Day Two In

Written by: Alex Sandell

June 20th, 1998. Day number two.
12:01 AM: After discovering AmeriSuite cable doesn't carry "Much Music," Miss C. Heart sadly flips the channel to HBO. "'Much Music' is better than 'MTV'," she proudly declares. After hearing that masterpiece of a compact disc compilation they threw together, who can argue?

12:03 AM: Bored out of my mind, I try, once again, to attempt conversation. "You always seem so happy," is all I can think of to say. Miss C. Heart, who is smiling 99.987% of the time, breaks into tears. "It's so hard to always be happy," she says. "Sometimes I just want to be the sad girl. I want to be the girl in the bad mood . . . but I can't. People expect me to be the cheerful one. Every year, at Christmas, I have built myself up until I'm bubbling. Now I can't push it back in. My family expects it. My friends expect it. Most of all, my employees expect it. I'm Miss C. Heart, the happy corporate girl. I have a team to run. If they see me weaken, the whole mission could crumble." She's on a mission? I look toward that laptop computer again. I wonder if there would be any way of getting some padding around the edges. "Um, yes, but is everyone on your . . . um . . . 'team' happy?" I ask. "Only because they can see how genuine my happiness is." "But if you're not really happy," I respond, "it's not genuine happiness."

12:07 AM: Miss C. Heart looks confused for 4 minutes, and then throws herself around me. "Hold me," she says. The crying continues on and off for what seems like forever, but is really only until . . .

4:15 AM: After exactly 4 hours and 22 minutes of hearing how hard it is to be a happy success, Miss C. Heart dries her eyes and pulls away. "I don't know what all that was about," she says in a chipper voice, with a grin covering her face. She then talks of how she doesn't "have" these emotions. How she left her fiancée of seven years for no reason other than thinking she wouldn't like him "30 years down the line." She goes on to remind me of how she just dumped her boyfriend of a month because she "wasn't ready for a commitment." Her reason? He was too sentimental. He actually had the "nerve" to go through his yearbook with her, and talk of his past, and old friends. It made her feel like "his mother." She finishes this serial-fuck-over story by telling me she's "never" missed either of them. She lets these emotions "roll off" her back. She "really is" happy, and didn't mean most of what she said over these past four hours. I guess it must have been jetlag.

4:30 AM: Her horror stories continue into the morning. Stories of how she wanted her fiancée back,during their split, so she seduced him and took him away from his new girlfriend. "She didn't deserve him," she tells me. I hear of how she had "accidental" sex with her male best friend, and when he told a few people about it, she denied it vehemently because, "I wanted to make him look like a fool. When he said he was going to tell people, I warned him. I didn't do anything wrong. I just made good on my threat." I have to spend another two nights with this girl?

5:30 AM: After trying to take in an hour of the dozens of one night stands that she's "left behind" because "you can't take these things too seriously," I decide that maybe it's time for bed. I tell her I'd prefer sleeping alone (being that my bed would be less empty, that way), so she goes to the other bed. When she pulls down the blankets, I expect to see her lie upon a large slab of ice with all of the hearts she's ripped out frozen inside of it.

5:33 AM: I remind Miss C. Heart to let me get at least 6 hours rest, so I don't have a seizure the next day. She tells me she'll probably be sleeping longer than me, and that, if for some reason she does wake up, she'll be totally quiet and let me remain in my slightly terrified slumber. We say our good nights, and I fall asleep with visions of my freshly squeezed heart being inserted into her pad of ice.

7:33 AM: Miss C. Heart wakes up two hours after we go to bed, and pulls open the curtains, brushes her teeth and goes to the bathroom. She claims she did it all in her sleep.

7:40 AM: Since she 's "wide awake," and wouldn't be able to go back to bed, I devise a plan, and ask her if she wouldn't mind leaving the room for an hour or two, so I could get a little more sleep. She decides she'll go downstairs and try to pick up some guy (I just made that "pick up some guy" part up, but it was kind of funny), and let me try to fall back into my nightmares.

7:43 AM: She leaves the room. The second she leaves, I get up and call a friend who lives close, and ask him if he'll come and get me. He tells me he'll be at the motel in ten minutes.

7:53 AM: I watch from the motel window as my friend pulls up to the front.

7:54 AM: I grab all my bags, and walk down to the lobby. I keep turning my head back and forth, knowing that Miss C. Heart could be around any corner. I press the "down" button on the elevator, and cringe as it approaches. Miss C. Heart's inside. Her squeaky, "carbonated for corporate inspection" voice is running at a mile a minute. Before I can grab all my stuff, and jump out of the way, the elevator doors open . . .

Go to day 2.5

©1998 Alex Sandell [all rights reserved]. If you use this without permission from the author, guess whose heart will be next in Miss C. Heart's bed?

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