A New Kind of Ready

What I'm Listening to: Clocks (Coldplay) As the beginning chords of "New Year" sounded, I sleepily rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom adjacent to my bedroom. I turned on my shower and climbed in once it was warm enough. After massaging shampoo and conditioner into my hair, I rinsed my hair, scrunched it and put on makeup. I then blow-dried my bangs and straightened them. The last step was to grab my watch, purse and backpack from my room. Suddenly, I glanced at my bedside table and stared in horror.

The alarm clock proudly declared 11:59!

I thought I had been running a little late, but I was actually ready seven hours early. Which left me the dilemma of what to do with my hair. I couldn't exactly sleep on it wet, because everyone knows doing that makes it flattened on one side and lumpy on the other. But nobody sacrifices seven hours of sleep for a good hair day either. Fatigue won out and I ended up arriving at school with hair slightly less attractive than when I fixed it. Nevertheless, life carried on as usual and I was no worse for the wear. And now for part six of After the Crash... Echo Tracks It wasn't very unusual for him to call. So why was my stomach filled with a sickened sense of dread? The small cell phone at my side beeped incessantly, waiting for me to answer it. "Hello?" I said, my voice cracking. I recognized his voice at once. Only, it wasn't a voice he'd ever used with me. It was the hesitant, sorrowful voice of a boy about to break up with his girl. In this case, moi. "Hi, baby," I said, already choking. He told me it was all political, really. Had he told me he had a new job?--that's why he never seemed to be here anymore. His boss was a girl who was in love with him, and if he dated her, he would get a promotion. Of course he still loved me. Of course he wanted to be with me. Of course he would stay with me--the relationship with his blond, sexy superior was merely for political reasons. Somehow I managed to hold back the bile. I told him okay, that I wasn't that interested. He hung up and I ran through the list of possible ailments: Blind Deaf Stupid My eyes filled with broken, angry tears. I tore through the house, heaving glass and timber alike to the floor. Through my blurred vision, I made my way to the front door. Silently, I stood there, looking at his many Echo tracks. Imagining where he stood last. How he looked when he kissed me...for the last time. Sitting on the porch and looking at the pearls and diamonds he'd always promised to get for me would never be the same. I could never honestly enjoy a night under the stars ever again. I was devastated. Broken. Used. I broke down on the steps and cried, listening vainly for his pleasant, husky voice. Telling me he was sorry. He never liked that Blond anyway. He didn't really need the job. But no. I was left in dreadful, breathtaking silence.