I looked at the clock on my phone and considered the fact that it was almost 5 a.m. My stomach fluttered like it does when one consumes a single bottle of red wine in less than four hours. I wasn't sure if Nebraska sold alcohol on Sundays, but it turns out they're trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents just like the rest of us. I should go crawl into DK's bed, I thought. For two seconds, I wondered if that would cross the feminist lines the United States has established in the last two years. Since Drumpf became "president" last year, consent is the most valuable commodity in the streets and in the sheets.
I haven't talked to him since January and before that, October. I stayed the night at his house over on Osage Street. I don't even care that he bought it from his grandpa, a 25-year-old with some equity is always sexy. I'm only a year younger and the most valuable possession I own is a smart tv my dad bought me for Christmas. I pictured myself walking in his front door, passing the kitchen and living room, winding my way down his stairs, through the small basement living room, and slipping into his bed. He would be startled at first, but after I said, "Why didn't you answer my text the other day?" he would know it's just me. His long arms would stretch over my waist as he yawns, "You know I pay attention to my phone."
Yeah, I smiled to the ceiling. That's a great plan. I hopped into the shower, because I'm polite as shit. Showing up to a booty call with an unclean body is like a surgeon with grease stains on his scrubs. I'd still let him perform because he has the knowledge and equipment, but I'd be pretty fuckin' uneasy about it and concerned about infections the whole time. I tip-toed up the stairs so as to not wake my 65-year-old roommate. He has wheat harvest this time of year. I tossed my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles towel on the sink and turned the shower handle to hot even though I know it's not good for my skin. The coziness of liquid warmth pushes cognitive dissonance into the most desolate corners of the mind. When I tilted my head backwards, I felt my hair barely brush my shoulders. Why the fuck did I cut all my hair off?
I washed my body and brushed my teeth: the minimum standard for this shower. I ran my hand over my vagina and felt prickles. I leaned down to grab shaving cream and a yellow women's razor out of my shower caddy. I squeezed the liquid on my hands and rubbed them together.
It would be the understatement of the century to say I've been dealing with some things. What I'm trying to do here is ask for a solid. Well, social psychologist Barry Schwartz says the optimum number of choices are six to ten, so I'll give you some favors to choose from.
Can you...
• Loan forgive my $22,000 worth of debt for my 3 1/2 years at community college
• Nuke that guy in Fort Collins (you know the one)
• "Accidentally" leak the cure to cancer
• Give reparations to African-Americans
• Re-elect Obeezy for a third term
• Start treating U.S. citizens with respect
• Just admit Bush did 9/11
• "Accidentally" leak the cure to AIDS
Any of these requests would suffice. Since you're tracking my whereabouts at all times, you know how to get in touch with me. Just let me know.
Your homie,
J