musings on a (not so) flat chested girl -- part six

The next morning I awoke in Dakota's large, cozy bed and marveled at the fact that I was in the bedroom of such a beautiful, relative stranger. After a minute of experiencing the kind of zombified state that occurs from limited sleep, I realized that we had both into the afternoon and that I had promised Garrick to return his car to him. I leaped up in shock, screaming "What time is it?" Dakota was lethargic, wiping the sleep from her eyes, confused at my sudden excitement so early in our day. I desperately stressed my eyes searching for some way to find the time only to see a haze of brown dressers, blue picture frames, and the flash of red emanating from a clock radio. I had been used to sleeping with my contacts in as of late, and forgot that I had actually done the right thing for once and taken them out. I reached over and grabbed my glasses from the nightstand, looked at the clock, and was not so surprised to find out that I was running late regarding my promise to return the car at a certain time. I asked Dakota to borrow her mobile phone in order to call Garrick to let him know I had accidentally slept late. I called, he said it was no big deal and to go ahead and take my time. I was relieved that he wasn't mad, but I still wanted to get back since I had made him a promise. Garrick and I had been through many ups and downs as friends and became closer as a result, so I wanted to be true to my word. What I didn't think about was the fact that Garrick really didn't care all that much and the fact that Dakota was slightly perturbed with the idea that I'd rather keep my promise of returning a car than stay in bed with her. I never was very good at thinking.

I left Dakota's apartment, hopped back in the proverbial Oldsmobuick, pulled a filtered cigarette from a near-empty pack and drove out of the apartment complex. Halfway down the street I realized that I had no means to light the cigarette, so I stopped at a gas station in order to procure some matches. At that point I started thinking about how I even started smoking (for fun in Austin,) how I picked it back up again when I moved to L.A. (living with a smoker) and how I had long since passed the threshold of "I'm not really a smoker, I can quit any time I want!" since the desire to smoke was so overwhelming that I felt the need to interrupt the task of returning the car, the task that I felt was so important that I voluntarily left the comforting arms of a beautiful woman to pull over and find a way to light the damn smoke. I asked the gas station attendant for a pack of matches and he looked at me funny. I caught myself thinking. "Do people not use matches in this town?" I was probably mumbling or something. The clerk managed to decipher my marble mouth and gave me a pack. I got back in the white whale, slammed the accelerator onto the floorboard, and dodged the caissons that were decorating the side of the entrance ramp to the freeway.

When I arrived at Garrick's apartment, I apologized for running late and he said once again that it was no big deal. He just wanted to make sure that I had a good time and I related to him that I did. I was having the best time in the world. He told me that I really was having one of those "once in a lifetime moments," and I agreed. I couldn't believe that after coming to town with little-to-no-purpose, I met someone I liked, she liked me too, and things were progressing as fast as they were. I tried not to think about it too much, tried not to ascribe some kind of profound meaning to it all, tried to tell myself just to calm down and enjoy the whole situation for what it was. But what was it? Were we dating? Friends? What the hell was going on? I was thinking again. I never was very good at thinking.