The Least of My Problems

This is a "short-short" I wrote for the final story in my Intro to Writing Fiction Class. It's supposed to be "brief, but intense, and packed with detail." Call this draft 1.5, and look for the partial cameo of me.

Word count: 1019

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I didn't have much time. James was going to be here at any moment, and I'd forgotten my lipstick. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, but I'd also left my handbag on the roof. I'd been feeling so proud of myself, too, for managing to squeeze myself out the second-story bathroom window. The feeling had remained as I was crawling along the roof, inhaling tar and hoping desperately that I didn’t fall and break something important. I felt like a rebel. I felt bad. I'd never even taken a screen off a window before tonight. Then, right as I jump off the garden trellis and feel the satisfying thump of solid ground vibrate up into my knees, I have the sinking feeling that I have forgotten something. And let's face it. I'm standing on the curb-side at midnight with roofing granules embedded in my palms, black gunk from the screen all over my manicure, mud all over my platform heels, and no purse— the lipstick is probably the least of my worries at this point. But I start to fixate. He's not going to notice the house-escape battle scars, oh no. He's going to take one look at my face, see my bare lips, and drive right on past in that junky old Ford of his.

It makes no sense, and I know it makes no sense, but I need lipstick now. There's no way I can go back up the trellis in these heels. In fact, it’s a miracle I even made it down in this dress! If I walk back in the front door, the night is officially over. Through the door lies family, and my sister angrily demanding to know how long I'd been borrowing her clothes. It was just this one time, but of course she's never going to believe me, especially if I bring it back dirty and torn. I knew when I agreed to meet James tonight I’d have to face my family once the night was over, and that means I am not walking back through that door one instant before I have to. At least I can be almost sure the purse will be safe, barring discovery by a confused and very lucky cat burglar.

But I still want lipstick. This night isn't going to be perfect unless every little detail is right, and so far everything else has been exactly like what I imagined sneaking out would be. I can justify the mess on my hands and the cut on my cheek from the wayward wisteria branch I encountered during my jaunt down the trellis. There's nothing I can really do about the make-up, though. I'll just have to find a way to let it go.

My eyes scan the neighbourhood around me, and I soon notice an unfamiliar car. Oh, right. The house across the street has recently been sold, and the new family moved in two days ago. Then, I think, the parents promptly went out of town, leaving their teenage daughter all alone in the huge house. She didn't throw a party, which to me means they are new to the city entirely, or she is way too exhausted from the move to be social. I caught a glimpse of her washing this car, actually. She was in a leopard-print string bikini with a lot of beading on the ties that swayed back and forth as she scrubbed. Her hair was hot pink, and clashed with the swimsuit but looked great with her tan. She's the kind of girl who knows how to put on lipstick.

I amble over to look into her car windows and see if I can learn more about her in manner of a creepy stalker. She's got a sunroof, which means her parents bought the car for her, and the interior is spotlessly clean, which means it is still a newish present. A stylish leather purse with one of those ridiculously large silver clasps is sitting on the passenger seat, forlorn and forgotten.

Wait. Purse. Lipstick. Sunroof!

I give the top of her car another glance, and sure enough, the sunroof is cracked about an inch. I do my best not to think as I scamper back to the vegetable garden in my yard for a bamboo stake. James had told me a couple of days ago that people can unlock car doors through the sunroofs without damaging anything. I wedge the stake in the crack and start wiggling it around, working it toward the latch on the door. It was easier than I thought it would be. In moments, I hear a “click,” and the door opens for me willingly.

I slide into the driver’s-side, smooth my sister's dress over my knees, and practically lunge for her purse. The wallet and phone I ignore, because I have no intention of robbing this girl. She seems pretty nice, as far as car washings go, anyway. I'm just here to borrow.

She's got three colors. I flip on the dome light and apply a burgundy to my lips with shaky fingers. The hot pink is fun, but I'd feel like her; she'd obviously bought it to match her hair. There is also a brown, but that is far too formal for a night like this. I have enough time to check my application job in her rear-view mirror before I am blinded by headlights. He's here!

I lock up the girl's car, feeling a brief stab of guilt that I didn't have time to get everything back in her purse. She's definitely going to think she was robbed. But I can't let James know I broke into a car for lipstick. Maybe she and I can befriend each other and a year down the road I'll tell her this story and she'll laugh hysterically.

He pulls up to me on the curb, windows exuding diabolical curls of smoke in the mist. He's always smoked. I hate the way it tastes.

“Hey hottie!” I curl my fingers nonchalantly.

“Yo Keven, you ready?”

I'm probably not, actually. But I nod and open the car door.