The rain taps gently on the glass, the wind whistles songs of old, the potted plants outside on the pavement sway like ballerinas. Hero is sitting by the window, perfectly still for a moment. She observes, she focuses, she forgets.
It’s wonderful how slow the world can get, isn’t it? How peaceful it appears.
“Latte with extra whipped cream?”
The moment is gone.
“Yes, thank you.”
Hero smiles at the pink-haired cutie who brought her the cup of liquid magic she desperately craves. She wishes she could pull off a hair colour like that. If she had the courage, she would dye it lilac, like Rapunzel’s dress in the movie. She would teach herself to braid it a million different ways. She would express her creative side through her hair. If she had the courage.
A strand of her dark curls falls from her ear, she tucks it back. Can’t take the risk to have it fall in the cream. Hero lifts her cup and takes a sip. Whipped cream lingers on her upper lip. She licks it off. It’s a simple pleasure but it does the trick.
Letting the feeling of felicity rush over her, Hero opens the book she selected specially for today. First chapter. She stares at the page. A minute goes by before she can form words in her head. Sometimes you’re so excited to start reading something, it’s hard to focus on the first line without your eyes wandering off to the bottom of the page.
Sip. Smile. Surrender.
People are buzzing about her but she has tuned the chatter out, it’s merely white noise now. She’s not there anymore. She has plunged into yet another wondrous land, following the protagonist of the fantasy novel.
Time passes, pages turn, cup runs out. One more chapter.
On her way home, Hero sees puddles on the pavement. She pictures herself jumping in, splashing around. It’s a pretty picture. Next time it rains, she’ll wear her boots. She goes on and walks past the puddles. Next time, she promises.
She thinks back to simpler times, when a young Hero wouldn’t have hesitated to make a mess of herself if it meant she had fun. What happened to that carefree little girl? Hero doesn’t have the answer. Her mother would say she grew up, the feminist account she follows on Instagram would say she got pressurized into fitting the same boring mold as their parents’ generation.
Coat off, keys in tray, slippers on feet. She knocks on Delia’s door.
“Large Americano for one?”
“You’re a lifesaver!”
Delia chugs a gulp of dark magic as soon as she can get her hands on the paper cup. She’s been working on her thesis all day. She deserves a treat.
“Have you done much?” asks Hero.
“Yes! I’ve proofread most of my pages, corrected typos and weird phrases.”
Hero raises her hand for a high-five. Delia doesn’t leave her hanging.
“That’s great! Well done. I’ll let you get back to it then.”
“Yeah, I’m on a roll.”
With her messy bun, her stained hoodie and her unicorn slippers, Delia looks every bit the overworked adult who juggles a full-time job and a master’s to the best of her ability.
“Thanks for the coffee,” she blurts out as her roommate closes the door behind her. Hero gives her a thumbs up, as she usually responds.
What now?
She’s already been outside today, and it’s too cold to go back out anyway. Movie? Sure, why not.
Hero waits for the kettle to bring the water to a boil. She holds the soft polar bear against her belly until she can hear the sound of bubbles. She fills the hot water bottle inside the bear. She hugs it tight. Much better.
The twentysomething grandma, as she affectionately refers to herself, pulls up the laptop on her bed before she wraps herself in a pastel pink throw. What is she in the mood for today? It’s winter, so something that’ll make her feel cosy and warm inside.
Animated movie it is.
Hero reaches for her knitting project on the bedside table. Another hat. A chunky one in golden yellow. She’ll give it to Liz. Her younger cousin refuses to buy new clothes. She only goes to secondhand shops now. For accessories though, she’ll take homemade and/or ethically produced. Her Etsy cart is always full of articles from creators she wants to support but has no money to help. Until Christmas or her birthday anyway. Hero admires Liz’s commitment against fast-fashion and capitalist companies. If she had the courage, she would follow her example and never buy from big shops again. She would teach herself how to sew and improve her knitting skills so she could make her own clothes and express her true style. If she had the courage.
Hero’s hands naturally follow the simple knit-knit-purl-purl pattern, she doesn’t need to look at it. A quick glance every once in a while is sufficient. When the movie gets to the emotional part, the softie has to stop her hands. She needs a tissue, ASAP. Tears run down her face, her stomach physically aches, her guts have been punched. It’s the same every time, she knows it’s coming but seeing the two friends being separated just... It makes her cry, ok?
She sniffles and wipes her face. For nothing, really, she knows she’ll be crying again soon. Hero’s tender heart usually weeps for the last 30 minutes of any given movie of her preferred genre. This is why she doesn’t watch much drama, she doesn’t handle it well.
She had a date with a guy once, a first date. Dinner and a movie. He had insisted on seeing a dark tale based on a true story because he liked the realism of it. Life sucks, you know, he’d said. Hero had nodded, bracing herself. She didn’t have much opportunity to go on dates so she was determined to make a good impression. The movie was filled to the brim with melancholia and hardship. Without fail, she had sobbed for more than half of it, as silently as she could. When the lights had turned back on, her makeup was ruined. The guy had been graceful enough to mock her panda look and exit the room while she pulled herself together. That had been the last she ever saw of him.
A few tissues have missed the bin and circle around it like members of a cult honouring their deity of choice. Hero sits in the bliss of the credits, tears of joy rolling down her cheeks. A proper happy ending, just the way she likes them.
The music fades, the sun has set, the rain has stopped pouring. The darkness sets in the silence of the evening.
The hat is coming along nicely. Hero picks up her phone. A text from her mother. She should call her tomorrow. It’s the weekend anyway, she’ll have time. Hero suggests a time, her mother is delighted at the prospect.
You hungry?
Delia must have finished for the day. It’s just after 6pm.
I could eat, she texts back.
The knitter puts her project on the table where it’s going to sit for the night. Laptop away, lights off, phone in back pocket.
