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Be Nice to the Hippie
No, it's a Sunday night, I can deal with that, the stupid bitch. Vi reached over and turned down the volume. Her best friend Carter was over and they were listening to music. It was just after ten but she knew her new roommate would soon turn in for bed. Vi lowered her voice but rancor rang in each fricative: How the fuck does somebody hesitate choosing between crinkle cut and shoestring, for chrissakes? Vi checked her eyebrows, they were due for a pluck. The only thing she ever created is the Ore-Ida diet, god. Carter smiled and refilled their glasses. Vi crossed the room to check the bottle. I mean, how can you be timid walking from the porch to the kitchen? Carter surveyed Vi's bookshelf, he was not impressed. In the middle of the floor, Vi spread her arms, assumed an exaggerated naïve countenance, and mimicked indecision: What should I do next? Help meee! She marched a tight circle. I bathe in patchouli! Be nice to me! Her scowl returned. And how can Birkenstocks stink? Aren’t they like recycled cork? Carter flipped open a Hal Gould retrospective. Vi and Carter met every evening at the whole foods market. Sometimes Carter had it all waiting for her; oatmeal scone, Ethiopian Harrar, soy milk. Vi rushed in, checking her mascara, kissed him. Jesus, do I stink? She lifted her forearm to his nose and didn't wait for a verdict. Carter took her coat as she sat. Last night she made, it was, what was it? "Dal"? Vi waved to someone in produce. Some Indian dish, like a stir thing. Carter reached for the Bragg's amino and tried to remember a film they had been awaiting release on DVD. When they finished, they stood beneath the green awning, in agreement. Yeah, we have to try that place. And Mondays, that's vegan night, how about that. Vi joked, Just don't invite flower girl. Carter suddenly remembered the film title. He said, Vi. Hmm? You have no boundaries. You mow through maidens, men, and malls. You've lived pillar to post for most of your life and you are getting long in the tooth. For several moments, Vi stood before her friend Carter, who concluded: Be nice to the hippie. Vi considered his directive. Observers might have remarked that the handsome pair seemed reluctant to part. Vi moved to check her watch, though she wasn't wearing one. She said brightly, Dinner tomorrow? Carter leaned in and kissed her. Of course. It's burger night at Strawberry Street. Maybe after, we can pick up that film, watch it over at your place. Vi almost smiled her assent. A plastic bag rustled past their feet, which reminded her: But she's going to be there. Vi awaited Carter's response. Without sound, she shook her head and gestured to indicate obviousness. Carter didn't appear to see the same picture. Two flares of a car horn drowned her words, but Carter saw her lips: Stir-frying. Vi turned and began down the street, Oh, we'll figure it out. Ciao! It was early evening and porch lights began to blink on as she made her way down Floyd. The light on Meadow glowed green and Vi grimaced dramatically: Stir-frying. Fuck.
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