DISCLAIMER: not mine. don't sue.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: yup, i'm back to Rent again. my morbid impulses demand an outlet. oh yeah, this is pre-Rent, April POV.
April Showers...
by kaydee falls
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I have a twin sister. Betcha didn't know that. My mother had these really cute twinny names picked out for us, I can't remember what they were. Tara and Sara or something dumb like that. But then, I was born at exactly 11:54 PM on April 30, and sis popped out just after midnight. Twins with different birthdays. April and May. How cute.
When we were little, everyone would teach us that rhyme in a sickening sing-song voice. You know, April showers bring May flowers. By the time I was six, I knew enough to be insulted by it. May was always the golden child, the flower child. She had Mom's gorgeous reddish-gold curls, and a pale, ivory face. Me, I got our dad's coloring, dark hair and sallow skin. At least I got curls, too. But whereas May's were always gentle and soft and picture-perfect, mine were genuine springs, and refused to be tamed by brush or gel or even straightening. And while my sister made it her mission in life to be a suck-up to every adult we ever encountered, I have a temper.
My dad called May his Sunshine. I was his Thunderstorm.
I got out of there two days after I graduated from high school, and I never looked back. Just left a little white note on the kitchen table, Too sunny for me. That was always my style. Concise. To the point. No questions asked.
Two weeks later, I found myself in New York City. Three weeks after that, I fell in with the wrong crowd. And exactly six days after that, I met Roger.
* * * * *
As soon as I got to new York, I got a job working in a 24-hour deli. Luckily for me, my shift ended at 5 pm, so I never missed out on a night life. This guy Greg started hitting on me one lunch hour, and when I got off work he took me to his friend's apartment, where a whole gang was gathering to go out. I was welcomed quickly. It's my own fault that I stuck with them, even after they started passing me a joint or two. I had used drugs on and off in high school, and this didn't bother me. Once they got me into the serious stuff, I thought I was happy. I mean, that junk really takes you for a whirl. Pop a needle, and bam, a few of hours of ecstasy. The thrill never wore off, for me. Some of them started needing heavier and heavier doses, or more frequent ones, to get the same high. Not me. Guess I was lucky.
Anyway, Greg got bored with me after a few days. Turns out, he was just looking to make his girlfriend jealous by screwing me. I didn't care much. He meant next to nothing to me. Hey, at least I had a group of friends now. Especially since they were the kind of people the rents would not have approved of. I was in love with my life.
So it was only the sixth evening of this merry-go-round existence that I was seated at some bar or another, waiting for something interesting to happen. I wasn't drunk, and I wasn't high, although most of my party was. But they had each other, and I was waiting for something.
Something found me. She sat down at the bar stool next to mine. she said.
I replied noncommittally.
I'm Maureen, she informed me.
Maureen eyed me for a few moments. You look lonely,she said suggestively.
I laughed. Sorry, Maureen, but I don't swing that way.
She shrugged, unembarrassed. Don't worry, my boyfriend's in the corner over there. She gestured to a guy with a small, handheld camera. He was panning the bar with it. I sized him up. Not bad. Kinda cute, actually. Don't even think about it, the girl next to me warned. Marky's mine.
So, what, your statement earlier was supposed to be a point of conversation? Look, my chatty friend, whatever you may think, I'm actually in a reasonably good mood right now. I'm not lonely. At all.
Maureen raised an eyebrow. Hey, you're sitting alone at a bar, even through a crowd of your friends are grooving over there. I didn't ask how she knew I was one of their crowd. And here I've got one of my roomies single and bored, and-- she looked around suddenly, then gritted her teeth --and trying to sneak outside! In one fluid motion, she was out of her stool and at the front door, where she accosted a tall young man I hadn't noticed before. Grabbing his arm, she dragged him over to me. No small feat, he was at least six inches taller than her. April, meet Roger.
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not done yet. believe me, i'm not done yet. i just don't have any more time to write tonight. be a nice reader and review, and i'll be a nice author and finish the story. sorry bout the inconvenience.