Let's go.

Part One: The Bus

I take a deep breath in through my nose while slowly counting, "one, two, three, four." Then slowly exhale through my nose, "one, two, three, four." I continue this circular breathing while I anxiously wring my hands over the smooth leather of my Audi's driving wheel.

It has been exactly one month since the man I thought I was going to marry blindsided me. We had met in law school, he was a third year and I was a first year. I was enamored by his "experience" being the older student who had already survived the perils of law school. Then I stood by him for five years as he worked long hours at the firm and struggled to prove himself.

I let out a snort at the thought of the "long hours" he had put in for his "work." All the while screwing anyone and everyone he could, as I naively stood on the sidelines as the ever supportive partner. Well fuck that.

Now I am going to have all the fun that I missed out on in college and law school. "I'm only twenty-eight years old," I remind myself as I reapply a blood red lipstick to my lips.  "I am still young and hot." I roll my eyes at this description of myself as hot. Smart, yes. Driven, yes. Cute, totally. But hot, or sexy? Nah. But now, I have decided that I am going to feel "hot, sexy, and sultry." I tell myself this as I nervously fiddle with the hem of my short, black leather skirt.

My brother called me last week to tell me that he had snagged tickets to the Clash of the Titans tour that was rolling through town. I laughed aloud on the phone at him when he told me,  thinking of my straight-laced lawyer persona at a metal concert really didn't seem likely. My brother, being three years older than me, single, and a metal music fan, thought this would be a great opportunity for me to "let my hair down and get some anger out." His words, not mine.

So, I took up his offer. And here I am waiting for him outside his house in an outfit that screams  "Mötley Crüe groupie," in a car that screams "mid-life crisis." Though I'm only twenty-eight. I remind myself, again.

My brother finally emerges from his front door, waves at me and turns to lock the deadbolt. He is wearing ripped jeans, army boots, a flannel and a leather jacket with studs on the shoulder. My brother has always been very punk rock and here, even in his early thirties, he looks totally cool. He knocks his knuckle on my driver side window in greeting as he jogs over to the passenger door of my car and slides in.

"Hey, sis!" he cheerfully greets me. "Hey, dude!" I reply in equal excitement. I love my brother and I love him more in this instance because he is clearly dragging me to this concert out of the goodness of his heart. He looks down at my short skirt and laughs. "Uh, sis. You look like you are seeing Guns n' Roses in 1987." I look down at my outfit and reply "I thought we were going to a rock concert? Isn't this what people wear?"

My brother leans his head back and lets out a guffaw. "Sis, I swear. Law school stuck you in a time capsule. Things are changing and the music scene is no longer that glam rock shit. It is music made by dudes in flannels who swing hammers during the day and rock out at night."

I reply under my breath, "Great. Already off to a good start." My brother just laughs, amused with himself and his out of fashion sister. 

Well, at least my hair isn't permed and teased to the sky, I tell myself as I nervously take in my appearance in the rearview mirror. My hair is  down and bouncy from a blow out I treated myself to yesterday. The tendrils falling past my breasts are a rich brown. I had been too busy to get a haircut and hadn't realized how long it had grown because I always wear it up for work. My makeup isn't blue eye shadow and glitter, it is a tasteful cat eye that makes my green eyes seem brighter. I'm not totally out of fashion.

"We are going to be late!" My brother exclaims, quickly dragging me back to reality.

----------------