It’s 3 AM a while ago, and Heather and I are running away from a party packed with everyone we know. It’s the loneliest place we’ve been all week, and I don’t know what to do. So I watch Heather smoke.
We met because my old boss thought she could be Veronica from the Archie Comics, and she thought I was very Betty. She told us so and that was it.
We tumble into a cab; narrowly missing a Franz Ferdinand member muttering needles, and Bijou Phillips tangled in a Jill Stuart knot. The party girls outside blink at us in yesterday’s eyeliner and Violet Incredible ensembles. They look beautiful, and fearless, and bored.
5 minutes later, we curb outside a condemned bar and Heather stares me down.
“Don’t be those girls,” she demands. “It’s not you. Be your own girl. It’s more fun. Plus, no one wants to be you if you want to be someone else.”
Betty and Veronica would ditch Archie if they drank vodka tonics like us. The bartender is in love with Heather, so it’s free.
Now it’s almost fall and Heather still hunts me down at packed parties, because she knows I’m shy. Many people still want to be these girls, but lots of them want to be Heather, and Heather just wants to be herself. When so many things don’t matter but seem to matter so much, that’s pretty amazing.
Then again, so is Heather.
[HAPPY BIRTHDAY HEATHER D - WE LOVE YOU!]