Daylight.
Fucking
daylight.
It
creeps over my face and pours through my eyelids – as cheerful as a pug wearing
a crown of daisies and riding a unicorn across a rainbow. “Morning! Rise and
shine! Time to greet the day!” it happily encourages.
I
wince in pain at the sun’s optimism and fumble for the curtains, sending a cascade
of dust to dance across the room and fill my nostrils.
I
cough.
Great, just great. A lungful of dust is really helping my mood.
I
curl into a hacking ball and bring the covers back up over my head.
As
the coughing subsides I attempt to sleep, but can’t. My brain keeps pulling
back to the reason for my sour disposition this morning.
Yesterday
I confessed my love to Michael James Haggerty.
I
hadn’t meant to, but he was just so goddamned beautiful atop his guard’s perch
that when the sun hit him just right and he began to glow like Apollo himself I
felt a sudden compulsion.
“Oh.”
He says.
“Oh?”
There
is a loaded pause as he tries to assemble his thoughts.
“You’re
great” he says, “really…”
And
here comes the but. The dreaded terrible but.
My
stomach sinks and my heart breaks into a million pieces.
I
don’t even bother to listen to his reasoning. I am certain that it is because I
am hideous, just a terrible ogre of a girl completely unworthy of any man’s
affection, especially a man so gorgeous as Michael James Haggerty.
There’s
another five minutes of my break left, but I sulk my way back through the
locker room and into the admissions booth.
I
spend the rest of the day looking hopeless, despondent, and otherwise dejected,
as I halfheartedly collect payment from anxious Moms in sunhats and exuberant
children doused in sunscreen.
When
I get home I look in the mirror.
There’s
nothing wrong with me. As much as I feel like I should live under bridges and
harass passing goats, I don’t look much like a troll.
I’m
not a supermodel, but I look alright.
Is
it my personality?
I
had always thought that Michael James Haggerty and I had gotten along well, but
maybe he had just been indulging me? Maybe he was just such a genuinely nice
guy that he had just pretended to listen?
No, I think, He didn’t pretend.
He
let me borrow his copy of “Catcher in the Rye” that day when I had forgotten to
bring a book. You don’t just let people borrow your copy of “Catcher in the Rye”
on a rainy day when no one is going to the pool if you don’t like them at least
a little.
There were other things too, smiles, glances, shared lunch breaks and nachos, a million little signs that Michael James Haggerty and I were the most perfect set of companions since Peanut Butter met Jelly.
My
feelings of rejection morphed into anger, and now here I was hiding under my
covers allowing my anger to boil.
This
is pathetic.
I’m
realizing now that closing the blinds and silently raging will not really do
anything to improve my mood. Neither will crying, stewing, yelling, or
wallowing. I need to go out, I need to live, I need to show Michael James
Haggerty what he’s missing out on.
Today
I will wear a different uniform. Today I will ditch the stupid oversized polo
shirt they make me put on and wear the low cut sundress that I bought last year
and haven't had the courage to wear. Today I will style my
hair like a movie star, and put on so much makeup society will scorn me. Then I will pick up the
phone, call in sick, and spend the day in the city with friends in this
glorious fucking daylight.
----
The inspiration for this story doesn't come from any actual heartbreak I have suffered, but rather from the fact that my bedroom window faces east and the sun is such a goddamned bastard that he wakes me up almost every morning by shining his light directly in my eyes... -KayPee
No comments:
Post a Comment