Oh Baby, I'm a Fool For You

I’ve never been so embarrassed. My luggage was clattering so loudly on the stairs of my temporary apartment building that people were sticking their heads out their doors to see what all the racket was about. I whispered “hi” to all the people, and finally reached the top floor. I pulled the shiny new key out of the pocket of my grey denim jacket and stuck it into the lock of 4B.

The door swung open soundlessly, revealing a quaint but cute apartment. There was a small walk way to get inside, with a couple of hooks on the wall for clothes. There was a large living room, already furnished with a big couch and a fluffy recliner, all focused around a 18 inch TV. On the right was a bar with three stools lined up in front of it, and through the doorway next to it was a fully equipped kitchen. Past the living room were two six foot tall doors. I dumped my bags in the living room and opened the first door. There was a small bathroom, including a deep bathtub and a shower head attached. The other door revealed a bedroom with a queen sized bed and a wide closet.

I flopped onto the couch and kicked off my shoes, tore off my jacket, and pushed my jeans onto the floor. I crossed my legs and snuggled into the cushions. Before I knew it, I was asleep, my sweaty hand rolled into a fist.

The next morning, or should I say afternoon, I woke up and trudged into the bathroom. I used the toilet and then leaned on the sink, opening my eyes to face the wrath of the mirror. The whole left side of my face was covered in a continuous black smear. “Oh no,” I whispered, and looked down. The hand that had Ben’s number on it was just a blob of black ink. I sat on the side of the tub and sighed, then grudgingly scrubbed my skin until it was back to its pale white.

After a long shower, I slipped on a fitted light blue tee that read ‘Lake Havasu’ and a pair of black jeans, all the while mentally yelling at myself because I didn’t write down Ben’s number. How could I have been so stupid? Here he is, a perfect, funny, sexy guy, and I’m not even smart enough to write down his number? I nearly tripped over my red flip flops as I searched for them, grabbed my bag, and headed out into the streets of London. My first hour was consumed with an angry salesman who kept trying to sell me a cell phone plan that I didn’t need. After receiving a silver Razor, I walked out of the building, and went to a café. I opened my phone, and munched on a cinnamon muffin.

“Hello?

“Hey there, little man,” I said to my nephew.

“Kaya!” he yelled, causing me to yank the phone away from my ear. “Mommy is in the potty but I can talk!”

I chuckled and leaned back in the black wire chair. “Well, Jonah, why don’t you have mommy call this number when she is done, okay?”

He sniffled a fake sniffle, and giggled. “Okay Kaya,” he said. “Bye-bye, I love you!”

“I love you too, bud,” I said softly, hanging up the phone and grabbing my hot cup of peppermint tea. I rested my elbows on the matching table and sighed. My hand still had a bit of black on it. I found myself wondering what Ben was up to. Was he thinking of me too? Or did he chat up every girl he sat next to on a long flight?

Standing up, I shook my head and snatched my tea into my hand, and headed to the small grocery store that was a block away from my apartment. One red plastic basket attached to my arm swung carelessly as I filled it with candy bars and ice cream. It was all for a pity party, and only I was invited. Ignoring the looks of the elderly woman behind the counter, I purchased my junk food, and retired to my apartment.

I plopped onto the couch and curled up, flipping on the TV. Scanning through all the unfamiliar channels, I finally found a marathon of the British version of The Office, and fell asleep with a bar of chocolate in my hand.