Registration ends in 3,2,1...

Outfit Details:

Ralph Lauren Blouse - Belk

Lace Cami - Target

Trouve Leather Shorts - Nordstrom Rack

Maroon Tights - American Apparel

Born of Concept Flower Flats - Marshalls

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Ah college. How I love you. 

I revel in the thought of SAT's, ACT's and applications. I live for the day when I might send in my FAFSA forms and wait to hear back about financial aid. The stress is absolutely thrilling.

Oh. Wait. 

So instead of worrying about it just now - I'm going to take this opportunity to enjoy some silence and write a post about fun stuff.

Like writing. I'm a big fan. 

Though far from my best work - if it interests anyone, after the page break I have a short story I picked up and edited for a writing group I attend. 

I will warn you now that the ending is quite unsatisfying. But, that's why I love it.

If that holds no interest for you, I will leave you with the following sentiment:
Leather shorts = Love.
No exaggeration. At all.

She threw it out the window, and five stories was quite a long way to fall.

                “No no no! I didn’t mean it!” she screamed, “I’ll save you Squidy!”

                Tossing the apartment door back in panic, Mia flew down 2 sets of stairs before she was brought to a stop.

                “Mia! What’s wrong?” asked an older woman. Mia skirted around the matron and began her sprint again.

                “No time, Mrs. Clouskly! No time!”

                “There’s always something with that girl,” the woman whispered to herself, “if it isn’t the loud music, or the piercings or the hair that gets you there’s some nonsense like this. Lord have mercy.”

She watched the girl as she disappeared down the next stairwell.

Mia flew past the other tenants in her mad dash to the dumpster, and finally arrived – panting – in the back alley below her window.

“Squidy!” no answer, which was only slightly unexpected, “Squidy, oh Squidy Squidy!”

She searched around the area, praying that the toy had landed outside the dumpster. Unfortunately…

“Oh, screw it,” she hissed, resigned, as she looked at the heaping monstrosity. “Here goes!”

She leapt headfirst, as there was no other way to do so, into the dumpster, where she was met with the mingling odors of meat and eggs. She soon returned to the surface for air after the unfortunate dive and finally saw the object of all her panic. The squid plushy – falling apart at the seams and, now, stained from day old chow mien.

“Oh Squidy. Thank God, thank you, thank you,” she whispered, “I thought I’d never see you again. I’m so sorry…”

She twiddled the felt in her fingers, and her mind began to wander back in time. To a simpler place. Warmth and security.

Her finger reached up to brush away a rogue tear. She didn’t cry. Ever.

“C’mon Squidy. We need to get you cleaned up,” she looked at herself, “and I could use a shower too, I guess.”

They walked in silence up the crumbling stairwells, back to the apartment room where all the trouble began. A lonely woman. A broken toy.

Mrs. Clousky lie in wait, determined to find out what “shenanigans” the “young whippersnapper” was up to now. It certainly couldn’t be another tattoo gone bad, thought the old woman, and I never see that boytoy of hers anymore so that can’t be either. Maybe the hairdresser cut off to much of that damned mohawk.

Mrs. Clousky’s musings were cut short when the young woman in question arrived, covered in just about everything and carrying the remnants of a..what was it? A rag? It was at this moment that the old woman knew there was something far worse to be dealt with than a bad haircut. Those oldsters – they always know.

“What’s wrong, Mia?” Silence.

Again, “What’s wrong, dear?” Silence.

In all her years in the dilapidated building, Mrs. Clousky had seen Mia do all nature of things. Drag mannequins to and fro with the most absurd clothing wrapped upon them, come home with eyebrows that seemed to have giant silver pimples protruding off of them, her back covered with all manner of ink nonsense, listening to something indeterminable that had enough bass to make the apartment shake, and she’d seen a young man living there with her. They seemed like a happy couple, even if the girl was slightly insane, and Mrs. Clousky had some 20’s era problems with women who  lived with someone before marriage. Kids these days.

“I made a mistake.”Silence broken.

“Let’s go dear,” said Mrs. Clousky as she pulled on the doorknob to her apartment.

“Wait, what?”

“We’ll get you and your…friend, cleaned up – have some tea, and then talk this whole thing out.”

Silence again. Mia didn’t move an inch.

“I’m old, dear. I don’t have much time left, so we need to get going.”

“Ah,mmm,thank…well, thank you,” she stuttered.

The old woman opened the door, its rusty hinges squeaking. She proceeded to show the young woman to the bathroom, and told her to turn the knob to the left for hot water, even though the dial said to turn right. She turned and hobbled over to the kitchen to start the tea.

Mia was alone again, except for the silent company of Squidy. And her mind was free to roam again. She started the shower, cleaned herself up, and gave Squidy a similar treatment afterwards. She couldn’t get completely dry, though. Her eyes kept gushing. It was the oddest thing.

So she went to the old woman’s living room, wearing the robe she had so kindly left, and rubbed her eyes repeatedly in a fruitless attempt to stop the droplets from multiplying anymore. She never cried, though.

Mrs. Clousky brought the tea, and handed Mia her mug. They sat without so much as a nod or grumble and they remained that way until Mia started, because she couldn’t *not* cry any longer.

“I told him to leave,” she spat.

“You’re boyfriend?”

“Yes, yes. Him. I told him to go – I said he was holding me back. I said he was ruining my work. I said I didn’t love him, that I never really did. I said…”she became difficult to understand.

“Did he do something to upset you, dear?”

“No, nothing. Nothing. Nothing,” she repeated, again and again.

“Then why..”Mia cut her off.

“Because I was scared,” she whispered, as she shook from all the crying she never did.

“Scared of what? Of him? Did he hurt you?”

“No, no. I was scared..”she swallowed, “I was scared he’d leave me first.”

Silence.

More silence.

“Why would you think that, dear?” the old woman asked gently, clasping her hand in hers.

“Because that’s what people do…” she whispered, looking the woman directly in her eyes, “that’s what people do, they leave. They always leave. We moved here. I started my work, I started to doubt. Again.”

“You need to go.” Silence.

“What?” Mia asked.

“This boy he loved you even when you started making that modern art crap, started piercing every possible thing on your body, and God only knows what else. You need to go. Because, my dear, I will not let you end up like me. Alone. Old. And having nothing better to do than complain about being alone and old – to yourself.”

Mia left.

Mrs. Clousky stared out as the door closed behind the girl. She noticed that the squid toy had been left on her couch.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, sir. I hope that girl gets everything straightened out,” she looked at the door one last time before she took the plates into the kitchen, “Lord have mercy.”

The young woman threw clothes on, and began marching down the stairwell again. She looked straight ahead, threw back the entrance way doors and began her journey down the city’s busy streets.

She was only a block away from his new apartment when it happened. The taxi driver lost control and swerved onto the sidewalk.

The Lord had no mercy.