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My parents are outside getting drunk with our neighbors. I'm wearing my brother's sweatshirt and drinking gin because I hate it. It makes me restless and quiet. I rode my bike to Starbucks today looking for a cigarette to bum and ended up getting coffee. The girl who took my order had a short blond mohawk and her right ear pierced three times. My gaydar flared, and my suspicions were confirmed by a small rainbow at the end of a thin metal chain around her neck. "Going to Pride in SF this weekend?" I asked casually. She looked surprised. "Yeah, I'm super excited, it's my first time." We chatted briefly and I told her I'd probably see her there, I got my coffee and we said goodbye. I smiled as flirtatiously as I could--she was a little butch for me, but really cute. I sat outside drinking my coffee and recreated the conversation. I do that often, usually when I'm cleaning my fingernails or watching television. I pretend that I'm still talking to whoever, except this time I'm saying something really smooth or witty. In this instance I touched her necklace when I asked if she was going to Pride, asked if she had a girlfriend, and if not then asked for her number. I cry more easily since I stopped taking Prozac, but it feels good. I watch sad movies on purpose on the women's channel and then cry for hours in my room thinking about the cliche, dramatic ending, and then fall asleep. It's almost scary how good it feels. I haven't cried like that since I was thirteen. I'm turning seventeen in less than five days.
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