Wait until the music's over

28. Rockin' around the Christmas tree

"Great" I grumble between gritted teeth as the vj introduces the upcoming video on tv.

It's not that I don't like Sinead O' Connor, I do, but I'm not exactly in the right mood for that song now. Oh well, quite the contrary actually, I'm in the most perfect mood for that and that's the biggest problem. I've always loved to wallow in my grief listening to painfully sad songs when I'm hurt and go for stupid music when I'm happy, but it's not working today, so I tried to turn on the tv and watch some Mtv for a change. I have to admit the hypnotical moves of MC Hammer and his backup dancers got me moving my feet and were making me forget about the dark thoughts, at least for a few minutes. Anyway, since it's the top chart of the year, Nothing compares to you couldn't be left out. And I'm screwed, again. I crawl even more under the comforter and I simply can't let go of the remote, I just look away from the screen towards one of the large windows in my old room. This is real snow, unlike that dusting of confectioner's sugar that seized up Seattle! I reformulate this thought for the umpteenth time , then I turn to watch the tv again, snorting. I haven't been doing much else since I came back home, I didn't even unpack my bag, which is still there, left in a corner next to the desk, right where I threw it as I set foot in my room. In an attempt to break the vicious circle I ended up into, I look up at the ceiling, where the dear old painting stain on the wall greets me. I've always thought it looked like the outline of a skittish horse, but maybe it looks more like a running turkey.

"Hi Frou, what's up?" I say hi to the imaginary friend of my childhood and try to fantasize about a hypotetical answer, because he doesn't reply on his own anymore like he used to do when I was a kid. He'd surely say he was doing fine until he saw my gloomy face again. Frou has seen me in a depressed mood more than once, and not only for problems commonly definable as childish, but never because of a guy cheating on me. And I really don't feel like involving him in my problems of pseudo-adult-not-woman-yet-but-not-a-child-either.

"I'm on my period" I lie, answering to a question neither Frou nor anyone else in this room has ever asked. I know my imaginary friend used to gallop away at the speed of light every time I had to deal with my tedious monthly visitors, which came so soon to let me know, from an early age already, that being a girl wouldn't have been easy. My mother threw a party and made me a cake for my first menstruation. Frou-Frou the little horse wasn't invited, of course.

"Angie?" my mother calls me as she knocks on the door. Maybe he already knocked before, but Frou's neigh must have covered the sound.

"Yes"

"Can I come in?" she asks, standing behind the door.

"Sure, come in, the door is open" I reply, rolling my eyes.

My mother's distorted sense of privacy: she's always all worried about bothering me in my room and almost tiptoes when she enters, but then she has no hesitation in invading my private life with embarrassing questions and allusions.

"What's wrong? Are you sick?" she asks as she sees me in bed.

"Nah, I'm fine, I'm just a little tired, you know, for the flight and everything..."

"For a little more than one hour on a plane? The last time you came home by bus and it took you hours and hours and as you arrived you were as fresh as a daisy!" my mother remarks, before turning her skeptical look towards my still closed bag.

"Last night I, ehm, I went out and didn't sleep too much afterwards, that's all" I reply and keep on watching the tv to avoid my mom's inquiring eyes.

"Didn't Stone know you had to leave? He could have taken you home a little earlier..." she retorts and even though I'm not looking at her face, I can imagine her satisfied smile.