An Impetuous Tale [Elvis]

Chapter 7 - Oh, This Is My Cousin Alan

This apartment resembled my grandparents' home. They were never partial to the modern TV, just the old-fashioned ones that were about the size of a cardboard box, were on short stilts, and had two antennae sticking out of the top like a bug. I smiled as I looked around at the very 60s room with blue sofas, pink curtains and white carpet and a kitchen that was open to the living room. I would like staying in this cute apartment for however long I would.

"So, you like it?" Mary Ann asked as she came in and shut the door, and my new luggage with new clothing was sitting next to me on the floor.

"I do. Thank you so much again for doing this for me. I mean, letting me stay here."

"Hey, it's no problem at all. I look forward to sharing this space with you. It will be nice to have the experience of having a roommate again. Let me show you to your room."

She walked passed me, leaving a sweet perfume behind her. I followed her in my wheelchair and turned left into a room. It had a twin bed in it, jutting out to the center of the room, and it had a white comforter on it that had pink roses printed on it. The pink curtains matched roses, and the lace at the bottom of the curtains gave it a feminine touch.

"So, this is it," said Mary Ann.

"It's cute."

"Let me go get your things."

She was so perky and happy. It would make me sick if I didn't instantly like her. She was a pretty pleasant girl. She came back with my two brown suitcases. They probably hadn't made the multi-colored ones with zippers yet. These were the stereotypical old-fashioned ones.

"Do you need help unpacking?" Mary Ann asked, and she went over to a sliding door in the wall and opened it to reveal a rod with several metal hangers on it. "This is the closet. I could help hang up things for you."

"No, no, that's okay. But thank you."

"You're very welcome. I'm sorry there's no vanity desk or dresser or side table. If I knew I was going to have a roommate, I would've furnished the space a little more."

I smirked, chuckling to myself. "Really, Mary Ann, it's okay. I like it, and I don't have a lot of things to stuff in a dresser or put on a vanity desk, anyway."

Her brown eyes widened, which made them huge. This young woman was so pretty, it was almost irritating. "You mean you don't have any makeup, perfume, shampoo or any of those things?"

Of course, a high-maintenance girl like her would be shocked at this. "I went shopping the other day and got myself some shampoo, makeup and a brush, but... nothing else, other than clothes."

"No curlers or a heating iron?"

I didn't know they had those in the 60s. "My hair's already naturally curly, or more wavy, so I wouldn't need curlers. But you have hair irons?"

She smiled, left, then came back with what looked like a curling iron. "This right here. I have this and curlers. My mother gifted me the curlers. Those were more from her generation, though. I just use this."

Her mother, who was probably a young woman in the thirties or forties. What a wild thought. "Are there straightening irons?"

"For hair? I just use my clothing iron."

Mom told me she did that when she was younger—use a regular iron to straighten her hair. I never dared to do it. Maybe I could try it out. When in Rome, right? Or more, when in 1965. "I've never done that to my hair before. You're going to have to help me do that sometime."

She gleamed a smile. "Oh, I would love to! You have beautiful hair, and I think it would look gorgeous straight!"

At home, it took me about an hour to straighten my hair, but that was with a modern hair straightener. How long would it take to iron my waist-length hair with a clothing iron? "Thank you. I look forward to it."