Tomorrow you will force your feet to the drugstore, brave the measured stare of the pharmacist, probably middle aged, probably married, probably living a quiet life prescribed by the certainty of science. You will walk accompanied by the sour stink of flesh, the soreness, the sounds that keep repeating: Jared zipping his jeans, his breezy goodbying, goodbye like see you around, goodbye like wasn't this fun? You will keep going to class, keep sitting next to Jared in English, keep a smile on your face, keep saying you're fine.
But today it hasn't happened yet. Today you’re swishing in and out of stores along Michigan Avenue. There’s enough room on your credit card for the perfect dress and enough time to find it. The sun warms your hair, your bare arms. You’re arm in arm with Susie, giggling like hyenas, buzzed from nips of vodka in the changing room. On the street, a man twists balloons into animal shapes for a little girl in beaded corn rows. He wolf whistles as you pass and instead of hissing Perv! like you normally do, you blow him a kiss. You're sixteen and beautiful and hold all the power in the world. You’re sixteen and tonight is going to be the best night of your life, because Jared has finally asked you out.
Cole Beauchamp (she/her) is a queer writer based in London. She’s a Best Microfictions nominee, been shortlisted or placed in the Bridport, Bath and WestWord Prize for Flash Fiction and longlisted for Smokelong’s March Micro Marathon competition. Her stories have appeared in The Phare, trampset, Citron Review, Janus Literary, Ellipsis Zine and others. She lives with her girlfriend, has two children and an exuberant Maltipoo. You can find her on Twitter at @nomad_sw18
OMG 😫💔
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