Fit (A Jack Johnson Fan Fiction)

nine

I wake up with my body sprawled across a couch in the middle of a room that I somewhat remember from last night. I sit up and place my legs on the floor and take in my surroundings, starting to let the memories flow back.

The carpet is bare which is not how I originally fell asleep to it being. Emily laid there last night and let her eyes shut in the middle of Paul Blart Mall Cop and I shortly fell asleep after. I do know that when I woke up in the middle of the night and let my eyes open a bit I saw her silhouette in front of the screen turning off the TV. In the darkness I heard footsteps on the stairs and figured she must have gone to sleep in her own bed.

The wrappers with the sticky substance crusted over them. We, as in Emily and I, ate ice cream sandwiches last night and just talked. Not about today, or even things this year. Just good, funny, and embarrassing moments of our childhood. Like the time we had the class marathon in 5th grade and I trip and fell on some sidewalk. Embarrassing for me, hilarious for her.

It made me happy to see her in such a good mood even with all the things that happened today. I know break-ups can be hard. Especially when you were fooled into thinking that the other person loved you the entire time when they really didn't. Maybe it's because it was a short lasted relationship she's been able to bounce back so quickly. Maybe it's because she herself has fallen in love with someone new....

Uno cards are spread across the edge of the coffee table, a couple lingering off the surface, and some completely scattered on the wooden floor. We played a few rounds yesterday after watching the Utah Jazz beat our the Lakers like nobody's business. She got slapped me a few times on the arm when she started losing by a lot, even threw the deck of cards at me when I won one out of the three times. Of course it was a playful throw and we both ended up laughing and throwing cards at each other as if it was a paper version of a food fight.

I laugh off the memory from the previous night and stand up, walking into the kitchen. The kitchen was ten times messier than the living room. An empty tub of ice cream sat tipped over on the counter with cream surrounding it's opening. Multiple pans and utensils were in the sink, still caked with the batter we used yesterday.

We had attempted to make a chocolate cake (my idea because cake is pretty much the cure to any sadness) and it ended up being an epic fail. I didn't think those messy scenes from movies and shows were real until yesterday. Egg shells were scattered, batter spills and powder covered one surface and the floor and coats of the same.

A pizza box rests on top of the oven, open, completely uncovered. There's one slice of pepperoni left but I don't dare touch it after seeing a fly buzz around and circle it a few times.

I continue to make my way to bathroom which is just down the hall from the kitchen. I look between the two doors. Left or right Johnson come on which on did she tell you it was. I had only went to the bathroom once yesterday but she herself showed it to me, and me being so concerned about relieving myself didn't mind much of what she was saying.

I take a chance and turn the knob of the right door which creaks open to a light blue room. A bookshelf is placed in the corner and a desk with a computer is next to it. Wrong room Johnson, c'mon man pick up your guessing game. I begin the close the door when I notice a glimmer that catches my eye.

"Holy shit are you for real?" I whisper to myself stepping into the room and leaving the door wide open. I don't mean to be snooping around her house but I have to see this. The girl standing on the red stalked podium has a sash around her chest, a crown in her bunned-up hair and a pose that could only lead me to believe on thing. Em used to be a pageant girl. I pick the trophy up and examine it more. Emily Waterson: Omaha's Princess of 2005.