The Writer (6 page)

And she was naked.

"Rochelle! Did we... oh my god. Please tell me we didn't..."

"Get out!" she screamed again, trying desperately to cover her soapy body with her chubby arms, but it wasn't very effective. One breast peeked out from under her crossed arm, and I was distracted... and still frozen.

She moved her hands from her body, and I caught a full glimpse of her curves. She slid the glass door open with a ringing clang that made the other door reverberate. Then she pushed me with both hands. "Getoutgetoutgetout!"

Okay, so I got out.

And panicked.

Grabbing my clothes, I ran to my bedroom in my birthday suit, hopped into bed, and pulled the covers up to my chin. No. No. No. No. this was NOT happening.

It occurred to me what would happen if Alicia got home in the next few minutes. I felt like I was going to have a heart attack, just envisioning her face turning red, and her balled fists by her side. I glanced at the window; I had just replaced it! I jumped as my phone, still on the nightstand, buzzed with a new text message. "Hi baby, glad you're okay. I'm off, going to stop for lunch, do you feel like Chinese or Indian?"

Thank God for small miracles. "Indian sounds great to chase a killer hangover" – with only one Indian place in town, I also knew they took forever to prepare their take-out meals.

The shower turned off, and after a few minutes, Rochelle emerged into the hallway, fully dressed in a tank top and only her skirt from last night. Her short blond hair was wet, and clung to her head. She looked to the left, and then right into my bedroom, and we shared a look.

I could tell talking to me was the last thing she wanted to do. For a minute I thought she would bolt down the stairs and right out the front door.

And momentarily, I actually hoped she would.

But I was worried, that we actually had slept together, and it would ruin our friendship. Worse - that I couldn't remember. The image of her curvy, voluptuous body was burned into my brain. It didn't even gross me out, like I thought it would. She actually had looked... sexy.

For fuck's sake, get a hold of yourself! I wanted to punch myself in the face. I even pinched my arm and closed my eyes, hoping it was a horrible, horrible nightmare.

I opened my eyes, and she was leaning against my bedroom doorway, looking at me sideways. Her arms were crossed under her chest, making her huge breasts hike up. She bent one knee-high booted foot up against the frame.

Damn it, all I could see was her naked.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, willing the vision to go away.

When I opened my eyes, I tried to catch her gaze. But her eyes flitted about the room, glancing from the bed to the dresser, the open closet, and the heavy wardrobe.

"So..." she said, and I could see the beads of sweat on her forehead, "It's very pink in here."

I took in the pink bedspread I was clutching, the two dozen pink throw pillows that surrounded me. The dresser was pastel pink, the wardrobe was blessedly oak, but had pink knobs. The zebra striped pink curtains covered the window.

I realized I hated pink.

"Well, except for that," she pointed to my 49'ers poster, hung oddly as the only non-pink thing in my room.

I sat up, the comforter falling in my lap, still very much aware I was still naked.

She stared.

"Ro, you act as if you've never seen me like this before," she'd seen me with my shirt off lots of times.

"I know, it's... never mind." She shook her head.

"Buddy, we didn't... please tell me..." I couldn't even look her in the eye. "If we did, was I any good?"

She actually chuckled. "No, E. We didn't."

I was so relieved. "Why are you here? Why were you in my shower, then?"

"Well you puked on me, do you remember?"

"I puked on you?"

"Yeah, it was quiet disgusting, and you suck. My blouse is ruined, and you owe me another one."

"You can take it out of my pay," I said, offering her a lopsided grin.

"I'll let it slide this one time. This one time," she held up a finger as if to demonstrate.

"It's payback for that time you threw up on me on graduation night," I chuckled thinking about that wild night.

"What?! Look, you were the one who wanted to take shots of tequila and chase it with Heineken!"

"As I recall, you needed cheering up anyway," I said. She had broken up with... who was it? She called him jerk face, now. But I couldn't remember. My head was still pounding.

"Ya know, most people just buy flowers and cards and candy to cheer people up."

"Why would I buy that for a dude?"

"I'm not a – you're an ass."

"We both know perfectly well you're a guy."

"Not a guy. I have boobs."

