Psalm of the Lark

16: Plays And Predecessors

Wrong.

That one wasn't right.

Neither was that one. Ooh, it was hideous - Harley Quinn, why did you ever buy that thing?!

A fourth shirt joined the others on my bed; I had the makings of a pile. What was I going to wear? Nothing in my closet was good enough. Evidently, my tastes leave something to be desired - and I certainly wasn't going to be desired if I couldn't find something a little snazzier.

"No," I told myself aloud again. "You are not tryin' to 'hook' her - she's already yours, she's your best bud! Just find something that ain't pure ugly and make sure it's clean!"

All the same, I held up that halterneck I wore to the club the day she'd turned me down - I'd deluded myself into thinking she was watching me move in it, staring after me in the hallway. Babs didn't like girls; I just wanted her to like them, like me... so I imagined it. Dr Leland hadn't told me that's what was going on for sure, but she said I ought to consider the possibility; if a person wants something bad enough, even the sanest mind could lie to itself.

But I wasn't imagining things, now. I knew I wasn't! Okay, so she refused to come right out and say she liked me back - and just in case it was because she didn't, I was straining to pretend I didn't know - but I could feel it, I could feel it down to my core. In her apartment, when she couldn't stop herself saying the words I wanted to hear... when I was doped up and her mouth was inches from mine... in the car, with all those munchkins watching as she stroked my face so gently... too many "coincidences" meant they weren't coincidences anymore. It had to be the truth!

Still... what if she didn't like me back at all? What if I was projecting this onto her, making her react because I'd come on so strong to begin with? That thought killed me every time it popped up. I promised myself I'd let her make the first move, because I had let so much out of the bag that I didn't deserve to be bold anymore, but it was getting harder and harder to stay passive when she was right there, so vivid and comely... the goddess who brought me back to life.

I looked down to find the halterneck wadded into a ball in my nervous hands. It was too flashy for a day on Broadway, anyway. What else did I have?

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Calm down, Barbara. This is easy. Just do it. We're not about to take down Clayface again - it's a play. Easy. Let's go."

My palms started sweating as I buzzed.

"Yello?"

"It's me," I squeaked, then cleared my throat. Wow, I sounded like a complete wreck! Another deep breath. "Ready?"

"Y-yeah," the tiny box told me. Was it me, or was Harley out of breath? "Just- sorry, I'll be down in a min- ow!"

"Harley, what's-"

"I'm fine, don't worry! I'll be down in a minute!"

"Okay," I said, squirming.

Five minutes drifted by with me standing around on the porch of her building, wiping my sweaty hands on my blue jeans and glancing down at my sneakers. Had I dressed right? I looked like street trash; jeans, red t-shirt, Airwalks. One little braid on the side for flair. I really hoped this wasn't a big deal to her, because I was trying so hard to make it look like it wasn't to me. The way I saw it, if we took the pressure off the table-

"Hey!" she said as she breezed out the door, nearly causing me to back into a flowerbed. "Ready ta hit it?"

"Wow," I half-laughed, taking in her heavy olive-green skirt and red-and-black-striped hoodie. "You are hot shit tonight - or a mime."