These Are the Days

Four - Sunflower

The only thing you feel when you wake up is wet.

You had fallen asleep on Abby's shoulder so, she checks that your head is okay before she gets up from the floor. "What the fuck, Ellie!"

Both of your clothes are soaking wet, making them cling to your bodies.

Ellie shrugs, "You two were out like a light. The only way I could wake you guys up was with water."

"You could have shaken us awake. Not waterboard us!"

"Right, well, I need you two out of here before my parents get home. I don't want people here when they yell at me for having a party...again."

Abby outstretches her hand and you gladly take it. She helps you get off the now soaking-wet floor.

The two of you walk down the stairs, careful not to trip on puddles of beer, and make your way outside. The contrast between the dark house and the bright sunlight makes you squint your eyes.

"How are you getting home?" Abby asks as she grabs her keys. They jingle as she grabs them from the carabiner clipped to her jeans.

"My bike." You point at the space where you parked your bike last night. Abby looks at you confused. When you look over, your heart drops. Your bike is nowhere to be found.

"Fuck!"

You turn and bang on Ellie's door. Seconds later, Ellie opens it with a hand on her hip.

"What?" You can tell that she's on edge. Whatever her parents will do to her is clouding her mind so nothing else matters to her right now.

"Have you seen my bike?" You point to the space where your bike was.

"That was your bike? Some guy drove off with it last night. I thought it was his so I didn't say anything. Sorry about that."

"Do you remember what the guy looked like?"

"TBH, I was fucking zooted so I don't remember that part."

You thank Ellie for her time and collapse on her lawn. The shoes you are wearing were okay for biking but terrible for walking. The twenty-minute bike ride from Ellie's house to yours just tripled. It would take you an hour to walk home. You really hoped that the asshole who took your bike ate shit in front of everyone at school.

"Do you need a ride home?" Abby asks.

"No," you lie. You would like a ride home but don't want to be a burden.

Abby can see right through your lie. "You are not walking home in those shoes," she says.

She's right. No matter how much you've walked in platforms, walking an hour in them would be terrible for your feet. The only person you knew who could do that was Carrie Bradshaw and she wasn't real.

"Get in the car." Abby opens the door for you and closes it once you're tucked inside. The leather seats are cracked, adding to the vintage charm. There are two CDs in the open glove compartment and a pack of gum. Once Abby's inside the car, she reaches over you and closes it.

"Sorry," she says, "My car is a mess."

"It's okay. You should see my room," you joke.

Your mother thought that your room was messy when in reality, it was only a little cluttered. Your entire desk is filled with little trinkets and memories from your past life. Clothes are thrown all over the floor from playing dress up one too many times and sometimes paper lays flatly on the floor if you're too lazy to pick it up.

"I didn't know you collect CDs," you add.

"Yeah, I do. It's cheaper than collecting vinyl," Abby shrugs.