September 24, 2008
I am not a morning person, to say the least. I am never at my best this early. I creep across the bedroom to the bathroom. The frigidness of the shower helps to better my somber mood.
It’s September, in New York, and the weather is perfect not cold and not hot, just the right amount of crisp in the air. I pair some boots with my black skinny jeans and light gray, scoop neck sweater.
Brewed Beans Co. is my next and most important stop of the day. BB’s has the moistest blueberry muffin and toe-curling mocha latte. I shouldn’t be buying food from BB’s; five bucks for a cup of coffee is expensive, especially on a college student’s budget, but this shit is addicting.
I have a huge test, and I know that I deserve this. My budget can stretch a little. Oh well, ramen noodles for the next two to three nights it is.
BB’s isn’t as busy as normal for a Monday morning. I am served quickly and grab my optimal spot to people watch. I know that I made the right decision to attend school in New York as I’d planned with him. Even though I’m here without him.
After mom had abruptly stopped working for the Mulligans, I considered attending college in California instead. This would’ve been the best option, distancing myself from him.
For the first couple of weeks, I was afraid that I would run into him and wondered how I would’ve reacted, but the campus is big enough. I am now in my junior year, and I still haven’t had the pleasure of coming across him.
Knowing him, he probably stuck to the life his family mapped out for him and attended Harvard.
I gaze out the window and watch as the busy swarm of worker bees bustle up and down the street to their destinations. I often wonder what’s going through their minds. I take in their facial expressions, which reveal so much but so little at the same time. Are they thinking about work, kids, finances, or their mistresses?
Can they see the anxiety written on mine?
“Titanium” by Sia blasts through my headphones as I head to my first class. It boosts my mood, and I think there’s nothing that could come my way today that I won’t be able to conquer.
I have fifteen minutes to spare. This is the only time I have to go over my notes before my macroeconomics test. Professor Smith, also known as “Shark” or “Lucifer” is well known for her difficult quizzes. If I receive a C in this class, it will be a cause for a full-out celebration. If you receive an A, well, you are a fucking genius and should be teaching.
A couple minutes into my studying, I hear the steady vibration of my cellphone. I hesitate, not sure if I should take the call or study. The latter loses. I was hoping my Econ class had been cancelled. Wishful thinking: it’s Tinea.
Tinea’s birthday is coming up, and she has been driving me up the wall for the past three weeks about the party. I don’t know what her wedding is going to be like if she has planned a week-long celebration just for her twenty-first. The main celebration is going to be at the hottest night club in Manhattan, called the Syders, this Saturday.
Next month, the hottest night club in the city will be something else.
“Good morning, Tinea.”
“Hey, sunshine! You on your way to class?”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“Quick question … you sure you’ll be at Syders Saturday, right?”
Why is she asking? It’s not as if I had an option. She would be pissed if I missed the grand finale.
“You are acting like I have a choice. Do I have a choice?”
Clubbing has never been my thing. If she is going to give me an out, I would be more than happy to take it.
“Hell no, Simone! You know better than that.”
“So, why are you asking?” A tingling sensation begins crawling up my sleeve. I hate when she does crap like this. I am not going out on any more blind dates. Our taste in men is night and day.
“I’m just checking.”
I laugh. “At times, you are like an annoying sister.”
Two weeks ago, Tinea set me up with a lovely, sexy guy named Jorge. He had the looks and the body. She never gets the physical wrong; where she turns sideways is the conversation.
The guy couldn’t stop talking about himself for the majority of the dinner.
I mean really … Ask me something! The point of a first date is to get to know each other.
What the hell! That is not a good sign.
Looking down at my Michele Deco Diamond watch, a gift from my mom, I realize I only have two minutes to get to class. I pack my flashcards and briskly walk to class. Professor Clarke doesn’t tolerate tardiness. That happened once because I decided to stop at BB’s although I was already running late for class. I needed my cup of Joe, especially after the horrible night I had. My nights are always horrible when I dream about him. I can’t be late to this class again.
“No, but I get out at 10:45, and then I have a test at 11:00. Just tell me over the phone.”
“Can’t. This is too important and delicate to be delivered over the phone.”
This witch came to this Earth to torment me. She knows that I will agonize over this “important information” all during class. I won’t be focused on the lecture; my mind will be wondering … what can it be? She found a new boy toy … that better not be it. I will be pissed. I hope someone isn’t ill. She would be more emotional and not so damn chirpy. Did she not get the DJ she wanted to perform at her party? Why the hell would that be important to me?
“Well, it will have to be after my Econ class at noon.”
“I can’t at noon, I have to finalize the party with the party planner.”
Really, witch … really? I guess it’s not that important then, is it?
“I can meet with you in between classes. I promise it won’t take longer than two minutes. I will meet you in front of the theatre on West 4th street.”
“Fine. Meet me in front of Corridor.” I hang up and enter the class just as the professor is preparing to close the door.
