Bittersweet

Carrie's Crazy Carnival

        I have been awake for two hours, 34 minutes, and 6 seconds. Wait, make that 7. My thoughts were running loose around my mind, bouncing around continuously. It caused my eyes to flicker open too many times to count, before I gave up.

          I looked at my old chewed up ball point pen, ratty paper, and newly written poem. Trust me it is a lot easier to do this when you’re sober. Although, sober or not I’m still not the best writer. Considering that I’m feeling especially courageous today; I send Zach a quick text.

          ‘I need advice on something.’

          A million years later, he decides to text me back. Okay maybe it was two minutes, but it still felt all the same.

          ‘I’ll be there in five.’

          I don’t think that Zach has a very busy schedule. I think that he works and that is pretty much about it. He must have some friends. If I was the only one it would explain a lot.

          The door rattles on its hinges, and I know that it’s Zach. He’s been to my house twice, and I think if he comes over one more time my door will break. A simple knock would be nice. I sit in solitude and silence. Anyways, I could probably hear his lanky frame lean against my door.

          “You’re not the big bad wolf, stop trying to break my house down.” I look at him sternly, and raise my left eyebrow slightly into an arch.

          “I will not wash your hair with that tone missy.” He pushed his hip out the side, and placed his hand on it. His pointer finger was in front of my face waving back and forth.

          I couldn’t hold the serious look any longer. If I tried, my whole entire face would probably explode. Exaggerated a little bit? Yes. Do I care? Not even the slightest. I just lean against my yellowing wall practically snorting. I don’t know why I find this so funny, but I do and I can’t stop laughing.

          I wave my hand towards me, motioning for Zach to come inside. I would tell him to come in with my voice, but obviously I’m a bit pre-occupied with pig laughter. During my very slow walk to the living room the laughter has subsided. Thank god.

          “Quite the laugh you got there. Last time I heard that, I was at a farm.”

          “Did you come here to give me advice, or pick on me?”

          “Actually I came here to wash your hair.”

          “You will never touch my locks, sorry. The offer is off the table. I know how much you would have enjoyed it though.”

          It’s my turn to pick on him, and he just laughs. Not a giggle, but not how hard how I was laughing. I’m not a comedian, but I’m not completely terrible at joking around. I think.