by Ashley Cook

Late April, about midnight. He knew I was there. A twenty dollar replica. How do you say? Target. Gave it away. It was obvious, I was watching him. The bastard knew it. Maybe it wasn't a fake. Maybe, he inherited it from his father. Impressive. I took photos in my head as they danced `till two thirty-two and fifty-two seconds in the morning. Sometimes it went counter clockwise. Usually my timing was off, or I was just nervous with stage fright. I knew I was better than an alarm clock, but not as sleek and sophisticated as the Movados he brought home every night.

Why did we kiss? Did I have too many drinks? It wasn't even my house. It was our neighbor, Gillian. She liked to throw wild parties. The Mistletoe Scene all year-round. Project: Suck Face. We eye-balled each other until once upon a time we stumbled into each other's faces. What a shocker, since, I had been waiting for this moment ever since I saw his red polka-dot boxers. I've been dreaming about conversations we'd have during breakfast at my favorite bagel shop on the corner of Highland and Rosecrans. I've dreamt of kissing him nonchalantly as everyone seemed so surreal. There was this one time when we laid next to each other and I looked at him from the corner of my eye and giggled so sweetly as if it were real. His shampoo. He's wearing deodorant. Good thing or this dream would emit a foul stench. He had the everything bagel while I ordered the Pop-Eye sandwich on whole wheat.

I had this silk dress with the same print, so, I wore it that evening to screw with his head. The funny thing is, I woke up alone the next morning. I couldn't let the kiss take off my dress. I had to keep the zipper from snagging as long a possible. I knew it would catch on his twenty dollar replica sooner or later. I had back up dresses in the closet. So, I was cool.

The problem is waking up. I don't think there is a solution for that. Sleep longer. Dream forever. Don't set the alarm clock. Stop buying expensive dresses that only get stolen if you leave them on the clothesline too long. Keep staring out the window for a glimpse at a future that will end up five hundred feet below sea level because it wasn't water resistant. The problem is dwelling. The repair man is my advice columnist and he always puts a period at the end of his sentences. He told me I should learn how to wind my wrist watch because I am always falling behind.