Great Expectations

"You don't know me, you don't wear my chains." - Augustana

Sundays have always been lazy days. I woke to the sun streaming brightly through my blinds and the smell of coffee filling the house. I rolled lazily out of bed and walked to the window, staring at the green expanses of grass ending in cement streets and sidewalks. The neighboring houses were too far away to be seen and I felt isolated in a crevice of suburbia.

My cell phone buzzed from its place on my desk. I walked languidly across the room and looked down at the screen, which announced the arrival of a text message from Poppy.

Sundays are always so boring. Wanna hang out soon?

I picked up my phone and quickly typed a response, telling I would meet her at the Starbucks around the corner in about an hour. After taking a warm shower, I went to my closet and picked a simple cotton skirt and short-sleeved shirt, wrapped a wide belt around my waist and stepped into a pair of heels.

“Good morning,” my mother said as I walked into the kitchen.

“Morning,” I said. “I’m meeting Poppy at Starbucks in about twenty minutes.”

“Fine,” she said, flipping through the newspaper. A vain woman, I doubted she actually cared about anything that happened in the world, but she liked to keep up appearances and seem well informed.

“You know you’re having dinner with Hunter tonight,” mother stated, not bothering to look up at me.

“Yes, of course,” I said, even though this was the first I was hearing of this dinner. I knew better than to talk back to my mother; her icy stares and silent disapproval were never welcome in my life.

“Be home on time, then,” she said, making it clear the conversation was over. I left the kitchen for the safe haven of my bedroom, grabbing my purse and my car keys before dashing out the door. By the time I reached my car, I had come to a rather startling realization.

I could not stop thinking about Dean Montague.

Ever since last night, whenever I closed my eyes, the only thing I could picture was his smile. I wanted to be with him, on our way to another concert or laughing as rain fell on our heads in the middle of lunch. When my mother told me I was having dinner with Hunter that night, I wished she had told me I was having dinner with Dean. I had to tell someone about this maddening mindset before I exploded.

Suddenly, I was anxious to meet Poppy. I was going to tell her everything and hope that she could make everything better. Through some sort of best friend magic, she should be able to change my parents’ minds and make Hunter disappear. Or, at the very least, she could tell me we’d figure something out and that we’d make it happen.

I drove faster than I normally would, played music louder than I should, and swore angrily at other drivers in my haste to reach Starbucks and the comfort of my best friend. I couldn’t hold in this secret much longer. Someone had to know that I was falling, hard, for the one person I could never fall for.

Ten minutes later, I sank gratefully into a chair across from Poppy, sitting at a table in the corner of the café. Hushed conversation and quiet music provided a perfect cover; no one would notice words spoken by anyone else. I nervously twirled my hair, unsure of how to begin this confession.

“Something’s wrong,” Poppy said, frowning across the table at her best friend. “You never twirl your hair like that unless something is not right at all. What’s bothering you?”

My fingers idly traced the top of my coffee cup. I couldn’t force the words from my brain to my mouth – some sort of blockade had been set up somewhere in between and an invisible thread had stitched my lips together. Poppy’s silent understanding made everything that much worse. She was going to let me do this on my own.

“It’s Dean,” I finally said. For a second, there was a brilliant smile on her face, but then it disappeared and I wasn’t sure it had ever been there at all. I pressed my face into my hands and took a deep breath, my shoulders moving as my lungs expanded with air.

Suddenly, words began to pour from my mouth; the blockade had been moved and there was no stopping the onslaught of words. “It’s like he’s inside my head and I just can’t get him out. Everywhere I turn, I see his face, I hear his laugh, and it’s driving me insane. I can give myself a thousand reasons not to like him, but I still do. Part of me wants to stop thinking about him, but another part of me never wants to leave him.” I looked up at Poppy. “I feel like a preteen fangirl at a Twilight movie,” I finished miserably.

She stared at me silently from over the top of her coffee cup, from which she drank slowly. She deliberately placed the cup on the table, folded her hands, and rather loudly announced, “You are so cute!” I stared at her, surprised by this response. “You’ve got a crush on him,” she continued in the same loud voice, “and you’ve got it bad.”

Leaning across the table, I said, “Can you keep it down? Or are you trying to tell the entire city about it?”

A smile spread slowly across her face. “I remember when you were telling me about Hunter,” she said. “And how you got butterflies every time you looked at him.” She frowned. “You don’t like Hunter at all anymore, do you?”

“Of course I do,” I insisted. The moment that statement left my lips, I knew it was a lie: I didn’t care for Hunter any more than I cared for any of the other boys at the school… except Dean. But, everyone I knew had to believe I cared for Hunter more than I cared for all the other boys at school, including Dean.

Poppy raised her eyebrows. “I know your parents want you to like Hunter,” she said. “But you can’t do everything your parents want you to do. You need to learn to be your own person. Do what makes you happy, not what makes them happy. If you spend your entire life trying to please other people, you’re not going to have much fun or happiness in your life.” She glanced out the window. “I know exactly what you need: retail therapy.”

She stood up and looked at me expectantly. I got to my feet and followed her out the door to our cars. “Let’s go back to my house, and then I can drive us downtown. I think you need a new pair of shoes.”

I smiled. “I could always use a new pair of shoes.”

“Good,” Poppy said. “Meet me at my house. And don’t forget: make yourself happy and screw everyone else. We can all take care of ourselves.”

She got into her car and turned it on, old punk music blasting from the speakers. I smiled and got into my own car. Following Poppy down the road, I realized she was right - I did need to make myself happy. I just wasn’t sure I was brave enough.