All Tomorrow's Parties

“This view!' Jamie squealed, running from window to window. “Is! To! Die for! Can you believe we're finally here, Bex? New York Fucking City! I just can't take it! I feel like I'm in heaven!”

“Well you obviously have some seriously low expectations for the afterlife,” I laughed, tying my unruly platinum waves up in a knot, my neck damp from perspiration due to hours upon hours of unpacking. “Apparently God rents out junky old apartments at an eighty percent markup then. Not to mention the plethora of rude neighbors. Oh, and the smog! You mustn’t forget the smog! Who knew heaven would smell just like a backed up septic tank?”

“Oh quit it with the act,” she said, rolling her big blue eyes. “You and I both know you're just as stoked as I am to be rid of Ohio once and for all. That's a life out there, Bex. An actual life. Not working for mom and dad on the farm till we're too old to care, not marrying some worthless asshole from high school whose biggest accomplishment will be making assistant manager at the local Pizza Hut. We're here to start something real, something we can actually be proud of.”

“Chill out, Lifetime Movie Channel,” I replied, again with a laugh.

"Obviously I'm happy to be here or I wouldn't have applied to NYU in the first place. And I do think this will be good for me, kind of like a clean slate. Maybe I won't just be the girl with the dead parents anymore. That in and of itself will be a nice change.”

Even though it happened 18 years ago, before Jamie was even born, the slightest mention of my parents' death cast a sudden pall upon any conversation between us. I had long ago accepted it and, since having been only three at the time of the tragedy, I counted Jamie's mom and dad, my aunt and uncle, as the only real parents I'd ever had. It seemed to bother her far more than it did me, actually. I think she harbored some kind of displaced guilt since my parents had been driving home from her baby shower the night it happened. In her mind no Jamie equaled no dead parents and vice versa. Completely flawed logic obviously, but sometimes people just can't be made to see reality when they've already decided upon something being an absolute truth.

But enough with the depressing stuff.

“So,” I said, breaking the awkward silence. “Food? Lots and lots and lots of food? Sound like a plan to you?”

“Oh hell yes!” Jamie replied, her easy grin reappearing as quickly as it had gone. “I am feeling a real Man vs. Food situation is at hand because I am literally famished. What are you feeling? The landlord gave me a shitload of menus for places that deliver around here. I saw everything from Mexican to Thai to Italian in the pile. Or we can go out, whichever sounds better to you.”

“What sounds better to me is an extremely long, hot shower and some clean clothes,” I answered, walking towards the tiny bathroom with my overnight bag in hand. “You pick the food, I'll bring the appetite, and we'll all meet back here in an hour. Deal?”

The bathroom of our little apartment was the only room that didn't have hardwood floors. The ceramic tile was cracked in a few places but was sparkling clean and a lovely mint color that had oddly enough just gotten popular again, though this was clearly from the 1960's. Just goes to show that nearly every trend makes a comeback at some point.

We'd hung the shower curtain already, some little Modcloth number in a black and white hot air balloon print. I thought it was just the right combination of cute and classy. Jamie and I thankfully shared a common aesthetic so decorating was going to be a breeze. There's nothing worse than roommates with opposing taste in decor. All it leads to is a mismatched garage sale of an apartment and two rather grumpy tenants. Especially when one of them is an aspiring fashion designer, which I am .

But more about that later.

The water ran hot in no time flat and I stepped in with an almost obscene sigh. Nothing feels nearly so good as a steaming hot shower after a back breaking day of work. It's next to orgasmic. Trust me.

In the midst of washing my waist length hair I realized that there was no fan to vent the steam in the tiny room and that the sauna effect was actually verging on suffocating. Judging that the sixteenth floor was probably a little too high up for any but the most dogged voyeur, I went ahead and cracked the skinny window next to me and breathed deeply of the night air.

Which I immediately regretted..

Remember what I said about that septic tank smell? It was still there.

Definitely still there.

When I reemerged fresh and clean and infinitely more relaxed, clad in my favorite vintage robe and fuzzy slippers, I found Jamie sitting Indian-style on the living room floor in the midst of what I can only call a feast of epic proportions.

“Yeah,” she said, upon seeing the look on my face. “So about that whole “picking from only one place” thing ...I kinda decided to forgo that and get all of it. Like ALL of it. But I'm just considering it a foray into the local cuisine that will help us in our quest to root out the good from the bad....so....sorry I'm not sorry?”

“You know,” I said, taking a seat next to her and grabbing a plastic fork. “I kinda think I'm in love with you right about now.”

“Psh,” she scoffed. “Get in line, sister. Manuel, Chang, and Luigi are already vying for my affection after the massive tips I just gave them. You're late to the party as usual. Plus, you're not really my type anyway. I prefer brunettes.”

“Oh, honey,” I scoffed, attempting to speak whilst taking a huge bite of fried rice. “You know I'm everybody's type.”

That night we slept more soundly than we had in months, lulled into a deep slumber by the distant sounds of the city and the promise of a brighter tomorrow pulsing in our veins.