October 15, 2007
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It was inevitable, she supposed, that they would include her in their revelry plans, considering her status as a newly emancipated single young woman. And so she straightened her shoulders, donned the mask made of fractured paper smiles, and turned to her lovely friend Claire before responding “I’m still a bit…. hungover. My stomach is queasy and I don’t think I’ll be much fun tonight.”
But what she really screamed in her head at the rather pitying expression on her friend’s face was “Why on earth would I want to come with you to watch you flirt with a guy I’d taken a fancy to!?”Claire sighed a pretty little sigh, quirking her lips up and for a second and Joni wondered if she’d spoken the last out loud.
“It won’t be as fun without you,” she stated simply. Which Joni took to mean “We might need a buffer if everyone shows up because not everyone can get along if you’re not there to diffuse any potential conflicts or eruptive situations.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just not up to it today and I don’t know if I’ll be ok by tonight. Besides, I think I’ve had enough alcohol to last me for a couple of weeks.” And by enough alcohol, Joni thought with a smirk, she meant the glass of wine and shot of sake which had easily left her staggering like a new Navy recruit on his first boat ride.
“How about if you just came by for an hour, make an appearance, you know?” pressed Claire.
“I have bags under my eyes, my skin feels like it’s pulled over a wax skeleton, and my hair – I should just chop it off at this point! What kind of appearance would that be?”
Claire turned slightly to observe her small friend, surprised by the revealing and uncharacteristic exclamation of low self-esteem. This was Joni, for fuck’s sake! Joni who never really cared whether her hair flopped in her eyes or the bright blue tank top clashed horrendously with her maroon corduroy pants, who held a tube of lip balm as her sole defense against judging eyes, brandished that silly tube of lip balm with confidence that the eager, assertive, passionate fire in her eyes would draw attention away from any imagined flaws, willing people to see her for her thoughts and actions rather than relying on a miasma of cosmetics and beauty products to speak for her.
Joni watched her lithe friend through the fringe of her bangs, acknowledging that yes, she was jealous that Claire was tall and lissom, girly in a desirable way, flirty and obviously knew how to put mascara on. Damn. I should learn that at some point if I ever want to be seen whenever she’s around, Joni thought to herself, feeling rather like a sad caricature of humanity.
So do I do this then, she mused, do I observe and mimic and then maybe I’ll feel more like a woman? What irony, she confessed, chuckling softly to herself about the absurdity of losing yourself in order to become Someone.
“Have fun tonight. And tell me all about it tomorrow,” and with that, the conversation ended and a companionable silence – not unpleasant despite the tense and unspoken conversation still going on between them – permeated the room, punctuated by glass cages sliding open and shut, and soothed by the murmur of running water.
