bare [h.s.]

Texts

I told my mother I was feeling ill
to skip dinner and
hide in my room,
but really I'm feeling confused,
and the bruise forming
on my wrist makes
my head pound.

I lay back on my bed and dig into
the pocket of my jeans.
I already regret
pulling out my phone.
I swallow hard as
my thumbs quickly
press the letters on the keypad.
My eyes scan the screen as
the words rapidly appear:
I'm sick. Can I have a
raincheck on that date?
I'm reluctant to press send,
but I glance down at the small bruise and know
it's the right choice.

Minutes of silence pass,
eerie silence that makes me
want to hide under my covers.
Elijah will be upset,
he'll never speak to me again.
I should've just ignored my silly
feelings and doubts and put on
a skimpy red dress that
he would've enjoyed.
The night could've been lovely,
and I would've had sweet dreams,
but instead I'm sitting on my bed
with an aching heart.
It's not too late to change my mind, but instead of telling Elijah
I am suddenly feeling healthy,
I tap on the contact that reads "Harry".

Me: Are you okay?
Great question, Captain Obvious.
Of course he was upset,
why else would he make such a
big production about the date and leave?

Harry: Don't you have a
date to go on?

Me: No, not anymore.

Harry: He found someone better
already?

Me: Ouch, I really felt that one.

Harry: Sorry. Honesty is my número uno policy.

Me: Thanks! Dates aren't really my thing anyway. I prefer being single and sad. So, why did you leave?

Harry: I'm not a fan of cheesy
date proposals. I saved you from being puked on.

Harry: You're welcome.

Me: You're a saint. Why haven't you been elected to be Pope?

Harry: I'll be sure to run for the 2016 Pope election, genius.

My Friday night is filled with sarcastic texts back and forth between Harry and I,
and I couldn't find a better way
to spend my evening.