Red Feathers
by Lauren Marie Grant 

My alarm goes off at an ungodly hour – I press snooze regardless of the fact that I don’t have to go to work today. Slept through the second alarm and I wake up at 9:06am. I check my email – nothing new except for maybe free shipping for a store I can’t afford anyway or eBay saying I lost the bid on that set of alien head salt-and-pepper shakers.

I check your girlfriend’s twitter. She seems unhappy.

I check your twitter. You seem happy. This makes me happy.

Looking in the mirror at day old make up, I brush my teeth. Halfway through I stop to put on my bra then resume brushing my teeth. I wipe away the excess mascara and the junk that accumulated in the corners of my eyes – I think there’s blood in one corner but it turned out to be a small red feather.

Not sure when I encountered any type of bird last night.

“How are you feeling” – two people say to me, one on Gmail Chat, the other via text message.

“Pretty good thanks why” – I respond the same way to both, knowing I am about to be regaled by the stupid things I said under the influence of dark liquor and indifference. I leave my desk and find some Percocet while the beeps from Chat come from my laptop.

The one on Gmail Chat explains how sorry he is for the fight we got in via drunk text messages. It stemmed from me wanting him to tell me dirty things and him telling me he was going to “some bar to meet a bitch.” We are in love but choose not to be, so we argue like this every other night. I apologize to match his.

The one via text message explains how I was complaining about the one on Gmail Chat. Then goes into how I need to stop pretending not to care when in reality I care too much. I roll my eyes and turn on a Slumberland band while I get dressed.

Another small red feather is stuck to my hip. I pinch it off and stare at it. Half naked, I open the curtains and blinds to my windows, the man across the street is early. I watch him jerk off under the overpass while I slip on a dress that I wore on Wednesday.

Lauren Marie Grant is a writer from San Francisco, California. She has a black cat and lives across the street from a freeway overpass. Her favorite time of day is 10am and 10pm. You can email her here: laurennmariegrant(at)gmail.com or read other things on laurenmariegrant.com.

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