Wherever the Dandelion Falls by Lily R. Mason Page B

her hand.
    There was a moment of quiet and I felt as though I were a feather or piece of tissue paper suspended in the air, aimless and light and euphoric, yet inevitably destined for the ground. Whether sleep or sobriety or regret would seize me first was the only question.
    It seemed sleep was the first bidder because next thing I knew, I woke in a blindingly bright room that smelled faintly of sex but mostly of fabric softener.
    Then I realized that I was lying in bed next to a beautiful girl I'd slept with in a moment of drunken impulsiveness. I wondered if I should sneak back home and hope Faye didn't come into the bar again. I was halfway through routing the best way to retrieve my clothing and leave without waking Faye, still not sure such a rude exit was warranted, when I felt her stirring behind me.
    "Oh... shit," Faye groaned.
    I wondered if she was referring to our liaison, the alcohol-induced headache, or something else. I tried to lay still, pretending to be asleep.
    Faye rolled over abruptly, sucking in air in a gasp as she took in my back. The sound made me even more tense, and unsure of my next move.
    There was a moment of excruciating silence before Faye hissed, "Are you awake?"
    I swallowed before I said, "Yeah."
    "Shit..." I felt her moving on the bed behind me, but didn't dare to look. I knew she was as naked as I was, and without the gauzy effect of the alcohol, I didn't feel ready to expose myself, nor privy to look at Faye.
    "Do you need a ride somewhere?"
    That was my cue to leave. She wanted me out as soon as possible, dumped out like the dregs of beer in the bar glasses, eager to be washed and set out anew.
    "Uh, no, I can walk," I said, clutching a pilled cotton-poly sheet to my chest.
    "You live nearby?" Faye asked, surprised.
    Obviously Faye did not remember me telling her I lived down the street. Our patchwork memory didn't bode well for a smooth morning.
    "Yeah.”
    I heard Faye yawn. "Oh," she said, the word garbled as she rubbed her face. "Shit, I gotta go.”
    I felt the mattress shift as she got up. The swishing of fabric indicated Faye was getting dressed. As I waited for her to cover herself, I decided to make polite conversation. "Your apartment smells good.”
    "It's the laundromat downstairs.”
    There was more awkward silence as my gaze bore into the wall as I made an effort not to turn and see Faye naked. The noises behind me became less discernible and I wondered if it would be okay to turn around yet. Then Faye came into view, walking alongside the bed in a striped shirt and worn blue jeans. She placed a glass of water on the table next to me, setting two aspirin next to it. "There you go," she said. "Hope it's not too bad."
    I was grateful for the gesture, but couldn't help but assume it was code for "take this and get out."
    While Faye was in the bathroom, I tried to figure out how to exit gracefully. Leaving while Faye was in the bathroom would be the most non-confrontational, but would convey that I regretted sleeping with her and wanted as little to do with her as possible. I didn't want to incite that kind of assumption. I didn't regret it. I just felt awkward because I didn't know how Faye felt.
    I quickly got dressed. I didn't think putting on my panties would be quite sanitary, so I stuffed them in the inside pocket of my purse. Feeling the loose stickiness of going commando, I surveyed my surroundings. How could I leave without making a negative statement? I heard the toilet flush and realized I didn't have much time to decide. As the sink turned on and the soothing static of running water filling the room, I wrote my name and number on a piece of paper on her desk. That way, Faye had my number — and name, if she'd forgotten it — but no obligation to call.
    I set down the pencil just as the bathroom door opened. Faye seemed surprised that I was still there, as though going into the bathroom had been her way of giving me an opportunity to leave.
    "Hey," she said,