February Exclusive - Typo - Part 1

Spokane, Washington 

When Jessica wakes up, the first thought in her head is relaxed. She has learned, at the ripe old age of 21, to start her days right.

What is she grateful for? Three things, every morning. She stretches her arms and legs, keeps her eyes closed.

Today, she is grateful for a warm bed because it’s February and the forecasted high is thirty degrees.

Today, she is grateful that her roommate isn’t thumping around the living room - Sasha has been on a fitness kick since the turn of the year, and whatever routine she chooses – abs and glutes, arms and knees – it ends up being noisy.

Third, she is grateful for Jacob, who has promised to take her out “somewhere special” for her birthday. (If Jacob knows her at all, and he does, he’s made a reservation at Mizuna. Jessica licks her lips, imagines the taste of crème bruléeon her tongue, and smiles).

And oh yeah. There’s a fourth one today. She’s grateful for her birthday. Scratch that 21 because today Jessica turns 22.

She opens her eyes. There’s just enough light for her to see the Lorde poster on the wall.

Jessica doesn’t scream. She snorts. She flinches. She sits up and starts coughing.

Because that poster hasn’t been on her wall since she left home for International Studies at Whitworth University. Where she met Jacob. Where she learned how to be herself.

Her eyes adjust to the gloom. She looks around her old bedroom. Other clues - the lack of a phone charging on the nightstand, the plaid jumper hanging on the closet door – tell Jessica that she is dreaming of around 10 years before.

She lies back down and closes her eyes.

Let’s try this again.

She lies still, thinking of Jacob, and wondering about their night ahead. And then she frowns. Because doesn’t Jacob seem much too old for her?

Her nose wrinkles in annoyance. She’s still dreaming her stupid ten-years-old dream. Which would make her 12, and she had better wake up before she has to put on her school uniform and go to St Mary’s.

Sixth grade, yikes. Major cringe. Although last week it was Valentine’s Day, and as long as students wore pink or red, they didn’t have to wear uniform. (Jessica wore pink, of course, just like Carly).

School’s not so bad. Next month there’s the talent show to look forward to, and the comedy bit she’s planning Carly. And next year, when she’s in 7thgrade, she’ll get to go on a nature…

Jessica opens her eyes.

She swallows the wrong way, sits up and coughs.

This might not be a dream.

She reaches under the comforter and pinches her thigh.

Ow.

She stops pinching her skinny legs.

Jessica gets out of bed, walks over the not-a-dream-carpet and sits down at the really-real dresser.

She looks at her twelve-year-old reflection.

Skinny girl. Flat-chested girl underneath her flannel PJs.

Jessica blinks. She knows that unlike many of the girls in her class, she won’t have to wear a bra until she’s 14. Her grandmother will delightedly call her a late-bloomer and treat her like a little girl until she graduates high school.

Jessica knows these things, and at the same time she understands that she can’t possibly know them. Because that’s saying that she can look into the future.

That’s not a skill Jessica has. She doesn’t even have a magic 8 ball.

Remember playing Tarot with Carly? Remember playing it with a scuffed deck of Uno cards? Remember putting on a spooky voice and convincing Carly’s annoying little brother that a pair of reverse cards meant that he would get younger, that he would be back in diapers and sucking on bottles?

Jessica snorts with laughter.

And then she pulls open her bedroom door and runs down the hall.