Page 42 of Outspoken

God, why am I still thinking about that crazy man? If I let him, he’d cling to me like plastic wrap.

But…

For the few moments when we were being dumb and flirty at the gym, I wasn’t Lost Amber. Or Amber In Recovery. Or the Amber who needs to stand up in support groups and say, “Hi, I'm Amber, and I'm an addict. Drugs completely destroyed my chances of ever being happy. Today, I've been clean and sober for blah, blah, blah.”

“I'm Amber, and I fucked up my life because I made one bad turn down the wrong street.”

“Screw you, I'm Amber. I'd rather be high than sober, because who wants to fucking deal with pain and monotony, and fighting urges to strangle that smug coworker who can't take the damn empty K-Cup out of the coffee machine?”

“I'm Amber, and I'll never be greater than any of my mistakes.”

Whenever I flirt with Miguel, I'm just boring, normal Amber with no baggage.He'sthe one making things difficult by acting serious and thinking I'm someone I'm not—someone worth his time who can have stable relationships and handle life. Someonenotfucked up.Definitelynot me.

I drop the keychain and walk back into the crowd. After trying another taco that's a lot better than the first, I get a text:You here? I’m at the stage.

I don't reply, instead making my way to the stage where a burrito-eating competition is taking place. It's a mess of people stuffing their faces, with cheese and beans spilling from their lips.Gross.I scan the small audience standing in front of the stage. A woman with choppy black hair waves at me enthusiastically and I do a double-take.

Ashley?How isthatAshley? Besides the hair color change from blonde to midnight black, the woman is a skeleton, the bones of her joints jutting out into space. Tattoos are randomly etched along her arms, as if a kid went crazy with stickers. She has a lot more ink since the last time I saw her.

Fake-smiling, I push through the crowd to join her, tacos gurgling in my stomach. I came here today because I thought hanging out with Ashley would be comforting and familiar. But even she has changed, a part of my past I thought would be the same.

“Hey, girl,” she says with a grin. Her cheeks are caved in and hollow, her eyes wild and bloodshot.

I hug her and feel like I might break her spine if I squeeze too hard.

“Hi,” I say, trying to get past my shock.

“Oh my god, it's so great to see you.” She scans my body. “Your top is so cute.”

She runs a finger along the fabric of my pink ruffle sleeve blouse—one of the few cute tops I have that fits me enough not to pop a button or squeeze me like a corset. It’s an unusually sunny February day, so I didn’t bring my favorite jacket.

“Oh, thanks,” I respond. “You look, uh, I like your jeans.”

Grabbing my hand, she examines my stubby, chipped nails. “We need to get you a manicure. What is going on here?”

I start to relax. She looks different, but her personality is the same. A real smile crosses my lips as I slip into the Amber I was when we used to hang out.

With an eye roll, I say, “Ugh. I know. I can't afford it, so I've been doing them myself. I'm keeping them short because it's easier. I miss my long nails.”

She elbows my side. “Girl. Good for digging into a guy's back during sex.”

I laugh. “Yeah, I miss that, too.”

We both glance at the disgusting display on stage. A man pumps his fists, looking proud that he stuffed six burritos into his body and won a tiny plastic trophy. The crowd claps.

“Let's walk around,” Ashley says, grabbing my arm. “I’m dying for a drink.”

As we're waiting in line so she can buy a margarita—while I try to distract myself from remembering how good those taste—she looks me over again.

She smirks. “So what's new? I haven't seen you in, like, over a year and you look…I don't know. More peaceful.”

I adjust the purse strap on my shoulder. “I wouldn't call myself that. I've been working and going to school—not much else.”

“No dating? You still get to parties?”

“No. How are you?”

Her lips curl, pushing the pale, papery skin on her cheeks. “Oh god. Do you have a couple hours?” We both laugh and then she shrugs. “I'm okay. Me and Ivy are living with my mom now. Kind of embarrassing, but Mom is a great babysitter. And she has magic hugs or something. Ivy will scream her head off for hours but shut up as soon as Mom cuddles her.”

---