A Shady Place

3

Weak morning light filtered through the gaps in the curtains. Sharp pain lanced from my temples deep into my skull. My whole brain felt tender. I narrowed my eyes, watching the dust motes drifting through the air. Gingerly twisting my neck, I glanced at the other side of the bed. Empty. I sat up, rubbing the corner of my eye and grimacing when my fingers came away smudged with eyeshadow. I was sure I'd have brought someone home last night, but, aside from the rumpled sheets I knew I'd caused, the bed didn't seem slept in. I leaned over to check the trash. No condom.

Regardless, if someone had spent the night, they sure as hell didn't do a good job, since my back was still feeling fine.

I yawned and padded out of the bedroom, starting up some of the cheap, complimentary coffee. I leaned back to check the bedside alarm clock. It was 3 in the afternoon, meaning my roommate would be long gone. She was the kind of person who was into daily yoga practices. A couple nights ago, she'd told me that the best time to practice mindfulness was before breakfast. I wasn't sure why, but I took her word for it. Then we'd had a long conversation about kegel exercises and the health benefits of self-stimulation, and since then she'd decided to move her morning routines outside our shared room.

I rolled my tongue around my mouth, which felt dry from the night before. I needed to rehydrate if I wanted this headache gone, so I forced down three glasses of water. Kinda made me want to throw up, so I just made sure to move slowly as I shuffled back into the bedroom, hunched over the steaming, paper cup of coffee.

* * *

Once dressed, I spent the day exploring Anaheim. Since the stadium was so close to Disneyland, most of the spots were related to the rat with big ears, which didn't really appeal to me. Eventually, though, I stumbled into a little hole-in-the-wall museum which was piled high with whimsical magic trick paraphernalia and old circus equipment. In one corner, a stuffed monkey had been arranged on a bicycle.

"You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me," I muttered, stuffing my hands into my jeans pockets and wandering deeper. When I found the gift shop at the back, I grinned, arms swinging while I explored the various trinkets. I grabbed my mom a little heart surgery flip book and picked out a box of incense for my dad.

There was a bowl of rings near the cash register, which I immediately began to rummage through. When I was younger and less willing to tell someone 'no' outright, I sometimes wore a ring on my left hand, just to use as an excuse if I ever needed someone to back off. That usually landed me with a weird look, since I'd been sixteen at the time, but it did the trick more or less. Along the line, though, I'd built up quite the collection, and it'd become more of a fun pastime than anything practical. The gaudier the better. I held a huge, gold-plated band up to the light. The square centerpiece, which was probably made from paste, was framed by some art deco-looking coils of metal. Kinda made my fingers look weirdly out of proportion, but I bought it anyway.

I was feeling pretty pleased with my purchases as I wandered back to the hotel, plastic gift bag in hand.

"Aye," I turned to see DeShaun lift his hand then saunter down the hallway towards me, two bottles of unopened Bacardi tucked under his arm. "Megan, right?" I nodded, shifting my weight. "We got a bunch of people chillin' in my room, if you wanna come up. Bring some friends, too."

"Cool. What's the room number?"

"451, I think. Just shout real loud if that ends up being wrong and I'll come find you."

I laughed. "Sounds good. I'll go get Isis right now."

He nodded, clicking his tongue and winking before strolling back in the direction he came from.