A/N: By the way, folks, I have made a Barcode VIDEO. Yes, yes, I am that
much of an overachiever. Please, if you wish to view said video, leave a
review with your email and/or AIM SN (preferably a SN, but I'm not that
picky), and lovely thoughts on my story.
I watch Heather as she sleeps on the picnic table, one leg dragged off the side, hands in curled fists. Tiny ballerina fighter, kicking ass as she dreams she can. But as I wake up, I realize I am Heather, and I am gravely disappointed.
Small snatches of coconut float in the air; no, not coconut, snow. They cling to my eyelashes and fill in the cracks where patches of snow have melted. I rub my arms. Sometime from when I fell asleep to when I woke up, the warmth went away. The sky has set itself aflame with bold oranges and tangerines while the rest of the world is extinguished quietly. Watch- less, I watch the snow with no sense of time. My hands have frozen. My touch is like ice. I am a motionless snow angel.
I see how still I can be as I think of Spinner and Paige and cryptograms. So still, that if someone were to walk by, they would think that I'm frozen solid. It was an unfortunate day to chop off all my hair. I think about my mother only briefly before I fall headfirst onto the ground. The earth seems like a Popsicle. A dirt Popsicle. I taste it in my mind, the way the earth tastes. Like a cloud of dancing happiness and Jesus Christ, I want some more E. I remember the way emotions rushed in my head, like a glass of water. One drop of joy became a flood, a parade. The high drowned out the sound of other people, hated people, people trying to spoil my fun. I close my eyes and I feel Spinner's tongue. Jesus Christ, I want some E. And I want to be with him. But mostly, I just want that oblivion again. It was worth the next day. It was so worth everything.
I taste more of my dirt Popsicle before finally getting up and realizing there is no place to go. Going home means facing Mother Dearest. Staying here means dying from the cold. I start walking before surrendering myself to the latter.
It would be helpful, I realize now, to have friends in situations like this. After best friend status with Paige fell, I felt I needed no one. Being Heather Sinclair, drugged-up, buck-toothed, agent-having, lame- party-throwing, whore with a 4.0 GPA Heather Sinclair had been enough. I lived a fictionalized life. While everyone else was giggling in the girl's room and failing midterms I was... I don't know. Vacationing in the Bahamas, backpacking through Europe. Deserted on an uninhabited island with a hunky Turkish boy. Just somewhere else, not living the life they thought I was. When I was studying, they were partying. Yet somehow, in some odd twist of fate, the stories got swapped around. Who was Heather Sinclair to befriend when the world was against her?
There are a thousand places I could go, really. The Dot Grill, a movie theater. I could be picked up by a nice stranger, thirty years my senior, and flirt my way to British Columbia where I could start a new life as Seather Hinclair, a quirky yet adorable chick who collects tea towels and cries in romantic comedies.
Can you change who you are? Hell yeah! All it takes is an easy ride and a girlish smile. Trust me.
But instead of going to The Dot, or a movie, or the back alley where cars sometimes pass through, looking for desperate young things, I have somehow ended up on Ellie Nash's front doorstep.
We worked on a project together, Ellie and me and Marco, I the actress (as I was a budding one at the time), Marco the actor, and Ellie, our fabulous director. But beyond that, we aren't friends. She owes me nothing. She doesn't even have to open the stupid door. But she does, camera in hand, looking surprised.
"Ellie," I say. "How about a guest?"
"Come again?" She stares at me blankly.
"It's cold," I reply. "I can't go home. Can I come in?"
"What...," She trails off, closes her eyes, shakes her head. "Yeah, of course, come in." I follow her gratefully, sucking in all warmth I can.
"Where's your mother?" I question. I know her father is in the military, so I don't ask about him.
"She's around," She says vaguely. "Or something. Look, can I get you something... you look soaked. Clothes?"
"No, it's fine," I say. "Could I just use your phone?" She points and I follow her gaze, dialing my own number.
"Mother?"
"Heather? Where the FUCK are you?"
"I... got stuck in a pit. The police just got me out."
"What? Why did no one call me? Are you lying?"
"No, Mother. That's the truth. I took a detour. I couldn't speak. I'm at Ellie's house. I am strongly fatigued."
"Why do you sound so weird? What's the real story, Heather? I was so worried." I wonder if someone is there.
"That's the truth. I fell asleep after falling in a pit. Someone finally found me. I'm okay. I'll be home..." And now I hang up, because I don't know when I'll be home.
"I see you're really specific," Ellie smirks at me and I smirk at her and I almost cannot take the way the questions are floating around, pressing against me, like a balloon about to explode. She doesn't know why I'm here, or my shoe size. I don't know why she let me in, or her birth date. What could we possibly talk about?
