The sun cooked my room. I woke up sweaty. I walked down the stairs. I wore a tee shirt and underwear. The two cats followed me. They miss their mom. She is with her girlfriend most of the time, now. The cats have adopted me. The tri colored one stretches out next to my body when I take my afternoon naps. They whine as I made over hard eggs. I add cheese to the tops of the yellow yoke. I pour my coffee from the French press. The mug already has sugar and milk in it. They meet me at the table and I call my sister. I put my hand out, defending my food from the tri colored one’s mouth. My sister lives in Boston. We talk about dating and applying to grad school. I have a hard time with our similarities in life. We hang up and I get dressed. I wear a denim shirt dress.
I drive to Hawthorne Street. It is sunny and the people take off work to shop and soak in vitamin D. They want to avoid seasonal depression. The shops have quirky clothes and books. The cafes have their windows and doors open. Pale limbs are out for the first time. I walk into Bishop’s Barbershop. A woman with bleach blonde hair and red lipstick tells me to take a seat in their waiting area. While I wait, I read about a woman who decided to walk to the Canadian coast from far inland. She is 80 years old and finds that a coyote adopts her, just as the cats have adopted me. I am impressed with how the author casually personifies the coyote, talking about how he sings and has conversations with the old woman. It makes me feel as though the writer experiences a different reality than the one I experience.
Susie calls me up to her station. She is thin but strong. She has blue bangs and thick framed glasses. She wears a vintage polka dot dress. I tell her I want my undercut at a 2. I show her a picture of how I want my hair to look. I have always been told to bring a picture. She puts on the backward black cape and begins taking away my hair. I try not to look in the mirror too long. All the flaws on my face tend to scream at me when I am in these swivel chairs trying to make conversation. Conversation comes easily to Susie and I. We talk about moving to different cities and how it is difficult to meet people after a certain age. We talk about nipple and clitoris piercings. She tells me she has no sensitivity issues in either area and wouldn’t get them pierced unless it helped in some way. Her boyfriend sometimes shocks her sexually. She doesn’t want kids. She doesn’t know how she would support them. She experiences motherhood and being a wife through her younger sister who recently moved to Portland with her family. She knows the awkward experience of asking a person for their number when you are interested in being their friend. I tell her about getting into Grad school and this awkward period of having no directed time. She suggested I take advantage. Taking advantage could mean many different things. She finishes my hair and tells me to invest in some spray wax. I thank her. She wishes me good luck. I leave her a tip and hope we meet again. I wanted to get her number so that we could be friends.
I drive home from Hawthorne. I greet my kitties. I put my bathing suite on and lay out on the fluffy grass that has to be mowed. My pale limbs soak in the vitamin D. The cats watch me from the sliding glass door. My limbs go from pale to red and I go inside. I watch a TV show instead of working out.
I find out that an important person of mine is going to be a mother. About a year ago I reached out to her and her husband via email asking if we could be friends. When I find out she is pregnant, I cry a little and then I text her. She texts me back in all caps. I COULD DIE OF HAPPINESS. I am excited to see her again to speak in person. We will probably go to a ramen place in Lomita. I never eat it all because she and her husband provoke so much conversation. Our connection seems dreamlike. They are living the life I want to live. They are curious about the life I have been living. She tells me I would be a good character. I have been trying to write about them. I believe they should live forever because they inspire.
We finish texting and then the day is over. I am in the backyard as my friend and her boyfriend have one last cigarette before going to bed. It is still light outside but the sun is down. It is the time of day that your depth perception is weak. And I go back to my room. It is still warm and comfortable to stretch out on top of my comforter in my tee shirt and underwear.