By: Raven

Dedicated to Dean because the night we met was Crazy/Beautiful and I said “It would make a good short story” to which you replied “Does it have to be short?” This made me smile.

The girl held her hair out on a jaunty angle twisting it around the heated curling iron. Counted to sixty and slowly released a perfect spiral of palest blonde hair that cascaded down to meet the sea of golden waves that had already been formed. Marilyn Monroe entered the bathroom adjusting her black halter dress, and turned up the volume on the radio. The girl was now busy daubing adhesive on inch long fake eyelashes, the two of them giggled, as the girl fitted the attachments to her eyelid. She fluttered her green eyes to the amusement of Marilyn, and hiked up fishnet stockings that were the finishing touch to the French maid costume. Marilyn’s mother snapped pictures of the girls getting ready, and her father whistled.

The French Maid and Marilyn Monroe met the Raver/Cowgirl and the Pink Fairy on skytrain. The four friends were applauded by the occupants of their car. The girl playfully dusted her seat with her red feather duster and curtseyed. Thankfully downtown Vancouver was home to many an interesting people and the foursome hardly stood out. It was five o’clock and the girls blended into the other Crawlers. They mingled with Cheerleaders, Sailors, FBI agents, Firemen and a host of other people in costumes. The girl couldn’t help thinking how all these university students had chosen such non scary costume and that maybe monsters dressed up like humans for Halloween, this made her smirk.

They chose Bus #37, the French Maid’s favorite numbers; it also ended up at the Rage Nightclub which was the destination of choice that night. She and the pink fairy grabbed seats behind a giant chicken that had started the party early and was trying to conceal a Mickey beneath a white wing. He had already made a joke about being the largest cock on the bus. The pink fairy insisted he looked like the actor who played Jimmy on Breaker High. Elvis got the Bus going and everyone banged on the roof of the bus and shouted “Elvis Lives”.

The night whirled around the girl as they Pub hopped form the Blarney Stone to Kits Pub, the scent of Red Devils swirled in the mix. The cute boys in scrubs spun her and the pink fairy around the crowded dance floor. While Elvis chased Marilyn around the bar. So far the night held the promise of a fun filled time of debauchery and other illicit activity that would be something that could be remembered or not. The bus Captain pinched the girl’s rear and told everyone to move it onto the bus. By this time the party had carried over onto the Bus. The Raver/Cowgirl had struck up a conversation with a handsome guy pretending to be a geek. He and his two friends snuck the girls off the back of the bus so they wouldn’t have to wait in line at the Rage, and maybe for the girl at least, this is where the night truly began.

The geek, his friend that’s 70s guy and James Dean went back to their truck to change into their street clothes. So the girl entertained herself by running circles around a Cowboy who was really a rugby player who had landed on his head too many times. As the sweet sounds of the night drifted them all closer to morning, the girl couldn’t help but notice that James Dean was still looking her way. His friends had paired up with Marilyn and the Raver/Cowgirl. He hung back as the girl said goodbye to the Rugby player. He moved his way into the circle of friends the girl was dancing with until it was just the two of them. His hands were on her waist and he didn’t ask but lightly brushed the hollow of her neck with his lips. His amber eyes met hers, and his lips covered up the little half breath that managed to escape before he kissed her. Everything spun widely.

It was 2:30 and the pink fairy wanted to leave, the girl was dancing to the song “Where’s Your Head At” with James Dean. She had to wonder where her head was at, because she had never had so much fun dancing with someone before and she was actually hoping the night wouldn’t end. As it happened the Geek and that 70’s guy had totally clicked with Marilyn and the Raver/Cowgirl. Dean suggested she stay and he drive her home later but she convinced him to leave his truck and come with them on skytrain instead.

The girl felt Dean’s fingers entwine with her own, and they fell into natural conversation. They dragged behind the rest of the group; as the Raver/Cowgirl lead the way on the back of the handsome geek who was waving her black and white zebra print hat wildly. The girl had swore up and down that she wouldn’t even think about guys until she had healed from her last relationship. Yet their was some undeniable recognition between her and Dean. Something in his cognac coloured eyes flecked with honey made her question her decision.

In between the most passionate kisses of her life they talked about the places they had traveled and the places they both hoped to go. When he told her he played the guitar she revealed the fact that she had a cherry red electric guitar beneath her bed, which she was longing to learn to play. He offered without hesitation to teach her. The girl felt such warmth well up in her; it had been a long time since she had allowed herself to even think about the possibility of their ever being someone else.

In the plastic booth of the Denny’s restaurant the French Maid and James Dean existed in their own little world to the amusement and heckling of their respective friends. Dean told her he had a million things he wanted to know about her, she couldn’t help but feel the exact same way. She knew that he had been hurt before, because the look mirrored her own. He was taken it back when she guessed so many things about him right. And he admitted that he was just into playing the field until that night. Dean wanted to find that person who he could not wait to wake up to every morning and talk to over coffee, and that’s what the girl wanted too.

The band of pub crawlers decided to walk to the Raver/Cowgirl’s house to pick up her car. The brand new black Cabriole only had five seats and there were six of them. The hot geek garnered shotgun, and Marilyn and that 70s guy took the first two seats in the back; this left the French Maid to sit on Dean’s lap. They made it to the girl’s apartment that she shared with her aunt. Dean walked her to her door and checked her hand where he had scrawled in black ink the digits of his cell phone number. They lingered there, whispering and lightly kissing. The guys banged on the windows and hollered for Dean to hurry up. He walked back wards towards the vehicle his eyes locked on the girl who blew him a kiss, before they sped away.

Sunday morning arrived and the girl lounged around in her aqua silk nightshirt and fuzzy pink slippers, daydreaming about the night before. She wondered if her heart could take the joy and happiness she was already beginning to feel after it had endured so much pain. The phone rung and jarred her back into reality, it was her mother’s voice instructing her to sit down. There was an accident, a truck ran a red light and had crushed the little black car like a small tin can. The Raver/Cowgirl had a concussion and so did the handsome geek. The people in that back weren’t so lucky, Marilyn, her friend since she was nine, was in the hospital with major injuries and the two boys were in critical. Dean’s rib had punctured his lung and he was broken, fragmented and she had no way to make him whole.

Days passed and the girl felt isolated and alone plagued with insomnia and survivors guilt. She wanted someone to talk to; she wanted the man who had hurt her so. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to dial his number. So she began to type, telling the computer screen her story. Remembering the Crazy/Beautiful night she had met Dean. She remembered telling him how the night would make a good short story and she recalled his response, which had made her smile.

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