She sat on her bed watching the seconds tick by on her wristwatch, wondering if it was even worth getting up. A night of twisting dreams and humidity left her more tired than she’d been the night before. A pair of large black wings rested safely in her closet, gently put away with the knowledge that they’d cost much more than she and her boyfriend could afford. But he’d said it was okay; she deserved them because she was special. She didn’t feel special.
The Renaissance Festival, where the wings were purchased, had fatigued her as much as the dreams. A long drive, a lot of walking around, and the prerequisite argument seemed to detract from the enjoyment of going out and doing something fun, for a change. She dully wondered exactly how late she’d be if she got up right that second and got dressed. Remembering the dismal office she’d been assigned to, she decided she didn’t much care.
In fact, she decided that she didn’t even want to face anything work or internet-related that day. She was going to call in sick and sleep the day away. Nothing mattered. Nobody would care.
She attempted to sleep for the hour until she could call her supervisor; all to no avail. The twisting dreams, made ten times worse by the knowledge that there was a deadline, woke her up every five minutes. When she finally called her supervisor she was amazed at how sick she actually sounded. Her voice was ragged, blurred with the threat of a cough. Perhaps she was making herself sick. She went back to sleep.
Later she was playing the bass, her bass strap carefully put on under the wings so that she feathers wouldn’t be crushed. For a lark she’d put on her old punk makeup; the dark silver lipstick and the electric blue mascara that ran so becomingly when she cried. She wondered where the peace was that usually came with the music. Giving up on that, she decided that she liked the wings very much and was sorry that they really called for a more formal shirt to show them off at their best. The t-shirt just wasn’t quite doing it. The wings made her feel as though she really could fly.
Her boyfriend had no way of knowing she wasn’t at work, and she knew his friend was supposed to pick him up from work so they could hang out. Torn between her desire to see him and the realization that he didn’t often have time to be with his friends, she just sat there for a few moments. She also thought about the overnight trip he was taking to New York with that same friend and how much she resented him going. She thought about the bottle of coconut-flavored rum and what a combination of that rum and some carefully-chosen pills could do. Quickly deciding that this was a stupid thought, she got ready to visit her boyfriend at work. Just to say hi.
While he was, at first, surprised to see her pull up, her boyfriend quickly assured her of his intent to spend the afternoon with her. He was worried about her; she found this oddly gratifying. Like fate, he’d been standing out front when she pulled up, even though it was long before his quitting-time.
An afternoon was spent in bed. This was followed by an evening of her boyfriend regaling her with stories of his co-worker’s religious fervor. (His co-worker claimed that the aches and pains of old age are caused by Satan’s spirit entering different parts of one’s body. He also claimed that he knew God’s secret name; Jesus had whispered it in his ear.) She and her boyfriend made certain that they were going to hell by “asking Jesus to tell her God’s name,” then collapsing in laughter when her boyfriend made quiet duck noises in her ear.
She was depressed when she left her boyfriend and she immediately thought of the rum. She questioned her sanity and her ability to deal with stress. She watched Cow & Chicken and went to bed.
She woke up this morning, couldn’t find her work ID, raged around the house for a while (completely emptying a tube of expensive toothpaste when she attempted to brush her teeth in this state), then dragged herself into the office late.
She is wistfully thinking of black angel wings and rum.