I watch Heather as she sleeps on the picnic table, one leg dragged off the side, hands in curled fists. Tiny ballerina fighter, kicking ass as she dreams she can. But as I wake up, I realize I am Heather, and I am gravely disappointed.
Small snatches of coconut float in the air; no, not coconut, snow. They cling to my eyelashes and fill in the cracks where patches of snow have melted. I rub my arms. Sometime from when I fell asleep to when I woke up, the warmth went away. The sky has set itself aflame with bold oranges and tangerines while the rest of the world is extinguished quietly. Watch- less, I watch the snow with no sense of time. My hands have frozen. My touch is like ice. I am a motionless snow angel.
I see how still I can be as I think of Spinner and Paige and cryptograms. So still, that if someone were to walk by, they would think that I'm frozen solid. It was an unfortunate day to chop off all my hair. I think about my mother only briefly before I fall headfirst onto the ground. The earth seems like a Popsicle. A dirt Popsicle. I taste it in my mind, the way the earth tastes. Like a cloud of dancing happiness and Jesus Christ, I want some more E. I remember the way emotions rushed in my head, like a glass of water. One drop of joy became a flood, a parade. The high drowned out the sound of other people, hated people, people trying to spoil my fun. I close my eyes and I feel Spinner's tongue. Jesus Christ, I want some E. And I want to be with him. But mostly, I just want that oblivion again. It was worth the next day. It was so worth everything.
I taste more of my dirt Popsicle before finally getting up and realizing there is no place to go. Going home means facing Mother Dearest. Staying here means dying from the cold. I start walking before surrendering myself to the latter.
It would be helpful, I realize now, to have friends in situations like this. After best friend status with Paige fell, I felt I needed no one. Being Heather Sinclair, drugged-up, buck-toothed, agent-having, lame- party-throwing, whore with a 4.0 GPA Heather Sinclair had been enough. I lived a fictionalized life. While everyone else was giggling in the girl's room and failing midterms I was... I don't know. Vacationing in the Bahamas, backpacking through Europe. Deserted on an uninhabited island with a hunky Turkish boy. Just somewhere else, not living the life they thought I was. When I was studying, they were partying. Yet somehow, in some odd twist of fate, the stories got swapped around. Who was Heather Sinclair to befriend when the world was against her?
There are a thousand places I could go, really. The Dot Grill, a movie theater. I could be picked up by a nice stranger, thirty years my senior, and flirt my way to British Columbia where I could start a new life as Seather Hinclair, a quirky yet adorable chick who collects tea towels and cries in romantic comedies.
Can you change who you are? Hell yeah! All it takes is an easy ride and a girlish smile. Trust me.
But instead of going to The Dot, or a movie, or the back alley where cars sometimes pass through, looking for desperate young things, I have somehow ended up on Ellie Nash's front doorstep.
We worked on a project together, Ellie and me and Marco, I the actress (as I was a budding one at the time), Marco the actor, and Ellie, our fabulous director. But beyond that, we aren't friends. She owes me nothing. She doesn't even have to open the stupid door. But she does, camera in hand, looking surprised.
"Ellie," I say. "How about a guest?"
"Come again?" She stares at me blankly.
"It's cold," I reply. "I can't go home. Can I come in?"
"What...," She trails off, closes her eyes, shakes her head. "Yeah, of course, come in." I follow her gratefully, sucking in all warmth I can.
"Where's your mother?" I question. I know her father is in the military, so I don't ask about him.
"She's around," She says vaguely. "Or something. Look, can I get you something... you look soaked. Clothes?"
"No, it's fine," I say. "Could I just use your phone?" She points and I follow her gaze, dialing my own number.
"Mother?"
"Heather? Where the FUCK are you?"
"I... got stuck in a pit. The police just got me out."
"What? Why did no one call me? Are you lying?"
"No, Mother. That's the truth. I took a detour. I couldn't speak. I'm at Ellie's house. I am strongly fatigued."
"Why do you sound so weird? What's the real story, Heather? I was so worried." I wonder if someone is there.
"That's the truth. I fell asleep after falling in a pit. Someone finally found me. I'm okay. I'll be home..." And now I hang up, because I don't know when I'll be home.
"I see you're really specific," Ellie smirks at me and I smirk at her and I almost cannot take the way the questions are floating around, pressing against me, like a balloon about to explode. She doesn't know why I'm here, or my shoe size. I don't know why she let me in, or her birth date. What could we possibly talk about?