It's been three months and the nightmares come and the pain races but the Jasmine hasn't wilted.
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Deet deet. Deet deet. Deet deet.
“Ugh.”
I groaned, clutching the covers tightly over my head as if it would make the sound of my alarm cease. My alarm meant one thing –God still had a sick sense of humor, finding it funny to make me face another day.
My Galaxy Note kept the two-step buzz and C-flat beep. Finally I rolled over. Only my eyes and the bridge of my nose were exposed as I swiped the phone.
“Fine. Fine!” I said in my croaky morning voice silencing the alarm.
I rolled over in my full size bed and cringed at the amount of space I had. Two missed calls. Four texts. Three emails. Kimbrell had called and texted me. The remaining three texts and emails were from Twitter notifying me that someone had retweeted the tweet I retweeted. And one missed call from “Mom #2” who was really Jeremy’s mom, which wouldn’t, be a problem except Jeremy was history. No, more like a forgotten STD. He was something you rarely thought of, yet always got in the way at your other attempts at happiness.
“Blah.”
This wasn’t the time for Jeremy thoughts. I rolled out of bed pulling my draws out of my butt. Good sign. And scratching my old weave.
“Note to self, make hair appointment ASAP.”
I searched though my chipping wooden cupboards for a package of instant noodles. As breakfast heated in my 800 watt microwave (a thrifted score, five bucks) I watered Jasmine, my potted Jasmine, and searched through the classified.
“Help wanted. Friendly, articulate, and willing to work late.”
Hm “X”. Ever since I moved to Wailes I’ve been ridiculed for my accent, a classic southern mixture of country and slang. Plus I have a mean lisp when nervous.
“Wanted. Perky, full vixen. Likes to have fun and learn new tricks. Wow, they put anything in the PUBLIC paper.”
After some more searching, Finally got up and checked my noodles. Lukewarm. I could get lost in my search sometimes. 30 more seconds. I ate and did my workout: twenty squats and twenty lungs. I was thin, but too thin for my liking. I wanted a plush tosh. Finally after showering and “primping” as my mother called I, I sat on the edge on the bed. The golden hues tickled my skin, bare from everything except left over shower water and the scent of my Passion fruit Party body wash. I looked down. My eyes laced my barely petruding breasts, folded stomach, peach fuzz thighs, bony knees, and feet BEGGING for a pedicure… or any cure for that matter.
“No wonder”, I thought aloud.
An image of Pasely – the newest girl- crept into my mind. Her toned milk chocolate skin, bright eyes, and playful curves. My mind danced through her body. She’s like a backstreet full of curves and dips and humps and secrets. I’m a highway flat and straight. The thought of Jeremy, traveling on that street made me hot and goose bumpy.
“No”, I smiled, closing my eyes to give my blurred vision time to clear up. “Not today.”
Later that evening I had received a chat message from user Tonguetwister815_ from Savvysingles.com. His traits were “Out hoeing (pun intended), clean cut, and “paid”.
“Paid?” I repeated in disgust. He was the fake baller type. Then, remembering my current situation, I figured his fake funds were better than mines –inexistent.
“Sup with you 2nite” at 5:24 pm. It was 6:43.
“Sorry” I typed “long day.”
As if he were waiting with his eyes glued to the screen, he replied (no less than half a second later).
“It’s cool. (with a “K”) plans?”
“Ugh”, I scoffed he was definitely not my type. However …
“Your call”, I replied.
“Nostalgia @ 8”
“K.”
… a girl couldn’t starve.
