1988
Seattle, Washington
Angie
The faint smell of rain danced around my nose each time the door of the cafe swung open and closed. The chill of the air breezed its way in and hit the skin of my hands, goosebumps arising. Typical Seattle weather, something I couldn't ever get over. I sat, sipping my coffee, the pages of Truman Capote's In Cold Blood creasing between my fingers while waiting for Jane. The window is currently acting as my source of entertainment as I was slightly growing impatient. The book can easily substitute, except I've read it five times and the ending never satisfied.
Jane and I have been friends for fifteen years. We moved together from California to Seattle five months ago, one of the best choices we think we've both made. Her and I are supposed to be meeting this morning, but I have a feeling she's gotten caught up at her boyfriend Bobby's place again. I can't say that I'm not surprised, it's very common for Jane to do something like this. Very "Jane." Her and Bobby met two months ago at a bar, I can remember the night only because I'm constantly reminded of it. Her and I went there for the sole purpose of "getting out and exploring our new home." To make a long story short, Jane can't handle her drinks. I thought he was a sweet guy. His hazel eyes and the way they shine are just as deceiving as his Prince Charming persona he throws on each time he comes around. I guess screwing the bartender from said bar isn't enough to drive her away. She says it makes her want him even more. Complicated? Delusional, more like.
I don't understand how romance, if one would even dare call it that, comes so easily for her, handed to her without hesitation. I have always been the "hey, can I get your friend's number?" kind of girl. I don't know if it's because I'm a bore or if I'm just utterly repulsive, or maybe it's both. Maybe most men desire me in secret. Oh, so dramatic. I think my time will come where the love of my life will ask Jane that same dreadful question and he "sweeps me off my feet." It's quite possible I'm a hopeless romantic and I read too many nauseatingly smoochy, kissey and unrealistic novels. But hey, a girl can dream.
Jane's not coming. I placed a tip on the edge of the table and my coffee container in the trash. I threw my book into my bag, heading straight into the streets of Seattle again. I could walk around the city 24/7 if I had the chance, no doubt. I know this place is for me. California, not so much. Born and raised, I just didn't find it appealing anymore. It's like that old bedtime story you read over and over when you were five. The characters eventually stop appearing as colorful and become unrealistic, you set it back onto the shelf to never be read again. You stop hoping for a different ending. Jane decided she felt the same way, so she and I got out of there when we were fresh out of high school. In our caps and gowns, no exaggeration. The highways and the wheels of my old '77 VW beetle hugging each other like forbidden lovers for the longest 18 hours. "Lovers." Funny.
