Impulse Control (ON HOLD)

Chapter 21

The morning sun streams through a window, and I'm rudely awakened by a glare on my eyes. Slowly opening them, I sit up on my hands. The memories of last night come flooding back, and I feel fresh tears sting at my eyes. Refusing to give in to them, I set my jaw in a steely line and I get up and get dressed.

I walk out into the living room and dinette to see a note taped to the fridge. 'Took David to go swimming, be back later.' I look up at the clock on the microwave. It's 11:18; I've overslept. Still, I feel restless and edgy, as if something or someone might spring at me at any moment. I pick up some glazed donuts from the counter. Settling onto the dinette to eat them, my thoughts return to Cleo.

I may've been going over to Cleo's trailer to apologize last night, but there's no way I'm going back there now. Not with that awful picture of Cleo and that beautiful woman still burning in the back of my mind.

When I think of it, a fire ignites inside of me. Fury crackles through my veins and sadness settles like a pit in my heart. It makes me want to hug Cleo and punch her at the same time. I don't even know why I feel this way. I'm not a lesbo like Cleo. I'm completely straight. I like guys. Sure, I've never wanted to date or kiss one, but that doesn't mean anything. Just because I don't want to do anything with a guy doesn't mean I'm not straight. Still, Cleo didn't deserve me yelling at her. She was just asking a simple question.

Yet it couldn't have been so simple: Why would she ask me if I'm straight unless she likes me? I've never even been liked by a guy before, let alone a lesbian. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to react or what I'm supposed to say or do. I have no idea what I want to do, either.

***

After a few minutes of sitting there, overloading my mind, I decide to head into town for some ice cream. Hopefully it will calm my mind enough so that I can think clearly.

***

I pop the top down on my convertible like a summer dream. My red hair becomes a cloud behind me, blowing in the cool, gentle wind. Country music blares from the speakers and I sigh in contentment. This is perfect. I refuse to let my mind wander to Cleo and her lady friend. It's not like I care, anyway. Cleo's a lesbian. She's going to date other women. She's going to have sex with other women. That's who she is and who she's always going to be. And she's my friend, so I should be happy for her and I shouldn't interfere with who she dates. It's none of my business, anyway.

***

I pull into the ice cream parlor's parking lot. The bell overhead tinkles a sweet melody as I step into the shop.

A jolly-faced woman with a ridiculous teddy bear dress on gives me an overly enthusiastic two-handed wave. "Hello, hello! I'm Kayla and I'm here at your service. What can I get you today?" "A vanilla cone," I reply. She nods, smiles in a friendly manner, and disappears behind the counter. I fill a glass with water and I sit down on a bar stool to await my order.

The ice cream shop is really a quaint place. It looks homey and loved. Teddy bear wallpaper matching Kayla's dress is spread all around the door frame, and several children's crayon drawings are tacked to the ombre blue walls. A big party chandelier with streamers carelessly tossed about it swings delicately from the ceiling. The big, bright lights make the ice cream parlor seem like a lit beacon against the gray darkness of the rest of the town. All around me, the glorious smells of ice cream waft in from the kitchen.

The smooth, marble counter tops are a welcoming cool to touch and I can hear the distant thunder from outside occasionally giving a slight rumble. I can also hear Kayla's pleasant singing in the kitchen, and the relaxing hum of the ice cream making machines.

I close my eyes for a couple of seconds, the feeling of peace and freedom I felt in the forest rushing back to me now. For five blissful seconds, all is quiet and peaceful.

Then, I hear the door open, and the chimes play their little song. I open my eyes and look up in time to see a stranger enter through the door.

He's a stocky young man, about my age. He has a shock of wavy brown hair and is wearing a gold medallion around his neck. The band shirt he's wearing is of Coldplay, and I scoff internally. Personally, I prefer Panic! At The Disco.

He comes and sits next to me, and we lock eyes. His eyes are brown and huge, like enormous balls of chocolate, but they're not the kind you can get lost in, like Cleo's.

We sit without talking for a few minutes, then Kayla returns with both of our orders. He turns, giving me a perfect toothpaste-commercial smile. "I'm Mark," he says in a deep, thick voice that rings a slight Southern accent. 

"Hey," I reply distractedly. "What's your name, gorgeous?" I wince at the "gorgeous" part. I'm anything but gorgeous right now. I'm wearing a battered pair of jeans with a hole in one knee and my white Converse with the black skulls on them. I've pushed my sunglasses on top of my head, and my mass of red hair is wild and wavy and tangled from the car ride into town. I'm wearing a short-sleeved lace shirt that flows down over the waistband of my jeans, and I don't feel pretty at all.

"Sierra," I reply, fighting to keep the cautious, suspicious tone out of my answer. "Want to go outside and eat our ice cream?" Mark offers. "Sure," I say before I can convince myself otherwise.

As we walk out the door, I can't help but feel that my voice sounds strangled. A sense of impending doom takes me over.