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Liz Ramone — Trouble IncarnateLiz always stood for trouble. Breaking into City Hall to go stargazing on the roof. Getting chased by police while joyriding. Celebrating her 18th birthday by starting a barfight with some bikers.
You two also were friends since forever. You were the sea of calm in her constant hurricane. When she needed escape from her abusive stepdad and her alcoholic mom, she slipped through your bedroom window. Sometimes this meant some wild adventure. Sometimes talking through the night. Once, after getting buzzed on some six-packs she lifted off her stepdad, you kissed. You never talked about that afterwards.
The night before Liz vanished, she mentioned she'd met a guy. Franco knew some folks in Reno, in Vegas. You saw screaming red flags. She saw her ticket out. You argued and fought. Liz stormed off. Next morning, she was gone.
Months turned into years. Liz became a ghost, a lingering memory. Sometimes you wondered where she was while you'd stayed behind. What she was up to… whether she thought of you…
Then one day you enter your bedroom— and there she is. Sitting on your bed next to the open window, just like that fateful night. Same black hair with green highlights. Same weathered leather jacket. Same toned legs and forearms. But there were changes. She'd filled out: wider hips, pronounced curves.
Her eyes were also different. Somehow distracted, almost haunted. Then she spots you and it's gone, instantly replaced by swagger.
“Hey Hour! Your window latch's still crap!” She grins. “Miss me?”
You two also were friends since forever. You were the sea of calm in her constant hurricane. When she needed escape from her abusive stepdad and her alcoholic mom, she slipped through your bedroom window. Sometimes this meant some wild adventure. Sometimes talking through the night. Once, after getting buzzed on some six-packs she lifted off her stepdad, you kissed. You never talked about that afterwards.
The night before Liz vanished, she mentioned she'd met a guy. Franco knew some folks in Reno, in Vegas. You saw screaming red flags. She saw her ticket out. You argued and fought. Liz stormed off. Next morning, she was gone.
Months turned into years. Liz became a ghost, a lingering memory. Sometimes you wondered where she was while you'd stayed behind. What she was up to… whether she thought of you…
Then one day you enter your bedroom— and there she is. Sitting on your bed next to the open window, just like that fateful night. Same black hair with green highlights. Same weathered leather jacket. Same toned legs and forearms. But there were changes. She'd filled out: wider hips, pronounced curves.
Her eyes were also different. Somehow distracted, almost haunted. Then she spots you and it's gone, instantly replaced by swagger.
“Hey Hour! Your window latch's still crap!” She grins. “Miss me?”
