Maya [SOS]-- Jan 14th, Leni's birthday. [Yeah, I'm behind.]
“So what’s protocol for birthday’s and roommates and that whole thing?” I asked, as I crunched on carrot sticks.
I heard my sister, Carmen sigh loudly. “You know, when most people eat while talking on the phone they try to eat something discreet. They don’t chomp pretzels in someone’s ear like that’s what’s good.”
“That makes it better?”
“No, but it makes you wrong.” We both laughed loudly. This was what I loved about my family. Our ability to make a joke out of anything. Our ability to make ANYTHING fun. It was awesome, and something that I truly missed while living in Seattle.
“Anyway, as far as this roommate thing goes, I think it is enough of a present for you to just go to San Diego, you know? I mean, it’s not as if you know her well enough to buy her anything, right?”
“True. It just feels wrong, though. We always buy presents for our friends, it‘s the ‘Sosa way!’”
“Well, for once in your life, be less Sosa, and more Maya; because, in case you’ve forgotten, MAYA is broke.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Now Boarding Flight 627 to San Diego.”
“That’s us.” Leni said, standing up. About a dozen girls had decided to come along to celebrate Leni’s birthday. They all stood up and started shuffling towards the gate.
I breathed heavily as I began walking down the gate, towards the plane. In all of my twenty years of life, I have never stepped foot on a plane. Needless to say, I was not loving the experience so far. The small space, the infinite list of ways to die, the pathetic excuse for a bathroom, all reasons why I don’t fly.
My heart throbbed as I found my way to my seat.
“Nervous?” Leni asked.
“What gave me away?”
“Oh nothing in particular, just the fact that you have a psycho-death-grip on the arm rest.”
“Yeah.. That is a tell tale sign of the heebie-jeebies.” Jemma laughed.
I arched my brow as Leni and I stared first at each other, and then at Jemma, “Heebie-jeebies?”
“Oh bite me!” She groaned.
Just then Lola popped her head over Jemma’s chair, “Is that a request or a command? Personally, I prefer when it’s a command. Like ‘Bit me, Lola. Grr!’”
The whole plane burst into giggles. I let loose a sigh of relief as I began to relax. The conversation seemed to block my mind from the traumatic experience that was my first airplane ride. Ahh, there’s nothing like Lola’s bed-room talk to de-stressify your life.
So... if you read this and thought, "Hey the story seems like it got cut off." You're right, because I am an idiot who forgot to press "save" Ugh, this is why I stopped writing in Microsoft Works in the first place! Why on Earth did I go back?! Oh yeah, 'cause I'm an idiot. Anyway, sorry the story got cut short.
Please write, "Angie's an idiot," if you read.