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"That's it, I'm not going," Sloane sighed as she looked at her reflection in Abby's floor length mirror. Currently, she was wearing an old white dress in an attempt to be Marilyn Monroe, yet she could not feel any less glamorous. "This is useless, I don't feel like myself."
"Well, duh, it's Halloween!" Abby laughed, messing around with the dress to make sure it fits correctly.
Sloane just shook her head, "I think I need something more than a costume. I need a real change."
"All right, Sloane, I know we haven't known each other very long, but I think I'm starting to know you pretty well. You've got lost girl in your eyes and it's glaringly obvious. Talk to me, I've got the feeling you don't have a lot of open ears around," the brunette led the other girl so they were both sitting on her bed, Sloane with an upset expression as she considered the pros and cons of opening up to Abby. A pro was that she would have someone to talk to and they would most likely feel a lot closer after this. Cons? Sloane would be opening up. Big no no. Last time she opened up, they moved halfway across the country. However, there was a kindness in Abby's eyes, a kindness that part of her knew would never betray her.
With a sigh, she weighed how to express her feelings. Finally, she settled on, "Part of me still feels like I'm that girl in San Francisco. That girl wasn't me, not who I thought I was, at least. I need to get away from that because that girl is sticking to me like fucking superglue. I need a change so I can feel like myself and not like my past."
"Call me crazy, but I think I know what you need to separate yourself from that bitch in San Fran, you with me?"
"I'm with you."
"What in God's name did you do to your hair?" Sloane's mother gawked at her as soon as she entered the house, "And where have you been? Not even a phone call?"
Abby and Sloane had settled on an only-slightly risque Debbie Harry costume for the Halloween party tomorrow night and to complete the look, they decided to cut off about three inches of Sloane's long, blonde hair. They were planning on having her straighten it for the party, but now it settled just past her shoulders in its natural loose waves. She carried her costume in one arm and her school bag in the other as she walked past her mother without saying a word. An explanation could be given, but it felt much better to simply walk on by and leave her wondering.
A haircut and costume were nowhere near fixing all of Sloane's problems, but there was a part of her experiencing a certain weightlessness, a more carefree aura.
Her mother's footsteps following her up the stairs could be heard, but her door was already closed and locked by the time the woman caught up to her. The angered knocking was consistent, but Sloane zoned it out as she put her Pink Floyd cassette tape into her walkman and placed her headphones on, drowning out the knocking with the sounds of The Wall. Most people might expect a girl like Sloane to listen to people like the Go Go's or ABBA, but more often not she filled her ears with bands like Pink Floyd or The Cure. She found comfort in David Gilmour's lostness, his lonliness, and his confusion. The soft guitar of Hey You overtook her senses and she felt listened to. Now, that wasn't saying Sloane didn't enjoy a little ABBA every now and then.