When Hero gets to the kitchen, she’s greeted with a glass of white wine.
“Cheers to the fucking weekend, bitch!”
“Cheers!”
The girls will get a headstart on Matt, but that’s alright, he’ll catch up when he comes home. The girls... nay, the women. They may be young but they’re both adults. If they can work and vote, and have to pay for their own groceries, they’re fully-fledged adults. Hero still struggles with the concept every now and then.
A masculine voice can be heard in the hall. Matt’s home. Delia starts pouring him a glass. But wait... he’s not... alone? No, he’s not. There are definitely two voices on the other side of the door. Delia looks at Hero, slightly confused but not entirely surprised. The door handle moves.
“Hey guys, hope you don’t mind, I brought company,” announces Matt.
Duman walks in after him. Pleasantries are exchanged. It’s been awhile since the Turkish lad has been over. Delia stands up to grab another glass in the kitchen.
“I’ll get more chips!” Hero fulfills her duty as snack master. She’s glad, they now have enough players for a little game night.
Two glasses later, Hero puts down the third bowl of salt and vinegar chips next to the hummus. The air is filled with laughter and camaraderie. Inhibitions are coming undone, it’s time for Cards Against Humanity.
Hero doesn’t have the darkest humour but she does get a few points. Delia is the resident champion in the house. A good mix of wits and luck. That bastard. That delightful sneaky bastard.
As the delicious spirits work their magic on the lifted spirits, they move on to cards, starting with an easy non-friendship-threatening game of Uno. Since playing doesn’t require too much attention and brain, of which they don’t have much left anyway, Matt goes off on the topic of his girlfriend. She is doing good but her job is asking too much of her time for his taste.
“She barely has any left for me! What’s a guy to do when his girl’s too busy to come over?”
“Oh come on Matty,” snaps Delia, “she doesn’t owe you her time!” Her eyes scream duh, idiot pancake. “Do you think I expected my ex to devote all her free time to me?” Pause for dramatic effect. “No. Of course not! Cos I knew that she had shit to do. And so does Cynthia. Everybody’s got a life. You should try it.” Hero ostensibly nods. Sometimes, Matt needs to be reminded that he lives with two queer feminists, and that kind of comment usually doesn’t fly.
The dark-haired one insists as well. “The fact that she takes time out of her busy day to even text or call you, whatever you do, is something you should appreciate.”
“Yeah, stop being such a whiny baby,” concurs Delia.
Matt considers the reasonable argument and shrugs in defeat to admit he’s in the wrong. Point taken.
Duman shakes his head disapprovingly. “Straights...”
Hero and Delia raise their glass in agreement. “Damn right!”
“Fine, I’ll reformulate,” proceeds Matt. “I wish her job didn’t take so much of her time because I miss her. I miss squishing her face and holding her hand and the smell of her hair and-”
“Ew, alright we get it,” stops Delia, giggling. That was more like it.
“You know what you should do, if you both don’t have enough time to spare, go on errands together,” offers Duman. “That’s what I do with my boyfriend when he works nights and weekends. We agree on a time that suits us both and we go shopping for groceries together. It’s not super romantic but at least we get to enjoy each other’s company for an hour or two.”
Matt purses his lips. It’s not necessarily the kind of activity he’d like to do with Cynthia, but... “I guess it’s an option.”
“Yeah, man. It’s better than nothing, trust me,” affirms Duman.
Delia chimes in with ideas on how to stay connected despite the distance, both physical and temporal. She’s an expert, she’s been in her fair share of long-distance relationships this past decade.
Hero listens attentively. They’ve taken a break in the game, the other three are too busy recounting fun tales of their dating lives. Suddenly they turn to the one who’s been silent.
“What about you, Hero? What’s your best piece of advice for keeping a relationship going?” inquires Duman, expectantly.
More silence, but this time, it’s the stunned kind. The kind that stumbles for words and lingers on because one has no idea what to say for lack of personal experience. Hero smiles awkwardly. “I don’t know?”
“Oh come on, girl, you must have something.”
“Um,” she ponders, “I saw a movie once where they wrote love letters to each other. Maybe you could try that?”
“Please, that’s not my style, at all,” scoffs Matt.
Duman insists. “That’s the best you got, really? What did you do last time you were in a relationship? I’m sure you did something nice.” He truly believed that since she was such a kind friend.
Hero shifts awkwardly in her seat, gazing at the floor. It is too uncomfortable to meet anyone’s eye.
Delia claps her hands. “So, are we gonna finish this game or what? Whose turn is it?” The guys revert their attention back to their cards. Everybody moves on.
Hero meets her friend’s eye, she tilts her a bit, pressing her lips as the right corner of her mouth forms a half smile. That’s her silent way of saying thank you. Delia knows, Delia rescues. Delia doesn’t judge.
Game night goes on and on, cracking jokes and sharing crackers. The cheesy ones are the best. There’s no hummus left in the fridge. Hero writes it down on the shopping list for next time.
Matt squints at the clock, then at his phone, and back at the clock. “Damn it’s late! Maybe we should call it a night?”
It’s almost 1 in the morning, it is indeed time for bed. Duman calls a taxi, Delia and Hero share the bathroom for their night routine. Makeup wiped off, teeth brushed, night cream applied.
Hero stares at the ceiling lying in her bed. She knows she’ll be asleep in a few minutes due to the numbing effect of the wine on her body past midnight. Should she try to date more? Should she try to actively pursue a relationship? Should she go out more and meet people? Some ignorants assume that because you’re bi, your dating pool is ever expanding, but most of the time, it’s actually the exact opposite. It’s as small as a puddle.
Her brain wanders off and Morpheus’s arms have welcomed her in before she can fully form the thought that yes, maybe she should try.
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