The sky was a mix of dark yellow, orange, and laced with pink by the time I pulled my car up against the curb just a few houses down from my own. A slow day, come and gone, much to Sam’s sarcastic prediction. Barely any customers to keep us on our toes, or to assist in pulling our hair out when the questions became too monotonous to form genuine answers.
I switch the car off, automatically reaching for my phone resting in the small space underneath the radio, clicking the home button. No notifications. No messages. Nothing to push me to swipe it open, but my finger does it gracefully without hesitation, and I’m going straight into Facebook without a second thought to the matter.
Kelsey has posted a photo of her and Ryan; smiling widely, teeth showing, the sun casting a golden glow over her pale tone and his spray-tanned orange one. She has her eyes closed, probably to shield her retinas from the sunlight, while her boyfriend has his wide open, thin lines underneath, but a nice shine to them nevertheless. The caption reads: Happy to have my better half with a red heart emoji.
And continuing to scroll down, Alex has commented cuties, among 30 other comments that more than likely say the same thing. No one can really deny it, Kelsey and Ryan really do look adorable together. I scroll on to look at more posts, something that will settle the mild sense of jealousy brewing in my head, something that will help me feel less insecure in my own situation.
Girl’s Advice has several posts going down my timeline. Most asking basic questions like what the best primer would be with this foundation, or would it be considered petty to unplug your boyfriend’s console while he’s playing and you’re trying to talk to him (the top comments suggest that it wouldn’t). There’s one that catches my eye, enough for my finger to tap on not only the top comment, but also the entire post, viewing everything and anything everyone was saying in response.
It was a link to an article. An article that read ‘ASHLEE DIOR: How Fame Can Ruin a Person’. It was one of those obvious clickbait articles, that had an enticing title to draw in readers to indulge in the gossip and failure of those involved. But reading through the comments, it was clear that the ladies of Girls Advice didn’t care much about whether the article was fake or not. They had their own opinions to say on the matter:
‘Thank God, she didn’t deserve to get famous anyway.’
‘What the hell does Adrian see in her? He must be embarrassed, he has to be’
‘She obviously couldn’t help herself to say the dumb shit she did. Can’t you hear her tone? She’s so genuine about it.’
‘Far out, how stupid can one person be...’
And it’s funny, because as I scroll through the comments, I don’t notice a single comment from Candace Finnegan, or Amber Wilson; two women who dominated the topic of Ashlee Dior and banned it. Unless the original poster were open to suffering a ban from the group altogether, and judging by ′Emilia Collin’s profile picture, where the label new member sat right next to it, I had a feeling their time in this group would be dramatically cut short.
The screen of my phone automatically brightens. I look up from my phone, out through the front windshield, looking at the dark navy of the parked car in front, now almost black in colour. Has it really gone darker since I pulled up? I look to the sky, barely any colour left in it, spare for a little bit of yellow on the horizon, but the remainder has grown into it’s deep dark blue, and tiny stars are beginning to appear.
I lock my phone, throwing it into my handbag that rests on the passenger seat, and grabbing it by its handle before opening the car door and stepping out into a cool summer evening. It’s not cold enough to leave goose bumps on my skin, but the drop in temperature has left a pleasant mix of leftover heat and a welcoming chill as I lock my car and begin to make my journey up the street towards my house. The streetlights have become the main source of light, and the trees rustle slightly as I walk past them, probably still housing birds that are beginning to turn in for the night.
The townhouse has a few lights on, that I can see through the windows. One of Rosie’s habits that never seems to die, even when I turn off every light in existence whenever I make my way through one room or the other. I guess I just appreciate the dark a little more, whereas she is definitely more of a light person. Likes things bright in tones, like her clothes and her furniture and her hair whenever she can get an appointment for more highlights. I always think my usual dark contrast in all those things must put her happiness in a damper, but even towards me, with my usual attire of black upon black, and my bare room that holds next to no decorations, she still smiles and still runs to show me the latest things she’s found in Kmart catalogues and on online clothes shops, always saying things like ′This would look so cute in your room!′ or ′I can sooo picture you wearing this’. And you can’t help but smile and take in the positive light that she is, because that’s just the aura she wears and it’s the vibrance she brings into people’s lives. You can’t help but just feel happier around her.
But walking into our home this evening, there was a change in the air. All the lights were on but the place was quiet, still, floating dust particles drifting through the air, no gravity to support them, as the only movement. I could hear Rosie, talking quietly in her room, and I shut the door behind me without a sound, except for the twist of the lock. And although my work shoes squeak slightly and my keys jangle and I dump them in my handbag, I move as calmly as I can towards the hallway, walking down over creaks in my step from the old hardwood, making my way to the wide open door of Rosie’s room.
