I used to frequent karaoke clubs almost every weekend in my younger days. It seemed every Friday night Alice and I were getting gussied up to go out to The K-Lounge and stifle our giggles at the performers, fueled by one too many drinks. I can still hear our high pitched, shrill laughs as we curled, straightened and then curled our hair again, my bedroom thick with hairspray fog and too much perfume as we debated over dresses or skirts, and what height of heel to wear and in what color. She was everything to me, Alice was. My best friend, the only one in the world outside of my own flesh and blood I could depend on unconditionally. Truth be told, she was more like a sister to me than anything else, and we were literally inseparable. I remembered the morning Alice woke up to find an empty house, an empty driveway, bare closets, and her mother gone, just vanished into thin air. She left a note detailing a pitiful explanation that expressed her desire to track down her husband who had left her when Alice was only 10. There was no phone number, no inclination of where she’d gone, and even worse, no promise of ever coming back. Alice, like myself, had no siblings and no other family she could turn to, so two days later, she moved in with me and my parents in our comfortably snug 3 bedroom house in the quiet, rural town of Montrose, New York. I was 21, about to start my final year of college, and she was 25, working as a receptionist for a small law firm. I had my sights set high with big dreams and aspirations of being a nurse, of changing the world for the better. She didn’t have a clue what she wanted to do with her life, but her heart was made of gold and we were both having a hell of a lot of fun trying to figure it all out.
“I think I’m feeling pink tonight,” Alice yelled from across the hall, pulling a pretty frilled skirt out of her closet and pressing it to her waist, admiring it in the mirror. Our rooms were right across from each other and we always kept our doors open while we got ready so we could chat. Magpies, my mother referred to the two of us as, because we were always running our mouths. Truth be told, she was the one constantly talking, and I think it was because she hated silence. To Alice, silence was lonely, and she’d had enough of that in her life already.
“I’m ready, I think,” I said as I strolled into her room just in time to see her pulling on creamy white flats. She eyed my outfit, a vintage floral skirt over a tucked white tanktop paired with a light denim jacket, and her head gave way to a faint nod, as if to signal sisterly approval.
“You look cute. Go ahead and get the car started, I’ll be down in a minute.” I pulled my keys out of my bag and headed down the stairs, yelling to my parents in the next room that we were leaving and would be home late.
The warm summer air was welcoming on my legs as I stepped outside, gravel crunching underneath my boots as I walked to my car, opened the driver’s side door and climbed in. Before starting the ignition, I dug my phone out of my purse, pressed the power button, and the screen lit up with 2 new text notifications. My face must have been priceless when I saw the name of the sender. Mark. My ex. My too nice, too affectionate, too dependent on everyone else for everything he couldn’t carry out himself ex-boyfriend. We had been together for 4 years and I had broken up with him 6 months prior, after weeks of not being happy with where we were. I felt like we were stuck in a comfortable rut, and even though I thought I still loved him, frankly I was bored. He’d been having a lot of trouble letting go, and as much as I thought it was best we kept our distance until his feelings faded, I would still answer his texts and calls to make sure he was alright. Alice said I was too nice, and maybe I was, but I didn’t like letting anyone down. He was safe and familiar, and as bad as it sounds, I wanted him to still be there in case I ever changed my mind. Comfort and safety; we all want that, I think. In that moment though, I half rolled my eyes and let my phone fall back into the front pocket of my purse, not wanting to deal with him now. I heard a door slam and looked up to see Alice coming down the driveway, so I started the ignition. She climbed in and reached for the radio, settling on a song we both knew all the words to. The half screams of our voices missing all the high notes filled the car, and we were on our way.
