9 years ago
Unlike most people, Mia was already up at five in the morning each day religiously. She's been doing this since she was fourteen—a habit she picked up from her mother. I think Mia told me her whole life story, including this one, the first time we met at the university campus two years ago.
At six thirty she'll already be done with her face and her hair, and will head to the kitchen to get a second cup of coffee. She had a dozen of mugs, all carefully organized by their color, yet she always chose her favorite white coffee mug with a bold 'my own boss' print on it. She rarely ate breakfast; honestly, she barely ate anything at all. Instead, she would run through her notes and would get ready for her morning lectures. However, ever since she got me as her roommate, her daily routines were interspersed by my contradictory habits.
This morning it wasn't my alarm clock that woke me up; it was Mia's aggravating squeal that made me jump out of my bed.
"Bee, what the hell! Can't you clean after yourself?"
My heart skipped a beat as I tried to remember the mess I've made. I've left my shoes in my side of the closet, this time for sure; I separated black clothes from white and did my laundry and... shit, I forgot to do the dishes.
I got dressed in seconds and sprinted to the kitchen where I found Mia standing in front of the pile of dirty dishes. Her half-full 'my own boss' mug sat on the mahogany table accompanied by two fresh coffee stains and a bulky notebook. No breakfast, again.
"Dude. Seriously? I thought we went through the basic house rules..." Mia pointed her slender finger towards the sink full of dirty dishes.
"Sorry. " I muttered. "I'll wash it right now."
As I began doing the dishes, Mia sat down and started sipping her cold coffee or whatever was left of it. I haven't even noticed how fast her face has shifted – from a twisted and raging grimace into a tranquil and friendly expression. It was uncanny how much this behaviour resembled my mother.
"Ready for work?" asked Mia, swiftly turning the pages of her notebook, as if she was looking for something.
"I guess"
"You don't seem excited."
"I'm fine."
"What do you mean 'fine'? You don't sound fine to me."
I hated how Mia was able to read my mind. Lying to people was something I did time after time. When I was younger I would lie to my friends until they started admiring me; then, for quite a while I lied to my mother that I wasn't gay. Once this lie was brought into the light, I created a new one. With my outlandish luck this one got out too, and then hell broke loose.
"It's just... I don't feel like it's going to work out." I shrugged admiring the precisely stacked clean dishes I've just washed.
"Hey, hey. It's been only how many days? Three? You have to stick with it."
"He called me a China-man yesterday."
Mia burst in laughter and almost spilled her cold coffee all over the fancy table.
"I told you my uncle can be an ignorant old fool. I bet he can't name a single difference between Japan and China"
"I'm not Japan—
"I know, I know," Mia interrupted me, "it was just an example. Anyways, deep inside he's a really good man. Just give him a chance."
And so went our mornings. When Mia would finish the last sip of coffee, she always made sure to check if her makeup was intact. Once ready she would get her car keys, and impatiently fidgeting them in her hands, she would tell me to hurry up and "get my ass over here". She'd drop me off at the Chicken Blitz and then she'd drive to the university.
When I got kicked out of the uni, Mia was there for me.
My first six months in the uni went great, but then something happened. I can't quite put my finger on it; it seems like it was growing in me for a long time. But Mia was there for me. She let me live in her apartment for as long as I needed. She helped me get a job too—a mundane position in one of her uncle's fast food chains. Meanwhile my mother remained silent. I don't think she ever loved me but she surely was in love with the idea of having the perfect son.
At 6 in the evening Mia would always be the first to come back home. She'd always hang her coat in the same place and would always make sure to check if her shoes were sorted in the way she wanted them to be. I'd come back home about an hour later and I'd always find her in her comfy clothes and without any makeup. She had already packed her bag and was ready for what we were about to do next.
All in all, everyone thought Mia was perfect; some thought she was the perfect woman, others thought she was the perfect daughter, the perfect friend. However, only I knew that she was the perfect drag king too. In fact, she was the one who hooked me on the whole drag culture.
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