“Yeah, I can definitely move you to Thursday night, that’s no problem,” I hear her say, and I spot her sitting cross-legged on her bed, scribbling in her diary, chatting away. “What time best suits you?”
I approach her door. She hasn’t noticed me yet, standing there awkwardly, gripping the shoulder strap of my handbag. I look around her room, that hasn’t changed much in terms of cleanliness, but she has an overnight bag wide open at the foot of her bed, clothes spewing out and colliding on the floor to create more mess. I can see her hairbrush, and her can of deodorant, resting on top, either coming home from somewhere, or going out somewhere. My guess was the latter.
“No worries, Mel,” she speaks, and looks up to force a tired smile in my direction. Her brown hair is up in a messy knot, and her face is clear of any sort of make-up. She almost looks ready for bed. “I’ll let Richie know about the changes and we’ll see you on Thursday afternoon...thanks. Have a good one.”
And with that, she hangs up the phone, letting it fall from her hand and onto her open diary, as she falls back into the mess of cushions and pillows with her arms sprawled out and her eyes closed. She doesn’t speak another word, so I swallow hard and take what initiative I have and ask, “Big day?”
“Ehhhh,” she responds, opening her eyes to stare at her white ceiling. “Just a few scheduling issues, it’s no biggie. Some dickhead left one of the showers on in the gym, and the water piled up, and overflowed out into the main area.”
“Luckily,” she says, lifting herself back up into her cross-legged position, her eyes down on her diary. “We didn’t have very many bookings for the weekend, so I was able to shift those around quite easily, but now we have to get a cleaner in, and some replacement mats, and just...ahhh...”
She wipes her hands over her face, drawing back towards her messy bun, and her arms collapse into her lap. She looks at me, and that same tired smile is on her face. “How was your day?”
I shrugged, knowing that my job probably wasn’t as exciting, or full-on, as her’s was. But Rosie always has this attentive stare, one that always lets you know that she’s listening. Her big brown eyes look at me, her chin resting on the knuckle of her fist, and even though she has bags under her eyes they blink in curiosity, and they stare as they wait for me to speak. And I can’t help but oblige.
“It wasn’t bad,” I explained. “Quiet day. No horrible customers. We got in some cute little planters made for window sills...”
“Ooh,” Rosie cooes, and looks towards her own windows, where the curtains are wide open. “Could you send me some pictures? I could use a little more life in this room...”
I smile. “Yeah, of course.”
“Thaaaanks.” She speaks, mimicking the tone of a child, as her eyes dart away from the window and she swings her legs off the bed. As she stands, she notices the bag at the end of her bed, and she sighs in exhaustion.
“Far out,” she curses, wiping a single hand over her left eye. “Dan called me this afternoon to see if I could stay the night, and I wasn’t going to, but he’s been real upset since he lost his job, and I dunno...he needs company.”
Rosie then looks at me with a weak smile. “I actually wanted to just stay in tonight, have a couple of Cruisers, watch an episode or two of Friends, and just...chill. I even bought a six pack so you could have a couple too.”
I smile as she turns her attention back to her bag. It does sound like a nice, relaxing evening after coming home from work.
“But now,” she sighs, exhaustion exhaling. “I guess I’ll be taking the Cruisers on a road trip to my boyfriend’s house...”
Her phone chimes the ring of a doorbell, and she reaches over, scoffing as she looks at the notification on the screen.
“Speak of the devil,” she says, not to anyone in particular. ”Are you on your way yet? God, he’s so needy...”
She throws her phone back onto her bed, her hands floating up to her sides, resting on her hips, and she looks to me once again. “I’m sorry, Kara. Looks like I’ll be out for the night.”
I shrug, again. “It’s fine. These things happen.”
I didn’t mind at all that Rosie was being whisked away by her boyfriend to spend the night at his place. In fact, I didn’t have many plans at all for tonight, sparing for watching some YouTube or Netflix and maybe going down the road to McDonald’s as an adequate substitute for a meal. Most nights, like tonight, I didn’t have plans. I never really knew what I was going to get up to, let alone who I would be seeing, if I saw anyone.
Rosie’s weak smile flashes again, and she takes a step closer to her overnight bag.
“Do you have any other plans anyway?” She asks, and as I’m about to tell her that I don’t, my own phone dings with the Facebook message tone, and I look down as I pull it out of my pocket. One look at the name displayed on the screen, and I could already tell that my evening was about to be booked.
“Actually, yeah,” I say, looking up at Rosie, who is beginning to throw a few more pairs of underwear into the bag. “I do. I’m going to go and see an old friend.”
