Dragged.

2: Purple Pony

I never drank in the coffee shop for many reasons. The first reason was mainly because I never really dressed to be in public any longer than the ten minutes it took me to get the beverage, and two because it wasn't just Bettys working there, the customers were all Bettys and Chads too, and why would I allow myself to sit amongst that sort of company.

I curled up on my sofa, with my throw that I got from the zoo when I was fourteen, crudely designed to look like a zebra hide rug, with the edges blacked out so it was still a rectangle. I flicked through the channels looking for something a little more adult to watch, and when I was done pretending to be a grown up, I switched over to the retro toons channel. My favorite show was one from when I was a kid. I couldn't remember the name, but it was about lab rats, or mice or something, and one was stupid and one was smart. It was the most watchable thing in 1997.

The marathon ended, it was nearly 4pm and I flipped through the channels some more when I heard a knock at the door. I was not expecting anyone, so I assumed it was Tracy from down the hall asking for our floors joint Wi-Fi password again, because somehow she thought I was the only one who had it.

I opened the door with the password already printed on a sticky note to see a tall, skinny boy with lush red hair, green eyes, and those pearly whites. I jumped a bit.

"Charming, that you are, but how did you get in my building?" I uneasily stared.

"Oh!" he shrieked. "I'm not stalking you! I just moved in down the hall, and the lady that used to live there said if I needed the Wi-Fi password, that I should ask you." He fumbled.

"Oh, well isn't that a coincidence? I'm guessing you live in Tracy's old place. I'm used to her coming for the Wi-Fi. My name is Billie by the way." I said handing him the sticky note. Him having to caress my palm this time. He looked down at my hand and saw the purple pony sticky note. He laughed.

"You just get better and better. Aren't you a little old for purple pony. My little sister watches that show, and she's 7." He grimaced, with intent to embarrass me.

"Ha ha," I mocked. "These are my nieces, I babysit her in the daytime almost every day."

"Oh sure! If that were so, where is she now?" he grimaced some more.

"I said almost every day. My sister, and her husband took her to England. They're staying there for a couple weeks, for some weird business thing my brother in law is doing."

"I see." He smiled.

"Buddy, you must be pretty manipulative," I smirked "how else would you trick me into sharing my whole life with you in five minutes"

"No, I'm just a curious guy. By the way, why is your apartment so much nicer than mine if all you do is babysit your niece every day?" He laughed, while dodging his head around mine to get a better view of the apartment from the door.

"Hey, that's not all I do. From 3pm to 12am I manage the 24 hour bank down at Kingston, and Leyster." I kept talking even though I wanted to stop. He just had this effect on me. Sort of like my first boyfriend did, but I was so young then.

"Okay grouchy pants, I'll take my Wi-Fi and go now." He said grinning as he held up the pony shaped note, making it dance in a trotting motion. I smiled and closed the door with a mocking wave.

He was the most peculiar boy I had ever met, and yet he was charming. So charming that I almost completely and literally fell under some sort of lucid trance. I walked back over to the couch trying to remember what his name was. He had never told me, but he was wearing a name tag in the coffee shop. He looked like an Andrew or a Nick, or maybe something more out there like Shamus, or Douglas. I laughed to myself. It was borderline racist, but as far as the eye could see there was maybe like one other red haired person in this city.

I looked at the TV and saw Dr. Phillip was on, which was one of my absolute favorite shows. This time the episode was about a boy who didn't want to tell mother that he was interested in doing drag as a hobby. She was incredibly fierce when he told her, as he was already dressed in his drag attire. At first she didn't even seem to recognize him as she shouted, "stay away from my son." But then she realized that it was her son, and started cursing the devil and the heavens, and even going as far as lunging at him. She was a piece of work, but none the less reminded me of my own mother.

My mother was just a girl in the sixties and was taught to not overstep her boundaries, and despite the fact that she was a full on seventies teen, she was such a straight edge. When she discovered that her sister's boyfriend was gay, she didn't even let her sister down easily, she went straight to the police. She was a bitch in the lightest sense. I was raised by her as usual to the ripe age of eighteen, probably a little older then the boy on the TV, and then suddenly she disappeared. Almost like she never existed. For as much as my sister and I know she isn't dead, but it sure is peculiar when someone just up and leaves, right after her youngest daughter turned eighteen.

In my mind I tend to think it was some weird psychological thing, sort of like she was making sure she did her job as a parent, but then she never wanted to see us again. For weeks I got all sorts of counselling, and someone in one of my groups offered me a managerial job at the bank with nothing more than a high school diploma, and a one year college prep course for accounting, and suddenly I was stable and on my feet, But it didn't mean that I liked it.