Delete

Oh, for fuck’s sake, not again. I looked down and my pants were gone, in place of them was a tiny denim skirt. You would think someone could at least make up their mind about what I was going to wear. It’s a date, a casual one at that. It doesn’t even matter anyway because she intends to have him ditch me halfway through the meal because he is bored with our conversation!

My author is a hopeless romantic, she is awful when it comes to procrastination and decisions. I started out with a short blonde pixie style haircut, went to a luscious dark red with exquisite tendrils of curls that framed my face, cascaded down my back and accentuated my slim waist, oh and this version of me also wore glasses. Currently I have fairly lank, brownish hair that sits somewhere around shoulder length so that I look a bit more ‘girl-next-doorish’. I am of medium height; for a girl, have a slim build and regular size breasts whatever that is supposed to mean?? Currently my eyes are a kind of copper colour that sparkles when I become more animated. Okay, she is writing again, I will fill you in about myself a bit later, maybe.

So, I am at this coffee shop waiting to meet this guy who is apparently a surfer type with long dreadlocked sandy blonde hair, could she have thought of anything more cliché for his hair? Any who, he is in town for a surfing title that is being held at a beach nearby that has some rather good breaks. (I think my writer plans on bumping off his sister on some gnarly break over the coral reef, she’s a surfer too) but never mind that for now. There is chatter in the background as I take a seat, no, make that music, no, chatter and music; it’s actually become a bit of a din. So here I sit in this cute little café that has way too much going on, with my coffee, and in saunters surfer guy, looking pretty relaxed and casual. “Nice skirt” he comments as he sits down at the table opposite me. I can’t help but wonder how he would even see my skirt when I am sitting down, oh never mind she is changing it. So, in saunters surfer guy, looking pretty relaxed and casual. “Nice necklace”, he comments as he sits down at the table opposite me. I look down and I am now wearing a necklace that is made of braided leather and has a rather nice shell attached.

Surfer guy begins droning on about the waves, wind direction and breaks. I have no idea what he is talking about, he seems like a bit of a stoner to me, he has this faraway look in his eyes and a broad wide smile that I suppose go with his character. He looks at me hard with his watery blue eyes for a moment, gulps the last of his coffee, says to me he’ll ‘catch me later’ and with that he is off. I mean what the eff was that? That wasn’t even a date. Was it a date? I mean how did I even meet this guy?

The cursor has begun to run quickly backwards across the computer screen. Here we go again.

Delete.

I am standing in front of the mirror, leaning slightly forward and applying a light smattering of makeup presumably to impress some guy, at some other place, somewhere. I am now wearing a sundress with a floral design in pastel pinks and apricot tones on a white background. I feel like a doll playing dress up. My date is meeting me at the dock, and we are going for a cruise on his yacht for the afternoon. My long blonde hair is swept up casually and accentuates my face, there is a thin silver chain around my neck with a small, understated opal pendant that matches my blue eyes. On my dresser table there is a picture of a man standing beside his yacht, he has grey hair with a very slight wave in it. I lean into the mirror again, my face is older than it was last time I was written, I look closer, she has given me wrinkles! Honestly, that’s just not fair. Why would she do that?

As I am contemplating my new look something brushes against my leg. I look down. There is a cat, hmm, there has never been a cat before, surely she hasn’t turned me into one of those people. I never saw myself as a cat person. My character reaches down and strokes the cat along its back as it circles my legs. I want to shoo it away but I keep stroking it and it begins to purr while arching its back half higher so I can scratch it better. Next minute I am gliding through the house and down the grand staircase outside my front door. Jasmine flowers are blossoming, and their scent fills the air, I begin sneezing uncontrollably.

Backspace, backspace.

Jasmine flowers are blossoming, and their scent fills the air, I breathe in deeply taking in their heady perfume and breathe out a slight sigh as I embrace the beauty of the spring day. The mailman nods his head in a friendly gesture as we pass. Oh, how sappy I think to myself as I walk down the tree lined street toward the jetty where Todd’s? no, Jim’s? no, Anthony’s? no, Sebastian, Alister, Andrew, yes, Andrew’s yacht is moored.

Delete.

I am back in front of a mirror, sitting on a chair zipping up a long black leather boot. Well, we haven’t tried this look before. My face is young again. The room I am in looks like a dump, there are clothes strewn everywhere, my hair is raven black, it looks manky and unkept, like I haven’t washed it for days or maybe longer. Behind me there is a girl laying on a bed that is just a mattress on the floor. What on earth has she turned me into? A goth lesbian junkie whore? I look further around the room and there is a drum kit and a couple of guitars propped up against the wall. Okay, so maybe I am just in a band and that explains the look; the dark racoon eyes that seem like they haven’t slept properly, and the excessive eye makeup certainly doesn’t do me any favours. It’s dark outside and I have only just got out of bed, the same one as the sleeping girl. She stirs a little but doesn’t wake. The noise of laughter and rock are floating up from the ground floor, the sounds below become irresistibly enticing as I head down the three flights of narrow stairs to the pub. At least this character has some sort of a life I think, as the beat becomes deafening when I swing open the fire door. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes are hanging in the warm night air as I find myself heading to the bar. Bourbon and coke I hear myself say. A lean man with a slight build pulls up a seat beside me at the bar, he is tapping his hands in time with the drums that are beating out an old eighties song. He turns to face me, “how’s your night goin’ Rach? I recognize this man, his name is Leon, well usually that’s his name, we have met before in other stories or at least our paths have crossed. I have to admit I am a bit surprised he recognized me in my current guise. I like this guy, no matter how he is written he is always nice to me.

Delete.

I am standing in front of my mirror, my hair is back to the lank, brownish colour and pulled back in a ponytail with a fringe. I am wearing a cotton, light blue, knee length skirt with a small white daisy pattern, on top is a fitted plain white cotton shirt that has small heart shape buttons down the front. On my feet I have some rather sensible slip-on shoes. I am not wearing any makeup or jewelry. Outside it is a beautiful day, with a light breeze that has the smell of briny sea entwined with flowers. I am heading down to the beach and intend to ride my bicycle that is kept around the side of the house. On my back is a small hessian backpack containing a book, some water and a banana. I only live about five minutes away from the beach, so it doesn’t take long to get there, even so when I arrive…… the cursor starts to move backwards again.

‘I only live about five minutes away from the beach’, the sentence started again, you know sometimes it would be nice just to get through the day without starting it over ten times or more just because someone can’t make up their mind on how I should look or how my day should pan out. Does it really matter? Can’t I just have some sort of adventure, and it is still a story?

So here I am now sitting on the beach under my wide brimmed sunhat, reading my book, when from behind someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around to see Leon, with him is a small brown and white dog that sits down politely beside me. He is scruffy but somehow has a bit of a distinguished, been here before kind of look about his face; the dog that is. Leon looks a little scruffy and wind swept himself, his bare legs show his summer tan. I find myself studying his face more than usual, it is also tanned, slightly creased and worn by time, not that it has diminished him in any way. Quite the opposite, with a bit of beard growth showing it's made him look ruggedly handsome. I imagine he must have some sort of outdoor job in this story.

He is smiling at me now and I find myself feeling a little conscious of looking at him for a bit too long. “Would you like to come for a walk along the beach with Benny and I?” Leon asks as he gazes directly into my eyes with his warm amber ones.

“I’d love to” I hear myself reply before….

Delete.