[What a difference a year makes:]
Monday, May 3, 2010
In Which Adam Lambert Echos My Thoughts
I showered hours earlier and never bothered to comb or dry my hair, so I look like I am channeling Medusa as I pull up into the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot and turn off my headlights. Three elderly women sit in the window watching as the windshield wipers settle in, and I can follow their gaze to my out-of-state license plate. I stifle a sigh, grab my bag, step out of my car, and wonder what labels they'll assign me in addition to "from away". They all turn as I walk through the door, but I've had practice in ignoring faces I don't want to see.
I know I'm a spectacle with my chipped black nail polish and mismatched outfit, but I spent the day on the couch reading Alvarez and planning a trip to Switzerland because I'm done with work, homework is dwindling, and finals (for the last time) haven't arrived yet. I have time to hope and dream, lay around with wet hair, and reheat my morning coffee all afternoon. Listen to the rain.
The girl behind the counter is busy in the back room. I don't mind waiting. I wonder what these ladies talked about before I arrived. "Connecticut," a reference to my license plate, rolls off their tongues like a foreign noun. I sigh and then worry that they saw my shoulders heave. I promise myself that I will walk out if I hear them use the term "flatlander". And then I promise myself I will stay regardless; I don't want to upset the girl behind the counter.
Up in the corner, familiar faces flash on the television screen as the debate for governor drones behind the old lady chatter. I almost sigh again but catch myself this time. I'm a stranger and an insider at the same time.
An older man walks through the door and up to the counter. When he sees that he will have to wait, he starts to grumble incoherently and loudly. The girl walks over to the counter flustered, upset, silently apologetic. I try to give her a reassuring smile and a kind order to make up for his loud grumbling and current pacing. Back and forth.
I don't bother to put my hood up and walk out the door into the rain. The ladies watch as I climb into my car. "I'm leaving, I'm leaving," I want to tell them. The radio starts with the car engine now that I've stopped listening to that CD on repeat, and Adam Lambert screeches "What do you want from me?!"
