Beyond Forever

Chapter 9

May 7, 2010

I set a new land speed record for getting ready.

It's ridiculous how quickly I can accomplish the task of showering when I put my mind to it. Instead of my typical twenty-minute soak session, it takes five minutes from the moment I hit the water till I'm setting my razor aside and frantically turning the faucet off.

I towel dry, sort of. My skin's still tacky when I clasp my bra and slip into my undies. I debate makeup. I debate drying my hair. I stand in the middle of my room wearing the equivalent of a bikini and wonder if it's inappropriate attire for a family barbeque. I see that reflection again, of the young me, and resist the urge to flinch at the scantily clad girl I barely recognize.

The longer I stare at myself though, the more I realize I need to be me. I settle on flipping my hair and blowing it into soft waves. I add jeans, a shirt, shoes, and my letterman to the final picture. With a quick once over, I pocket my lip gloss as I grab my purse. My phone buzzes and I snag it, worried that Roseanne has changed her mind.

My parents said you can stay the night if you want.

My breath comes so hard I cough. I stare at the text, my heart slamming. Did she just invite me to stay the night? I glance at my bed, at the toss of blankets, and images of Roseanne naked flash through my mind with such fury I feel faint. I tap my fingers on the keys without writing anything. I know I should say no, but I tell myself instead that I can keep my hands to myself.

I swallow, willing my teenage hormones in check. They are surprisingly intense, and I'm already sweating as I flush with the memory of Roseanne and me together. It makes it hard to even text her back.

Okay.

Grabbing my cheer bag, I throw everything in it I'll need. I hazard a glance at my dresser where my sleepwear is. I don't think I have anything that won't illicit sexual thoughts, so I hunt for sweats and a T-shirt and throw that in instead. The zip of the bag sounds like a stamp on my pseudo virginity's doom. I'm not gonna lie.

By the time I make it to Roseanne's house, I'm trembling. I forget my keys in the car and almost lock it. I'm in such a hurry to see her. It's silly how absolutely twitterpated I am, and how the rush of adrenaline I have relied on my whole life to make sound decisions betrays me now. When I knock, the door opens almost instantly.

If I thought I was in trouble before, I'm seriously screwed now. Roseanne greets me with a form-fitting tee and a pair of equally tight jeans. Her bare feet are pale, and her red toenails flash as she rubs her foot on the back of her calf. Leaning like she is on the doorway, it makes her hips bow, makes the angles of her body arch into one another. Everything fixes to her curves with such precision it leaves nothing to the imagination.

I can't breathe so when she ruffles her hair sexily and smiles with hello, I don't answer her. I just stare slack-jawed and crush my car keys in my hand until it hurts.

Eventually, she giggles. "So, wanna come in?"

It shocks me out of my stupor. "Yes. Hi. Oh wow, you look amazing."

She's pleased with herself, I can tell. There's a bounce in her step as she takes the bag from my shoulder and then, with just a moment of hesitation, places a soft kiss on my cheek. "You do too."

I'm dazzled by it, and I feel the tingle of her touch radiate down to my toes.

"My parents are outside, they want to meet you." She drops my bag in the entry and takes my hand, pulling me through the house.

I only got to see her home once, when we came back before our wedding. Knowing Roseanne's mother Deborah, and her whirlwind of decorating fervor, I assumed the house Roseanne grew up in as a teenager would have been different from my memories.