The Volvo’s silver doors vibrated on the red road. I smiled at the sight of Sigrid, as she pulled up the hill. Sigrid was pretty. Her eyes were green like Christmas holly and her cherry- red hair hung in loose mermaid- waves almost to her waist. Bank$ invited us out and there was no way we weren’t going—clothes or no clothes. Sigrid drove down to Georgia with a pair of black over the knee boots and not much else. The boots, however, did the trick on even the most basic things she put on. I got in the car and huffed, still not happy with my outfit. My jeans were cheap and too short and cuffed uncomfortably into my boots. My denim jacket was beat up. They were all things I had dug through donation piles for. Sigrid could tell I was feeling pissy and wouldn’t have it.
“You look beautiful. Like a blonde Princess Jasmine with a booty! Now, loosen up, Kaloneeka. Like really.” Sigrid reached her hand down the back of my shirt and unhooked my strapless bra, pulled it quickly out from under my arm, and through my shirt sleeve with one motion. “Now that’s better,” she said, looking me up and down in the passenger seat. Sigrid pulled down the overhead mirror and made sure the V of her white t-shirt was as low as it could go, and tied the bottom into a knot tightly under her ribs. “Now you look like you’re going to have some fun.”
We met outside the mall in Coburn, the actual town, not Atlanta (like he said) that my father was living in. Sigrid needed a lighter and even with just such a short exchange, we were both acutely aware of the other. Anyone, who looked like they were from somewhere other than Coburn, Georgia. I was running from a wall of water and a dead man. Sigrid from an ex-boyfriend, who kept sex-tapes in his safe. Now she was here. So, Sigrid and I were also alike in that no matter how sad we were, we liked to have fun. We weren’t exactly chasing it, but we wouldn’t turn it down either. What else was there to do out here?
Kristina Kay Robinson 