Work in Progress - Vanessa

The Mean Girls squeeze next to me at the bar by the pool.  We're seniors or in college.  They look the same as they did fifteen years ago at a birthday party where we made balloon animals.  One of the Mean Girls is the giraffe, and the other Mean Girl is the dog.  They are different shades of bubble gum and so full of air when they talk all you see is giant, puffed up lips moving.  The giraffe crane's her neck past the dog to speak to the birthday girl.  The birthday girl is student council president at a small, liberal arts college - she's a Mean Girl too.

"The best part," the president says, "Prom isn't in the hotel downtown, it's a party in your living room, but you don't say party, you tell us about an ocean where the couches used to be.  And by your third beer, there isn't just some girl by the pool, it's everyone, and we borrow animal rafts from your neighbor's house."
 If I stare long enough, they all look like anything, even friends.  They keep gossiping about Beast and girls by the pool.  They take turns telling stories about Beast's girlfriends.  And I say things about my life, about Beast.  I talk about Marianne driving away in a car with my clothes, the television, and my favorite dresser - everything shoved into the back of her car.  I don't remember saying the time when Marianne and I moved out, but the leader of all the students reminds me and tells me these are a few of the things she remembers I go on about as she walks me towards the front.  I tell her, "Great party, my ride is here," even though I live next door.