Read Something To Dream On for Free Online

face and start over. At least now my hair is presentable. Thankfully, I had a soft pink blouse and a decent pair of jeans at work, so I am no longer in those hideous, spit, blood, and fur-covered scrubs.
    A couple of pinches to my cheeks to bring out a natural glow do nothing. Why do magazines give useless makeup tips and imply everyone can look perfect with a little lip gloss and a smidgen of mascara? Can that possibly work for anyone?
    Yeah, it can. It always worked for Laura, my arch nemesis who mocked me for my eating habits. “Fat-etta, eaten’ sloppy burgers with chedda.” What a horrible person.
    I smooth my blouse and check to see that the buttons are all fastened and I am covered. As I run my hand over my stomach, the memory of Laura’s taunting amplifies. Who am I kidding? I’m a fool for getting my hopes up.
    Gah! This stops now! I swear, once she gets in my head, it’s like I’ve stepped into quicksand.  
    The stairs of Jensen’s duplex are nearly defeating, thanks to me bringing two, overfilled, paper grocery bags. The weight in one shifts, and I am barely able to twist and stop cans from toppling onto the hood of the car in the driveway below. It’s the one I saw while helping Jensen—a nineteen seventy Dodge Challenger that is in the most unfortunate color of bile green combined with urine yellow that has been diluted with muddy water. That poor thing looks so sick that I feel as bad for it as I would an ill uncle.
    Behind the door, Etta barks. Aw, she sounds happy! Jensen answers before I can knock and darts to grab a ripping bag. “Did you rob a pet food store? You didn't have to do this.” He takes the second bag and invites me in.
    “I was serious about helping. You should be set for a while.” Etta hangs out on the floor. Her jumbled blanket makes me suspect she’s had company while watching the Sharks game on TV.
    He’s a hockey fan? Oh dear God, yes!
    Lord, please don’t let him be a Kings fan.
    I join Etta, and she nuzzles against me like she did to Jensen in the clinic. “How are you both holding up?”
    A beat-up copy of Beowulf, a couple of textbooks, and a stack of CDs sit on the coffee table. Beowulf ? That book is way over my head. Why couldn’t he have a copy of Steppenwolf? Then I could make a joke about the band.
    Would he get that? My family would never accept him if he didn’t.
    My eyes flash back to the CDs and catch an Aerosmith logo. Whew! If it was Bach, we’d be doomed.
    “We're good,” he says.
    We sure are.
    Oh, he was talking about him and Etta.
    In the corner of the sparse room sits a practice amp. Just beyond that is a nook of a kitchen. Inside it sits a six-string electric guitar along with a Marshall half stack. I’ve heard that many musicians are cold-hearted and bad news for women, but they aren’t all sex-starved pigs who only bang models and keep notches in their bedposts, right?
    Jensen joins us on the blanket, and Etta sticks her head between us. “Aw, that is so sweet. I just love this girl. I’m so glad to hear you say it is going well.”

    “You know, I always wanted a dog. There may have been a reason why I never made this place too much my own. Now she can help me fill it.”
    “That is such a sweet answer, but I can’t help but still feel a smidgen guilty. I didn't mean to pressure you.”
    I can feel my eyes deepen in warmth. “You didn't pressure me. If anything, you reminded me of what I want out of life.” It feels so good to be honest, but man, I sound like a chick. Am I okay with that? There are so many changes for me to digest. It would probably be easier if I could get past worrying about how I come off to people. I am a good, responsible person now. I can do this. This dog thing, it’s totally going to work out.
    “That is such a sweet thing to say. You two are going to be great together.”
    “I hope you are right.”
    “I’m certain of it.” Lizetta checks out the room again. I should have cleaned more. She doesn’t