Hannah was always making me laugh with her monster sapphire blue eyes.  We dropped the acid just a little over and hour before, and I was in algebra class, trying to be invisible.  I started to feel it creeping up from the tips of my toes in tiny, tingling waves.  Hannah’s 15th birthday was on Sunday, but we planned a weekend-long celebration that started at lunch.  Justin mentioned a few days earlier that he would have acid on Friday for $5 a hit, and we agreed to meet him at Godfather’s Pizza with our lunch money.

A few of the boys from our neighborhood skate crew were walking in front of us towards the restaurant.  One of the charmers stopped and held the door open.  Cigarette smoke mingled with the delicious aroma of baking dough, spicy marinara, and pepperoni.  The familiar sound of Robert Smith’s somber voice crooned my favorite Lovesong.  I reached in my bag for two Marlboro Reds and handed one to Hannah.  The same boy who held the door open leaned over and offered us his flame.  I caught my reflection in the window glass, my pageboy and pixie bangs freshly blue-black from the night before.  I could still smell the dye.  Billy put the brass Zippo back in his pocket and asked us if we had seen Justin.  I guess he was also giving up his lunch for a hit.  We found a table close to the jukebox and ordered cokes so we wouldn’t get kicked-out. 

I took slight drags of my cigarette, and began to feel nauseous. I examined the deep, red, waxy stain my lipstick left on the filter.  Justin walked out of the bathroom and motioned for us to follow him outside.  Billy was with him.  He smiled at me and said he bought four hits-one for me, one for Hannah, one for his friend, Jake, and one for himself.  I wondered if we were supposed to pay him back, and thought that I would prefer to buy two bottles of Boone’s Strawberry Hill for the night.  Hannah was lucent.  I was just happy to be out in the cool autumn air, and took a deep breath as we climbed into Justin’s car.  He said it had to be cut.  The boys sat in the front seat and Hannah and I leaned over to watch the gentle manipulation of little scissors and tweezers as they cut out hits half the size of my pinky fingernail.

I did not plan on dropping right at that moment, but that’s what I did.  That’s what all three of us did.  I was not going to argue in the presence of a dealer.  Billy said that Jake had already left school to buy the drinks for the bonfire that was happening out in the desert that night past Lee Road. 

Hannah said we’d meet up with them there later, and we got out of the car.  We talked about ditching for the rest of the day, but decided it would be a bad idea, because our parents may be called.  Friday detention had already become a joke.  We didn’t think the acid would hit us until just about the time the final bell would ring anyway.

We went to our lockers and I looked up from the bay towards the second floor subconsciously.  Students peered down at us from the railing.  The noisy crowd with it’s senseless laughter wrapped around me, and carried me part of the way to class.  I walked to my desk carefully, and floated into my chair.  Mr. Jones launched right into mumbling his mumblings, while I was stuck on some numbers at the top of the page of my book.  I tried to make sense of the X’s and N’s without any progress.  I was more focused on the feeling that I may be slipping out of my chair, and I worried I would end up in a black heap under my desk.  What seemed like seconds and eons had passed when there was a knock on the door. 

I looked up and saw Hannah’s monster sapphire blue eyes practically popping right out of their porcelain sockets and through the narrow window.  Mr. Jones paused, and everybody turned towards Hannah as she mumbled her mumblings.  A few of the students who knew us smiled at me.  Some of them frowned.  I noticed that some of the boys had grown mustaches, and looked older.  Mr. Jones called my name, and said there was someone outside who needed to speak to me.

I floated out of my chair and towards the door.  I wondered if anyone noticed.  I made it outside where Hannah inquired if it had hit me yet in her most professional voice.  We laughed, and I wondered if they could hear us.  We kept laughing until Hannah’s face shifted in gradients from white, to pink, then red.  Her sapphire orbs spilled their birthday light all over the hall, and then she was gone.

2:16 am  •  5 January 2011  •  1 note

I’m not really a writer, but I won first place for a story I wrote in second grade.  That was the year I really got into music.  Cyndi Lauper was my idol and inspiration.  I had the entire She’s So Unusual album memorized.  I played the tape in my walkman as loud as it could go, and as if on my way to Star Search, practiced singing every song in my room.  I had seen MTV at my cousin’s house, so I knew what it took to be a pop star.

I wore my hair in a ponytail on-the-side, like the most popular girl in my class.  My hair would never be as beautiful as hers, though, no matter how perfect I had my mom get it. Rainie’s hair fell in a thick golden cascade of Pert-infused glory, all the way down to her waist!  My own boring brown hair wasn’t straight, or curly.  It wasn’t even wavy.  It was a mixture of all three.  It didn’t reach the middle of my back, always just above it, no matter how hard I prayed.

When my teacher announced we would be putting on a talent show, I knew immediately what I would do.  I quickly thought of my band. Rainie could be my back-up dancer.  Samantha could play guitar, Jeanne the bass, and Matthew the drums.  We happened to be out on a field trip, walking to Village Inn when I got the chance to tell everyone.  Me and Rainie were partners, so we walked together.  I told her about wanting to perform Girls Just Want to Have Fun in the talent show.  She was thrilled!  She said that it was her favorite song, and she knew all the words.

“Oh, really?  Well, okay, you can be Cyndi and I could be your back-up dancer.”

I wanted to die.  I thought about telling her I thought I would be Cyndi.  I looked at the sidewalk and tried hard not to let the tears roll.  It was my idea!  Why did I let her be Cyndi?  She didn’t even have to convince me, I just gave it away.  I made myself believe that my plan was really to be the back-up dancer.  After all, I really was a fantastic dancer, a way better dancer than Rainie.

It didn’t matter, because I wore the best costume-an oversized blue and white striped men’s dress shirt gathered at my waist with a giant white belt, real nylon flesh-toned stockings, and white ankle boots.  I had silver frosted eyeshadow on my lids, and glitter in my ponytail on-the-side.  It didn’t matter, everyone in the audience had to have seen that I was the one who should have been Cyndi.

12:37 am  •  2 January 2011