fisher blue : d3 : fin

The bell rings at six o’clock every evening. When the shrill chime cuts through the air, everybody turns off their machines and goes to retrieve their things from their lockers. I keep my bag under my table, as I don’t exactly trust certain people here. My first order of business is a snack. I fish out a half-eaten sleeve of crackers and devour three at once.

“Are you sharing?” My friend Aileen reaches over my head to steal a cracker.

“I guess I am now,” I say. We both laugh. She pulls the empty chair from my neighbor’s table closer to me and sits down. We’re quickly joined by Sal and Millicent, the other half of our tiny friend group.

“You guys know that date I went on last night? I had mascara on my cheek the whole time and nobody told me,” Millicent says, pulling out various makeup products from her bag.

“Hey, it could be worse. You could be Fisher with her botched haircut,” Sal says.

I laugh, although the bad haircut was done on purpose. I was sick of my hair falling in front of my eyes while I worked, so I cut the entire fringe off. The rest of my thin black hair stayed at it’s normal length above my chest. My chest is as flat as the table I work at. I hoped when I was younger that it’d fill out, but I suppose I’m still waiting for that. If I were shorter, somebody could easily mistake me for a starving child. No curves, no muscle, barely any fat. Since I stand at nearly six feet, however, I just look strange.

Sal knows somebody from school who’s having a party, so my friends and I are going to go to that. Millicent leans toward me, armed with a lip gloss wand, and dabs it onto my mouth. My lips are small and full, and now they’re coated with thick rose lip gloss. Above my lips sits my nose, a bit flat, and above them, my brown eyes with their short lashes. My entire face is made of varying components, like a computer chip, that come together to form a functioning item. In this case, that’s me.

“Blue or green?” Millicent asks, referring to the two eyeshadow pots in her hand.

“Blue. I have to live up to my last name.”

My friends break into laughter. I didn’t think the joke was that funny, but their laughter makes me laugh. What can I say? I’m a people person. Talking to people is very satisfying. When I make somebody laugh, or just make them feel anything in general, I feel accomplished. I wish it was a job I could get paid for. I’d be set for life.

Once Millicent has finished doing my makeup, something I promised she could do a while ago, my friends and I grab our things and head outside. The sunset is barely visible behind all the smog. Sal walks in the front, leading us to wherever this party is. We’ve been going to a lot of parties lately. When we aren’t at parties, we’re usually at our apartment, getting drunk and having fun. To be honest, the world kind of sucks. There’s so much shit going on, like poverty and oppression. I can’t control the bad things, but I can control the good. Instead of being bothered by every negative thing, I can hang out with my friends and enjoy being young.

We get to the party up a fire escape and through a window. A bottle is thrust into my hand almost immediately. I’ve been told before that “good girls” shouldn’t drink and party, which is bullshit. First of all, who gets to decide what makes a girl “good”? And second, who cares? Nothing is promised in life. Everything could be taken away in a second. You never know what’s going to happen, so you should do what you want. Fuck what people think.

The party lasts well into the night. When it ends, my friends and I sneak back to our apartment, careful not to be seen by anybody. You never know who is watching. Our apartment is a studio, with three mattresses placed side-by-side in the living space instead of separate beds. I was the last person to move in, since my birthday was only a couple months ago. I moved out of my home the very day I turned eighteen. I couldn’t wait to leave. My mother was a nervous wreck who suffered from multiple breakdowns throughout my childhood. I never knew what would set her off. It could be the weather, a greeting from a neighbor, or a fight among my siblings that got too loud. I did have two older brothers who relentlessly tormented me. Of course we would fight.

I stayed out of the house as much as I could. I got a job even though I didn’t need the money, but it gave me an excuse to stay out a few more hours after school. That’s where I met my friends. They were a bit older, which automatically meant they were cooler. After work, we would hang out. They let me stay over at their houses, and when they began moving into the apartment, I helped with the boxes. I didn’t have many friends as a child, which led to my desperate need for validation, and these kids finally made me feel like I belonged.

Telling my mother I was moving out was terrifying. My older brothers still lived at home, fearing what she would do if they left. I wasn’t going to let myself be a coward like them. I didn’t want to waste my life away under my mother’s anxiety. I told her I was leaving, and she cried, and cried, and cried. She cried for a very long time. When I walked out the door with all my things in a box, she cried again. Perhaps she’s still crying. I didn’t cry.

My friends and I don’t bother to change out of our clothes. We collapse onto the mattresses, wrap ourselves in whatever blankets we can reach, and close our eyes. Another good day in my book. I hope tomorrow will be good as well, but you never know.