I Reminisce i reminisce

It's the summer going into grade 12. Almost done. Two more years. She's in her room getting ready for yet another girlz-night-drink-fest-euchre-party. Whitey'll host tonight. Sometimes it's at Dings' house. It’s mid-week, not tonight.

She stands in front of her full length mirror, unbeknownst to her, a young woman is starting to emerge. Half dressed in her white baggy low rise button-fly jeans and black Elite sports bra, she dissects her complexion pore by pore. Hair up? Hair down. “Hello? Hey what’s up. Yep. Got it earlier. When are you headin’ out? What about drinks, you wanna hit the beer store or are we gonna dial a bottle? Ok. No fuck that shit he’s not gonna be there, we’re fucking over. He fucked around on me. Again. Fucking asshole motherfucker piece of shit. Ok, see you in a bit. Peace.”

She takes a long drag off her cigarette, blows O’s and studies each one as it ripples through the air chasing the next in line. Music cranked, Pete Rock and CL Smooth; such a wicked sax riff. The base line rattles her Victorian-style bedroom window that frames a Cherry Blossom tree in full bloom. Propped open with an old copy of Catcher in the Rye, she leans out the window to peer down the street. Hoodlums on BMX’s. Losers. She thinks a lie: “Fuck I can’t believe I used to hang with guys like that.” Momentarily, she secretly misses her first true love.

Turning her attention back to herself, she practices her pout in the mirror. Shoulders back, stomach in, hip out, hands on hips, side profile, chin down and to the left, hands off hips, left side, right side, more eyeliner, less bronzing beads, lose 5 pounds, flex. Fuck! It’s almost 8!! Time to go. She throws on a black tank top, steps into her 10-hole docs and applies her Chelsea Mac Lipstick. Satisfied with how she looks, flicks off the light and takes off down the stairs.

In the shadows of her bedroom, a Mickey Mouse gift bag collects dust.