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“This will be great. Do you like Chinese? That’s what I was thinking about getting us,” she adds talking a mile a minute.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Just let me know when,” I respond as I start walking to my room. She stops me before I get too far.
“Before I forget, what’s your number? I can text you when I’m about to order. Plus, we need each other’s numbers anyway, so we can keep in touch during the day.” Lana chuckles to herself as she gets her phone out, and I contemplate giving her a fake number for the time being. I decide against it but only because I think she would cry if I did. I don’t want that to happen again. Besides, she would probably barge through my door to let me know the number was wrong. She finally leaves me in peace to unpack. I am thankful for the reprieve from all the talking that girl can do. I hope she’s starting to realize I’m not as bubbly a person as she is. At least, not anymore. Not since the accidents that took the people I loved from me. I doubt I could ever be happy like that again. I’m basically on meds to numb the pain of my life.
I sit down on my unmade queen-sized bed and look at all the boxes surrounding me. An overwhelming sensation washes over me and I feel like a fish outof water. Maybe I shouldn’t have made such a huge move from Florida to New York. Doing this all alone is starting to freak me out. I shake my head and smash those thoughts down. Mustering the strength to get up, I start unpacking. As I stand to shake the cobwebs from my brain and start unpacking, my phone chimes several times. I reach into my bag to retrieve it.
Unknown:This is Lana. Just thought you needed mine as well.
Unknown:I am so excited to have you here.
Unknown:What do you want me to order you from the Chinese place down the street?
Fuck! It’s already starting. I knew I should have given her a fake number. I truly hope she grows on me because right now I’m ready to throw all my boxes back in the moving van and find another place to live. Or maybe kick her out because I am quite fond of this apartment already. I smile to myself thinking about what she would do if I asked her to move out. After changing her name in my phone, I text her back.
Stormy:Almond chicken with white rice and no egg roll.
Picasso:You don’t want fried rice or an egg roll? Are you crazy?
Oh, she doesn't want to open that can of worms. She doesn’t need to know my level of crazy yet.
Stormy:Allergic to eggs.
Picasso:What? How do you live?
Picasso:I’m sorry again. That was insensitive of me.
I need to wrap this conversation up or I think we’ll sit here and text back and forth all night even though we’re in the same fucking apartment.
Stormy:I never really liked eggs to begin with. Then I had a bad reaction once and found out I was allergic to them. No big deal. Going to unpack now.
Just when I think I’ve finally shut her up, another message comes through. I put my phone down without reading it because I am running out of energy with her. I open the closest box to me and begin to unpack. The room has beautiful built-in bookshelves, which I love. All my smutty books are going to look prefect in them. Romance novels are my escape from this world, and I have tons of them. I empty one box, placing each book on the shelves, then take a step back to admire my work. My phone chimes again, and I feel guilty I didn’t check her last message. I don’t want her to think I’m a bitch, I prefer her find that out as fact if needed. After breaking down the empty box, I sigh and check her latest messages.
Picasso:Let me know if you need help.
Picasso:I know moving can be stressful. I am here if you need me.
One simple sentence but it’s rendered me speechless. This girl doesn’t know anything about me, and I haven’t exactly been welcoming. But she would still come in here and help me unpack. Maybe I judged her too quickly. I mean, physically she is the total opposite of me. Think Enid versus Wednesday Addams. The only exception is that I bleached my black hair, then dyed it silver. It’s naturally black and people were able to recognize me from the band. I didn’t want that anymore. I wanted to be my own person when I came to New York, so I changed it. It’s not like Superman. If people look closely enough, they can still see me. I mean my face used to be plastered all over the media, butchanging my hair gave me a sense of peace. They still play our version of songs on the radio. Another reason why I don’t listen to music. I don’t know what I would do if I were to hear one of our songs right now. The new band recorded an album and went on tour, but the radio still plays the ones I’m in. I tear my mind away from those thoughts as I look at the rest of the boxes I have left to unpack. I decide to text Lana back.
Stormy:I’m starving. Let’s go ahead and order.
Picasso:Yes! Meet me in the living room!
Here we go. I wonder how much she should know about my past. There is so much I could tell her, I don’t really know what I should say. I decide to gloss over the band stuff and tell her everything else. I pull my long hair into a messy bun and make my way to the living room.
???
After we finish the delicious Chinese dinner, I felt like I had gotten to know Lana a lot better. I’ve got to say, I liked her more now than I did earlier. She’s very outgoing and chipper, but she isn’t fake about it. She truly is a happy person and I find myself wishing I could be as carefree as she.
“You know, you look so familiar to me,” Lana remarks, as I begin cleaning up our empty containers. I knew something like this would come up eventually but not this soon. How could changing my hair be enough for people not to recognize me? I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I could go ahead and get it out there, so she doesn’t find out from someone else. But I just want to be Stormy for a little bit longer. Just plain Stormythat came to New York to attend art school. I take the trash to the kitchen and return hoping she doesn’t keep pressing the issue.
“You’re probably going to laugh, but you look like the lead singer from Damaged Jacks. Well, actually, the old lead singer. Please tell me you know who that band is. They’re the best; they were even better when she was with them. I heard she went to rehab after the lead guitarist was killed. I don’t think that was the case though, but who knows, right? I mean the tabloids will tell us anything.” Lana finishes her spiel and finally takes a breath. The air leaves my lungs, and for a moment I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I can tell her. I stand still in shock, wanting to run but having nowhere to hide. My eyes widen in fear and all I want to do is run back to the safety of my room.
“Is everything okay? Did I say something wrong?” she questions as I walk around the sectional and take my seat on the couch. I look up at the ceiling while taking a large gulp of wine. When my glass is empty, I place it on the table, I try not to look at Lana because of the tears filling my eyes.
“I-I haven’t heard of them. I don’t really listen to the radio all that much.” A tear rolls down my cheek. I try to hide the evidence, but Lana sees me wipe it away. As I jump up from the couch and make my way to my bedroom, Lana is there grasping my arm and turning me to face her.
“Holy shit. It can’t be. I knew you looked familiar, but never in a million years would I think it was true. It is, isn’t it? I’m sorry for bringing it up. I’m just on a roll with sticking my foot in my mouth around you. Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?” She fires off thequestions quickly.
