Draft 1, Part 1

Her name was Amelia and she had the kind of hair girls longed for, unless of course it was their own. Long and curly, no frizz, no coloring, just the natural blonde that is only found in states like California. The curls seemed soft and natural as if she had just stepped out of the shower. She was smart and wild and everything I was and was not all tied together. The summer was 1994. We were fourteen years old and she kept playing the song:
“Don’t you want somebody to love; don’t you need somebody to love?”
over and over until it was so worn through my brain I had to change the tape.
Music from the sixties and seventies seemed to intrigue us more than most music from the eighties and on but I insisted on “Depeche Mode” and she groaned and rolled over on her wet towel. We had barbequed by the pool (yes, two girls could do that sort of thing back then) and went for a quick swim before lying out and deciding what to do with the rest of our long summer day. We woke up at eleven and it was already two o’clock but back then, the days did not begin until after dinnertime anyway.
I still wince when I hear that song on my ipod but I refuse to delete it from my itunes library as if it is a part of me that cannot be deleted that easily.
I was torn between taking a short nap in the midday sun but was afraid that my oh-so-frizzy curls would end up looking like something from the eighteenth century and could not relax. I eventually got up pretending I had to go to the bathroom so I could really put some product in my hair before it controlled me. I lied back down loving the smell of coconut oil (sunscreen was not a requirement in those days) and cigarettes we had left behind. I was fourteen years old and we had our whole life ahead of us.
Part of me wanted to reach over and touch the curls that sprawled across her towel but that was not me. I liked boys, I loved boys but there was something so intriguing about Amelia that made me think if I only could simplify things and become a lesbian it would be her.
As if she read my mind, she asked me
“Who should we call to play with tonight? My parents are going out to dinner; you could maybe invite some boys over?”
It was always me. I was friends with all the boys and at the same time, they all wanted to make out with me. They could not decide which girl I was. I had ever-changing hair colors, hazel eyes and barely looked up to their chest at a mere five foot three. They knew I was cute; they just also knew I could hang with them like one of the guys. Maybe that made me just as intriguing. As a result, it was always I, Olivia, who set the plans up for the night.
Sometimes we stayed home, drank White Zinfandel and danced. Other times we went wherever the party was, wherever the crowd was and played our game. I never told anyone anything about me but made sure it was known I was there. Amelia always found her way surrounded by a group of seemingly interesting people. We were apart yet together.

Chapter 2

That was ten years ago. Speed forward to 2004. We no longer road Thunder Mountain at Disneyland together, smoked pot or went for a swim in her parent’s pool. I went off to college to get some meaningless degree so I could get some sort of job that “suited me”. My parents had hopes for me they could not accomplish for themselves. My sister, two years older, got pregnant out of high school and it was left for me the “Smart” one but the one with a C average to get her ass to college and pursue some kind of dream.
Too bad my dream was not at the University. The University crawled with democrats and people with dreams and promises and goals. I floated like a bubble a three-year old decided not to pop because it was prettier landing on the grass. I made my way through school, upping my C average to a B and only doing cocaine on weekends; when drinking was not enough satisfy me. I was alive and yet lonely all together. I never thought I would say that.
I flirted with my professors and even bedded one. I made sure to call Amelia that night. We promised to exchange “war stories” and I thought doing a guy twice my age (and twice that night) fitted nicely into that category. She could not talk at the time because her daughter was screaming like a maniac and in 2004 not everyone text messaged. I got drunk and told my friend Patrick who was appalled that even I would do that.
Patrick was the friend we all had through high school or college that hoped for an eventual marriage and so stayed our friend even though we really actually saw them as a true friend. Patrick was cute and tall and loved taking walks around the city at any time of day. He was always up for a drink; probably because he expected something might come out of it. He had to hear all my war stories because he pretended to be my friend.
He is married now but he is still the first one I called when the news hit. Its 2008 now and everything has changed. However, so much has stayed the same. I know, I know, you have heard that line before. It is true though. We were all in such a rush to grow-up and now floating a couple years away from thirty, I wished I had taken more time to enjoy the life I had instead of running away from it all. Hell, I still run away from it. Being grown-up is well, for grown-ups. And I was not one of those yet. On the other hand, was I?

Here goes nothing

The song keeps playing in my head over and over and I wonder if I hit my head hard enough if it will stop. Or perhaps I already hit my head too hard and its just the tingling of my brain.