Oh god, boy, did I know that. I shook my head a little, hoping I could wipe that shit out of my head. "Yeah, well, some guys have boobs."

"I'm a girl; we've been over this before."

"Pshaw, you're not a girl. Trust me, I don't hang out with girls. They're full of drama and crap about their nails and stuff. All you want to talk about is video games and Shakespeare."

Her retort was cut off by the sound of the front door shutting downstairs.

We both jumped. Rochelle looked like a deer in headlights; braced to run as quickly and as far as possible. I probably looked the same; but at least she had clothes on!

"Elijah? You still in bed, you lazy butt?"

Alicia. Oh shit.

Rochelle's slate eyes searched mine frantically. I shrugged, as anxiety overtook me. "Just go with it," I mouthed to her, and she nodded, her face flushed and her glossy eyes filling with panic. I was naked with my best friend in my bedroom. We both knew exactly what this looked like. We heard Alicia's footfalls on the stairs. "I don't suppose you can dive under the bed," I whispered.

"I oughtta smack you," she mouthed back, but she didn't move.

"So the Indian place was closed today, and I got Chinese but couldn't remember if you wanted -- "

She stopped at the top of the stairs. "Rochelle? What're you doing here?" She took a few steps toward her, craning her neck to see me, half-covered by her hideous pink bedspread. I waved.

"Eli, what is she doing here?" In two strides, she pushed past Rochelle and stood at the foot of our bed.

I glanced from Alicia, to Rochelle, and back again. "Alicia, I – she's --"

"What is going on?" She repeated.

Seeing I was tongue tied, Alicia turned to Rochelle. "Why are you in my bedroom?" Alicia smiled then, and it was not a happy one.

"Calm yourself, Prima Donna," Rochelle said, throwing her head back on the door frame and laughing. She unfolded her arm with a jangle. "I drove his truck over this morning."

Alicia's tense shoulders visibly hunched, and she sighed, crossing her arms.

"Still doesn't explain you in my bedroom," she said skeptically.

"I banged on the door a few times, but no one answered, so I let myself in with the key behind the brick."

I had forgot she always knew where I kept the spare key.

"I think I scared the crap out of poor Elijah, him waking up to the sound of someone coming up the stairs."

Alicia looked at me for confirmation. I rubbed my eyes for effect. "Sorry, I must have slept in."

"Must have been some dinner and a show," she murmured, mostly at me.

Rochelle's looked at me, eyebrows furrowed. "We had wine..." she said.

Oh, great.

"Sweetie, you know you're not supposed to drink. It goes right to your head, every time and you always get disambiguation. Remember last time when we --"

I remembered my issue with amnesia all too well.

"Okay, then, well, I'm outtie," Rochelle said, obviously not wanting to hear the end of that sentence. "I'll see myself out."

I waved to her. "See ya at the office tomorrow."

"See ya," and she ducked out. From her uneven heavy footfalls, probably took the stairs two at a time.

"Hey, do you need a ride?" Alicia politely called after her, but her voice was strained.

"No, I'll walk, it's cool!" Rochelle yelled, the front door slamming loudly after her.

Alicia turned to me, her petite brown eyes narrowed. She walked to the side of the bed and leaned over me. "Get dressed; you shouldn't be laying around this time of day, anyway."

"Yes, ma'am," I laughed, trying to break the tension. I pulled her down for a kiss, and it was hard, and all teeth, just like normal.

Last night must have been a dream.

Rochelle

The screen door shut behind me with a slam. I pushed away my tears and shoved my hands in the pockets of my jacket.

My boots pounded on the pavement, the heels echoing loudly, as I started the 4-block walk home. The neighborhood between their duplex and my tiny house was deserted, normal for a Sunday morning in this town. Manicured lawns marked the few apartment complexes I passed, rose bushes and ferns marking the landscaped edge of the property, woody bark dust surrounding their roots.

I stopped.

The soft fern and thorny roses were a good match. They co-existed in rocky or poor soil. But the bark dust protected the roots, so the elements didn't destroy the plants. Take away the bark dust, and they would be left exposed, forced to weather the storms. Would they be okay without the bark dust? Would they survive? Were their roots deep enough?

A sob choked in my throat. He didn't remember.

