Page 19 of Flying

She narrows her eyes at me. “Not very girl’s girl of you to hate her more than him though, don’t you think?”

“Oh, Stef. You don’t even get it. She was visiting her mom and didn't know I was browsing at Pru’s. She was getting a reading while I was there, so she didn’t notice me. Prudence mentioned something about lost love, and instead of focusing on her own life, she started to whine about how I’m not right for Grant. I’m not good enough for Grant. How I want things from him, but I don’t do anything. As if she had any clue the ways I was being kept small. As if she knew about all my volunteering because I’m bored. She just trashed me, like I wasn’t anything. I was so taken back, I accidentally dropped the glass jar of tea I was examining. Their heads snapped in my direction and I was so embarrassed I just ran.”

“Wow. I def hate her too,” she agrees.

“I had to get out of there. I ran out of the store. I realized then how much I’ve been trapped, and now I’m free so long as I keep moving,” I explain.

“Good, I agree. So let’s move. We’re going out tonight, get in the shower, you smell like…” She makes a big deal of sniffing me. “Well, it’s not great.”

I putonsome ridiculous little dress and high heels, and there was no way I would not freeze to death or slip and break my neck walking toGreek Row. I’m in a house with big squiggles and circle letters out front—I have no clue what they say. The basement is crowded with a sweaty scent in the air. There are exposed cinder blocks with colorful light bouncing off them and around the room. The music is controlled by a guy in a poorly constructed DJ booth in the corner. He’s got on headphones and is mixing records while clicking on a laptop. Everyone seems to know or know of each other everywhere we go throughout the house.

“I need to pee,” I shout over the music to Stef and her roommates, and they point to a line. Grumbling I head over on my own, I thought girls do this sort of thing together at these kinds of places.

The line is ridiculous and this is a house, so I sneak upstairs to the main level, and one more to where the bedrooms are in hopes there are more stalls somewhere. Instead, I find myself in an alcove with someone who is the physical opposite of my husband. My ex-husband. Grant is tall and all lean muscles with messy long brown hair, but this guy is maybe around 5’7” with a broad chest and a shaved head and a scruffy face. The deep red V-neck shows more copper hair that covers his arms and chest. Despite a scowl that appears sullen, his voice is gentle honey.

Fidgeting with the knobs at the top of the acoustic guitar in his lap, he strums a few chords, scowls again, and tweaks. I’m mesmerized as he continues to fine tune the sound. Even more so when his smile breaks through, showing he is finally happy with the result.

Swaying on the heels I borrowed from Stef, I try to pass by before hearing him call out a simple request, “Join me.”

Letting out a groan, it feels good to sit. I’m not usually a heels person. A few drinks in and I figure this is about starting new, so I try to flirt.

“Can you play me my favorite song?”

“I can try, what is it?”

“What do you think it is?”

As I sip and listen to him try a variety of songs, I make a decision. I’m going to settle the score. If Grant can sleep with someone else, so can I. Forget divorce papers, forget being sad, it’s time to get even. He will rid me of this misfortune of only having been with one man. Aman who didn’t have the decency to leave me before sleeping with someone else.

His singing makes me feel empowered to change my life. I lean in and kiss the ginger by the window. At long last, a redhead is here to set me free and allow me to fight the pirates and go on adventures. I text Stef, “I’m going upstairs with this Peter Pan look alike for a bit, don’t leave without me” and include a pin of my location.

I’m blown away by the neat as a pin bedroom. Playing the part of an aloof person, someone I want desperately to be, I shrug off questions saying I am just new to campus. He assumes I mean a freshman, but I’m busy suppressing a laugh as my brain jokes to itself thatdivorcee and the frat boyis definitely the title of a porn out there. I tell myself that I am powerful, sexy, and corrupting this college fraternity brother. I’m not just a runaway with no plans for my future.

I have only been with my husband, and nothing we did was like this. He’s so focused on what I respond to, how I’m feeling, and I am free to be anyone I want. This is uncharted territory for me, and the biggest surprise of all is: sex can be fun. Being anonymous allowed me to get out of my own insecure performance thoughts. Instead, I am aroused and chasing a high that includes my freedom: from Grant, from Belinda’s constant nitpicking, and Neal’s requests to just get along with my mother. I’m going to chase holding onto this feeling.

autumn

fifteen

Lily

Present

On Monday, with the party behind us, we laid around nursing hangovers and catching up at Delia and Nessa’s house. After a few nights comfortably bed sharing with River, I told them no need to make things difficult and I foisted my ongoing stay on him.

It’s Tuesday morning and all that’s left to do is show up for the strategically timed interview in New York City and then I’m free to get out of Jersey for another… I guess it will depend on when and where this wedding is. In my head though, I’m pretending it is another decade until I’m told otherwise. My phone pings with a text message.

River:

Kick ass & take names

Even if you don’t know if you want this, they should want you

The New Jersey to Manhattan commute reminds me why so many people dislike our state: if you go from Philadelphia to New York, it looks ugly as we creep north. Each stop is more densely populated than the last and after the airport, everything is a blur ofindustrial parks and old graffiti until we’re in the tunnel. The NJTransit system is so notorious for delays, breakdowns, and overcrowding—there are entire social media accounts dedicated to sharing their worst offenses. Upon arrival to New York Penn Station it’s impossible to know what to expect too. The last few years have brought about near-constant construction and created a maze to leave the building. I found the familiar exits boarded off and went with the flow of people towards the next set of doors. Thankfully, everyone warned me yesterday so I built in ample time to make my way and get in the zone before this interview.

Glancing at his text, I smile, type, delete. I want to reply to River, but nothing is right: a like is too casual, but a heart feels weird. Just ‘Thanks!’is flippant, but a ‘TYSM!’is lame too.Ugh, fuck it!I say to myself before burying my phone into my bag.Coffee, coffee might help me think.

Snagging a venti iced coffee, I skim potential gigs for the fall and winter at a cafe table. There’s a few opportunities I will automatically accept, like the nepo-baby bachelorette party. It may even include cute (and expensive)brideitems we can swipe for Stef before their cleaning crew hits the premises at the end. I fire off a reply to get this ball rolling. Tulum, Mexico here I come.

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