I'm Sorry About Yesterday

Prologue?

               “Same time next week?” asks Linda with her eyebrows raised. The expression does nothing for her face; it only extenuates the fact that she looks like an owl.

                “Sure,” I say, already regretting it. She smiles widely and pulls me into an awkward embrace before strutting away to her car. “I’m gonna kill him,” I mumble to myself. Him referring to my father. “you need a motherly figure in your life!” he’d say. He had set up our little “bonding time” which more or less, I did not want nor need. I’ve gone 22 years without a mother and I turned out just fine.

                Plus, I wouldn’t exactly call Linda motherly. Not with her bleach blonde hair and designer jeans. The woman was in her forties and wore more makeup than I did when I went through my scene phase. She can never hold down a job yet somehow finds loads of money to spend. My dad, who runs a law firm, says that he is just fine with Linda using his paychecks for her extravagant needs but I don’t think he knows to the extent she is spending. Her prima donna attitude doesn’t help my liking of her either. To sum it up nicely, she’s a bitch.

                As I begin my journey home, I put in my ear phones and try to block out the hustle and bustle of the crowded city streets. The skies are grey and the streets wet from the morning rain. The sweet smell of precipitation fills the air. I don’t even bother to walk around the puddles that cover the pavement; I just drag my soggy shoelaces through the small pools of water.

 It only takes about ten minutes to get to my apartment that I share with my friend Clare. When I finally arrive, I flop onto the couch and flip on the television.

“How was your afternoon with miss forty-going-on-sixteen?” Shouts Clare form the bathroom.

“Absolutely splendid. She told me all about her miniature schnauzer, Penny, and how she was put in her cage for pissing on the couch.”

“Sounds riveting.” Clare emerges from the bathroom wearing a dark blue dress and her hair in curlers. “And I would love to hear all about her piss-soaked couch but you need to get ready.”

“What for?” I ask.

“Well, while you were with the Wicked Witch of West Seattle, we were invited to a Taylor Roberts party. So, if you would be so kind as to get off your pretty little ass and get ready, we can go.” Taylor Roberts was practically the queen of our old high school and her parties were, and I quote, ”legendary”. Of course the likes of Clare and me were never  invited to such an event but those higher up in the high school caste system were never quiet about what went down in the massive house. Drugs, alcohol, hook ups, break ups, make ups, the whole shebang. And like I said, people like Clare and me were never invited so I promptly got off my ass and went to my room.

I didn’t have many dresses, but I somehow managed to find one that was bearable. It was a black and purple lacey thing I had gotten a while ago.  I decided to just simply straighten my dark red hair and fan out my fringe left to right. I did the usual with my makeup and just winged my deep green eyes with black eyeliner.

I look at myself in the mirror. Too big eyes, round nose, and ‘average’ lips. Nothing extraordinary.  I turn away from my reflection and walk into the living room. Clare’s dirty blonde hair is no longer in curlers but rests in lazy waves on her shoulders. She sits on the couch watching some reality show. Her blue eyes look up at me and she squeals.

“Oh my dear lord, Paxton, you look a-ma-zing!”

“Uh, thanks. You look great, like always.” I reply with a smile.

“Thank ya. Now, we got places to go, people to see, and alcohol to drink!” I roll my eyes at her.

“I’m not drinking.” I say.