunk and hop on my motorcycle letting the wind whip through my hair and the smell of the ocean waft through my nostrils. See, I live in L.A. I know what you're thinking, fake hollywood chicks with fake tans and fake smiles. But not everything in L.A. is fake, like the smell of the ocean, or the way the sunlight streams through my window every morning, and my best friend who thinks that "King of Queens" is the funniest show on TV. Those aren't fake, and they never could be even if they tried. And its small things like that that make me love L.A. so much.
And it's these things I remember as I drag my hungover butt into the office at 9am, holding onto my Starbucks coffee which is the only thing keeping me standing at the moment. Preparing me for the onslaught of ringing phones, endless chatter, and the constant tip-tapping of people punching in keys on a keyboard with a fury. What do I do you ask? I'm a journalist, but not just any journalist, but soon to be the youngest editor of this crazy place in a couple years. I know I'm only 22, but damn it I get what I want, I always have, plus I'm brilliant and everybody at the paper knows it. I know it sounds like I'm tooting my own horn a bit here, but I've worked hard to get what I want and I'm proud of it.
I flop down behind my desk noticing Callie taking in my frazzled appearance, I can't really blame her, I know I didn't even try at all to look halfway decent, with my hair up in a messy ponytail and sporting my favorite leather jacket, graphic tee, and of course dark blue ripped jeans to complete the look. It's only a matter of time before Callie says something...I give her 5 minutes at the most.
"God Ashley, you look like you just rolled out of a teenage rock concert. What the hell did you get up to last night?"
3 and a half minutes. I love being right.
"Are you saying I look like a baby prostitute?" I say raising my eyebrow in mock disbelief.
"Shut up you idiot. I'm saying it looks like you didn't sleep at all last night, and considering that you're currently sipping a large coffee, and you hate coffee, I'd say that you're hungover too."
"Hey, this coffee is the only thing keeping me alive right now so I suggest you pay it homage because you know you can't live without me!"
She throws her pencil at me and we slip into our work easily. Browsing over the work I need to do for the day I realize why I love my job so much. It incorporates three of my favorite things, writing, communication...and hunting people down of course. Which is where I'm off to right now, hunting down a police officer who can hopefully give me more information on those bank robberies that have been all over the news. 45 minutes later and I'm sitting in a cafe listening to him drone on and on about information I already knew. 20 minutes into the conversation, or monologue I should say, my focus is distracted by the sight of a girl who just spilled her coffee all over some poor guy. The funny thing is though, that he doesn't seem to be mad or anything, far from it, he's actually blushing and stammering. This intrigues me even more and I listen in as she proclaims her sorrys and offers to buy him a new drink and pay to have his shirt dry cleaned. He mutters that it's okay it was an accident but she decides to buy him a new drink anyway, and as she turns to order him a drink, I see her face clearly and realize what's got him stuttering like a tourette's victim. Being a journalist in L.A. I've met a lot of beautiful people, but this girl was stunning. With her blonde hair and blue eyes you'd think she'd just be a common occurence in L.A. but there was something about her that enraptured me. A sort of innocent charm and sweet smile that made me believe that this girl had broken more than a few hearts.
"...and so the bureau has decided that the best approach to this situation is full publicity to prevent the robbers from escaping without being recognized."
I looked at the chubby man in front of me and realized that I hadn't been paying attention to a word he was saying, thank goodness he was to busy munching on his pie and disgustingly talking with his mouth full to notice my distraction.
"Well that seems to settle everything then. Thanks for taking the time out to talk to me." I reply.
"No problem. Are you sure you got everything down?"
"Yep definitely." A lie, seeing as I hadn't written down anything he had said. I stand up, reaching my hand out to shake his.
"Hey maybe you'd like to go out to dinner with me sometime?" he asks, before he settles his hand in my own.
"Uhhh...I'm in a relationship." Another lie, but its one that definitely needed to be told. I give him a quick smile before I head out the door.
Another thing you should know about me. I'm a full blown lesbian. Not that you'd ever be able to guess with my extensive number of relationships coming up to the wholesome amount of 3...one being when I was six and I kissed Clara while we were playing house, so I guess that one doesn't really count then. Actually I'm pretty sure that the other two didn't really count either since neither of them lasted more than two weeks. It's not that I haven't had plenty of opportunities, I don't think I'm bad to look at, and there have been some nice girls but none of them have been able to hold me down. I'm a free spirit, I'm not afraid of being alone, and to be quite honest I'm expecting it. You see, I have issues, maybe through some psychoanalysis bullshit you could say it's from the fire I almost died in when I was sixteen. But me, I say it's because there's no one out there who could possibly hold me down, not for long anyway. And do you know what's even more fucked up...I don't really care.