Serially found-The Bed She Lay In

Published October 2, 2014 by M. Natalia Arocho

She lay there in a bed that wasn’t hers. On her back, she looked up at a ceiling that didn’t belong to her. Her ceiling had glow in the dark stickers that you could still their outlines in the daytime. The bed she lay in was not like hers. It was hard, with every movement she made she could feel the springs pressing into her. The sheets were not as warm as inviting as the ones that she curled under in her room. Hey body draped with a thin light blue sheet and a blue blanket that was well worn on top that offered little warmth in the chilled room. The body that she awkwardly lay next neither offered protection against the AC’s cold front nor did it look willing to provide. Back to her to keep her to her side, legs curled close and hands pulling the greater portion of the covers over, the boy, supposed gentleman and charmer from the night before was now a man lost in his alcohol induced sleep. He was a part of this room. This room that she could see had posters of half naked women on the walls, dirty clothes strewn across the floor, the chairs, the closet. Bottles of liquor on the shelves next to text books that have papers protruding from the end of it. The desk covered in papers, his wallet, wrappers of condoms and lube bottles that had trails of its residue on it and the desk.

One of these things is not like the others and she was the odd ball out. Taking it in, looking at the ceiling that wasn’t hers, she was thinking of herself, of her saturation. She was the Alice that fell down the wrong rabbit hole into the world of the immature, still sowing his green oats, college boy. There was no tea party, only shots after shots of forgetfulness and reckless abandon. There was no white rabbit, no mad hatter, no door mouse, only airbrushed, plastic women with looks that said come hither but all she wanted to do was crawl away unseen.

This wasn’t her. This girl that was laying next to him was one that left the real her outside of the bar that night, that is still waiting for her to pick her up. She was like Peter Pan’s shadow, going off and instead of ending up in Wendy’s room, she had landed into Will’s, a skinny white boy with short brown hair and no flare for story telling or for creating orgasms.

Trying to crawl out of bed without disturbing her hung-over host, she placed one leg and the other over and out of the bed. Her clothes weren’t too hard to find, being that there were few of them and close by. Slipping on last nights sweaty cigarette smelling cropped top and shorts, she zipped up her boots after taking out her keys and wallet that some how strategically put there at on point in the night. Like a shadow she slipped out of the room and the apartment that she didn’t care to look at, only thankful that the rest of it’s inhabitants were all still sleeping in late.

With twists and turns, seeing flicks of light come through the windows of a rather dim hallways, she managed to get out of that world of one night stands and walked into to the light of a new day. A new beginning, last night in the past, history, old news. Walking the few blocks to her dorm, she could feel her reason come back, the scolding of leaving with a stranger, the caring to make sure no harm was done, the lesson learned that no cute boy was worth loosing ones self, she finds herself in front of her building.

In her room she sheds last nights clothes, last night boy and tosses them into the hamper. In the shower, she scrubs away the bad decisions and mistakes, worries, and doubt, the pretend of being a girl she wasn’t. Stepping into sweats pants that belonged to her bad, a sweater that she’d stolen from her brother, socks that her grandmother had given her last Christmas, she felt pieces of her being put back together, her shadow being sewn back onto her body. Looking in the mirror she smiles, brushing away a stray hair from her face like her mother would and says “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

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