Letting Life Lead
“There’s a drought coming. I can feel it.” Ilsa barged through my apartment door her stylish ensemble (no doubt from the depths of a sale in Filene’s Basement) a burst of color in the bargain white of my apartment. She sunk into the couch almost crushing my hand beneath a couch cushion.
“Is it your birthday again?” I plucked lint from my cardigan with the holes in the sleeves. “You’ve never had to beg for company, and I don’t think you’ll start at thirty-five.”
“That remains to be seen.” She snorted and raided the peanut bowl I lifted from the bar down the street. She plopped her head in my lap and I fiddled her impossibly straight hair. “Move in with me, I’ve got plenty of room.”
She waved her hand around my empty apartment which was a better fit for a fraternity. Egg crate shelves, a sidewalk-salvage couch, and a twenty-year old television from the recycle center.
“It’s mine, more or less. I want to try living by myself for a while.”
Ilsa sighed. “Charlie you’ve been living by yourself for years. Being married to that jerk didn’t mean he was ever there. I still can’t believe he took everything. Asshole. I never liked him.”
I hung my head knowing that I chose a man Ilsa didn’t want and a man she wouldn’t give the time of day to because he flattered me. The attention I coveted wasn’t what I thought. The divorce was as ugly as it needed to be. I was okay being on the bottom swiping packets of sugar from the coffee shop and supplementing my income with bottle returns. I had no desire to climb up and out.
Ilsa sat up and grasped my face in her hand. “Let’s go. Up. Up!”
I groaned. “Can’t we celebrate your birthday in?”
Ilsa had a way of coloring a world I only saw in grays and whites. Supremely happy or just pretending to be, I could never decide. She was the type of creature that if she couldn’t poke her head out of a hole, she’d jump just to catch a fleeting glimpse and tell everyone around her what fabulous sights she could see.
“My day, my choice.” She tugged and pulled and carried on until I relented. She removed her dangle earrings and put them on me. “We are going someplace perfect for you and where I am supremely bored.”
“Your wit lacks. Nope. An outdoor ballet.”
“Where people drink shitty beer out of open cups, belch hotdogs, and sit on wet grass?” I laughed. “You’ll ruin your fancy heels; they’ll sink in the turf.”
She put a warm arm around my shoulders. “They’re just shoes.”
playing by my own rules
We take the heat 'cause we gotta eat.
Liz's home for all things writing related.
I have no idea why I picked this blog name, but there's no turning back now
"Our subject isn't cool, but [s]he fakes it anyway."- The Offspring
Musings through the journey of writing my first novel
It is what it is and it too shall pass.