I managed to hold in my sobs until I let myself in my house. My living room was bleak, and bare, a demonstration of what little time I spent at home. A dolphin poster with bright blends of blue hues hung over the black leather love seat that faced the TV system. It seemed silly that I had surround sound and 3-D action – when did I ever entertain? Half moons and stars decorated the kitchen walls, with a few plaques of cute coffee quotes my mother had insisted as a housewarming gift. The only appliance that sat on the counter was my well-used coffee maker; the espresso part that had long been overworked and given up the ghost, but yesterday's coffee was still clinging to the carafe on the coffee side. The black ooze was calm and ignored.

I stumbled past my tiny office, filled with filing cabinets, an ancient desk, and a smooth black leather desk chair. I remembered when I had bought this house – just after Aaron and I had broken up - and envisioned a nursery, a smooth white crib and changing table would have fit nicely in here. I had just needed to find a man, and my dreams could come true. But then I met Dominic, working as a teacher's assistant on campus my senior year. He had been a freckle faced red-head, who loved to quote obscure fantasy novels and could play the piano like a dream. He hadn't wanted kids, focusing on his ridiculous computer programming classes and that occasional self-proclaimed "good hack session." It was he who insisted on the home office set up. There was still a bare wall where his computer used to be, the one he built for our late night gaming sessions, even though he'd moved out a little over three years ago. I still wondered if our torrid romance, which lasted about 9 months, only lasted while I had high speed internet. He rarely slept in the bedroom, preferring to crash on the couch. When he moved out and left only a note written in horrible English, I was actually relieved, and wore I would be more picky the next time around.

But in three years there hadn't been a next time.

Now it was an empty office with memories I didn't want to think about. The touch lamp my father gave me when I was six years old sat next to the ancient desktop computer I kept meaning to upgrade, but I always invested in a new tablet or laptop for work. The lamp was gathering dust - the geese on it giving me the evil eye of failure.

My bedroom was an equally depressing sight of my single status. Immaculate bed with black comforter was spread tightly across a wide queen size bed, with a nightstand and just held a few empty prescription bottles, Chap Stick, and a glass of water. The wall was decorated with a few posters of purple hued dragons and dolphins and one of Shakespeare quotes – the latter a gift from Elijah on my birthday last year. An ornate Celtic cross above the bed that I'd picked up on my trip to Ireland after graduation. A small TV sat on tall dresser in the corner, a stack of sad DVD's next to it: musicals, romantic comedies, and a few dramas.

This whole house felt so empty.

I was tired of feeling so empty.

The only one who made me feel worthy was Elijah... and he wasn't mine. More than the guilt of what we had done was the depressing thought that it was all just a mistake. Of course, he loved Alicia. He would have never been with me sober... right? It's not like I didn't give him many chances over the years. It's like James had said 14 years ago - who could ever love someone who looked like me?

I ran into the bathroom across the hall, huge choking sobs flooding my chest. I grabbed the corners of the cream porcelain sink and swallowed hard, my tears dissipating as fast as they have threatened to flow. What had Alex said last night? He wasn't worth the tears. He wasn't, he wasn't. It was over – he wouldn't remember last night. The weight of my lie crushed my heart; I felt the heavy pieces, shattered like so much broken glass. I had a beautiful, fun filled night with my best friend.

Only, I was the only one that knew about it.

How could I hide it? How could my face mask what I had known for years? How could last night stay my secret?

Shakily, I turned on the cool water, and splashed my face. My reflection greeted me in the mirror. Huge, red rimmed gray eyes, red ruddy cheeks, plump pink lips, wide chin and forehead. My bobbed hair hung to my shoulder in a cascade of straight and boring locks, still damp from the shower at Eli's.

I was a special kind of mess.

Popping open the spring-loaded glass cabinet mirror, I rummaged past old birth control bottles, anti-anxiety medications, half empty bottles of shampoo, and various hues of nail polish. Finding the bottle I needed, I blew the dust off the lid and slipped off the child-proof cap, knocking one into my hand.

I filled up a nearby glass of water from the still running sink and heavily swallowed the morning after pill. The last thing the rose and the fern needed was a little root poking up through the bark dust.