Free Angst by Victoria Sawyer

overnight items and
my costume from the couch, so that I don’t have to see their disapproving
looks.
    “I suppose that should be okay,” says my mother, looking
wary. “I want you to be careful though and you know you can always call us if
you have a problem.”  My dad frowns, but doesn’t say anything, tugging my arm
to pull me in for another hug.
    “Be a good girl,” he whispers, giving me an extra squeeze. I
squeeze him back, smelling the masculine scent of sawdust and outdoors. It’s a
smell that always makes me feel safe. I smile at my parents and am soon out the
door.
    Outside I make my way to my car, throwing the overnight bag
in the backseat as I climb into the front. I suddenly feel a rush of emotion. Guilt. My parents really care about me and I hate deceiving them. They don’t know that
I’m going to drink and I don’t want them to find out. My eyes tear up, as I
think back to how they’ve always been there for me. They love me so much and
they know everything about me. Well, almost everything. Everything except
Normal Party-Girl Victoria. They have never met her, thank God.
    I drive to campus and meet the girls at Hannah’s dorm room. It’s
a chore to get myself inside because my stomach is clenched and I feel like
vomiting, but soon I’m up the stairs, I don’t do elevators , and once
inside I am surrounded by clothes, make-up and girls who are giggling and
laughing as they put on their scandalous costumes. Everyone is still primping
except for Hannah’s long-legged, auburn haired friend Kayla who happens to have
a few bottles of hard lemonade. She offers one to me and I jump at the chance
for some sweet pre-game.
    Thank God, something to lessen the anxiety . I start
pouring it down my throat, trying not to make it obvious that I’m guzzling. I
feel like every day I’m constantly reminded that I have a problem and I don’t
want a problem anymore. I want to be NORMAL!!
    While I rummage around in my bag, Hannah starts to put on
her costume and I watch as she slips into her clingy white spaghetti strap
dress and small white wings. Hannah makes a perfect angel with her fair
coloring and a halo that is a headband with a circle of gold held above with
nearly invisible wires. She grabs her plastic gold harp from the bed and poses
in the mirror, her curly hair framing her face in waves.
    “How do I look?” she asks, her reflection grinning at me
like a trampy, yet somehow innocent beauty queen.
    “You look like a hoe-bag angel!” I state with a laugh,
reaching over to pull my costume out of my overnight bag. I’m wearing a short
black fake leather skirt and a red bustier with a sweetheart neck line and a
very nice push up bra to show off the goods. I also have a pitch-fork and a
clip-on pointed tail. I stand in front of the mirror and pull on my tight
skirt, black thigh-highs and knee high black boots. Then I swipe dark red
lipstick on my lips and turn around to pin on my tail. Hannah and I stand
together in the mirror our arms about each other’s waist.
    “This is awesome,” I say, turning sideways to admire my fake
tail and finally remembering to grab my sparkly, blood red horns and position
them on my head.
    “Yeah that completes the look.” I grin at my reflection and
give myself a saucy wink that has Hannah and I laughing.
    #######################
    We’re on our way to the frat, strutting down the tree lined
Main Street toward downtown. There are people everywhere, passing us by in a shit
ton of different costumes and now and then we openly laugh out loud at
ridiculous and skanky stuff we see. There’s a dude yelling and weaving, clearly
already drunk, in a hotdog costume and another guy is running to catch up with
him, yelling for him to wait, in a too large banana suit. He keeps tripping
over the front of the banana almost falling. Then we hear the hotdog guy yell,
    “Fuck you banana-man!” And we can’t help but laugh at this
funny shit.
    And now comes a group of girls as