The Night Is Young

Crimson Waves and Anne Hathaway

Monthly Flow…..to men these two words could mean anything, or at least anything they can comprehend or they could be confusion. To me it means the seven day visit of my little gift from mother nature.

When I woke up this morning for work,I sat up and felt a heaviness inside my body, like I had eaten too much food the night before. Shaking this off I threw my heavy blanket back off of my body and sat up, needless to say my surprise was not wanted. A crude red circle the size of a wide rimmed glass rested right there in the center of my bed.

I thought the usual things, oh damn, screw, hell no, oh shit, and gradually rose from the bed, only too aware that the same stickiness clung to my pajama bottoms. There wasn’t much I could do along the lines of cleaning, because I had to be to work in less than two hours. I yank the sheets off the bed, the rubber of the forest green sheet nearly snapping at the force made greater by my irritation. The comforter I kicked to the side, brown and green laying next to the lone chair in my room like a mound of undesirable clothes. Careful to hide my own fault, I place my hand near the wet spot on my pajama bottoms and creep to the hallway. There the lone laundry basket sits, pink and unloved, dejected and plastic in its disdainful occupation as the collector of soiled clothing and fabrics.

My hand inches for the basket slowly, fear deep in my mind like a bad case of heartburn I can’t get rid of. These wide brown eyes of mine dart from side to side searching for signs of some overcurious family member and too keen eyes.

No one.

Sigh.

I smile at myself in happiness that I have succeeded at retracting the laundry basket unbeknownst to anyone. The cool hard plastic is unyielding underneath my curled had as I grab hold of it and drag it back oh so slowly, oh so slow-

“Where you going with that?”

Of course I couldn’t sneak without getting caught, that’s always been Ashleys area of expertise. The only thing I ever got away with sneaking were the oreos and frozen cheesecakes my mom kept hidden away from the public eye. She just didn’t realize how unyielding and dangerous my oppressing need to eat constantly was. That’s proof that I can at least succeed if I put my mind to something…..even if it is getting fat off cheesecake and artificially flavored cookies.

But she’d caught me, that dear old twin of mine pressed one hand to her thin hip and leaned against her door frame. Early morning light cascaded over her face like an airbrush and she stood there in all of her attitude and morning disarray the image of reckless beauty. She made me sick.

Caught and antsy I keep my hand on the basket and back slowly until I’m at the entrance of my room, “Um….nothing.”

Smooth Ash, really smooth.

Ashley’s smart, a lot smarter than I give her credit for, she was that way in middle school. Together we were the butt of laughter and jokes gone wrong as we both excelled in whatever we could put our hands on. It wasn’t until mama died that we fell apart, she went to the left choosing friends and meaningless fun over her grades and I went to the right choosing solitude and grades over old friends.

Her eyes flicker as her arms cross and she moves gracefully closer inch by inch, “Liar.”

Cue freaky horror music because something is about to go down. I turn to her as she moves, angling her neck for a better view of what I’m trying to hide. A smile, broken and cracked adorns her face with each dart of her eye. The wood is too cool for my back as I press up against in with the hamber still clutched within my hold. She sniffs, like a dog, her nose high up in the air and then she smirks, “That time of the month huh?”