Friday nights seem to come so quickly, yet so slowly and before I know it, it’s the beginning of another weekend and another chance for escape. I watch the numbers on the digital clock on my phone turn closer to 10. I know it’s almost time to get ready.

6:03. It may be a Friday, but the evening is like every other weekday. 6:10. I hop into the shower while my rice cooker cooks all of my food. 6:25. Dinner time rolls around and as I’m eating my undercooked rice and steamed salmon, I’m thinking about what I’m doing tonight. There’s almost this anticipation of what’s going to come no matter how many times I’ve been through this before. The beginning of the semester means not having much to do (actually I’m already behind), but I need an escape from another long week. Recruiting for internships has been killing me. Being behind in classes during the first official week of class has been killing me. Figuring out what to do with my life has been killing me. Eating this mediocre food has been killing me. For the time being, the only escape that I can get is only one that a Friday night can offer me.

While I’m finishing up some homework before I take off for the night, I see my roommate getting ready. The pipes fill up with rushing water and I hear the water hit the bathtub, almost like heavy rain. I wonder if I won’t smell as nice because I showered earlier in the evening, but I guess that’s what perfume is for. 9:45. The heavy rain sound disappears and I go in to brush my teeth. Recently I’ve been thinking there’s no point in brushing my teeth before I go out when my breath is going to smell like vodka and beer anyway. But, this whole getting ready process is all about presentation. I dab two pea sized toothpaste drops and start brushing away. I smile in the mirror to see the whites of my teeth, one of my features that I’m most comfortable with. I spit the remaining water left in my mouth and get back to doing homework because I’m never not working even when I’m about to have fun.

My roommate slips out of the clothes she was wearing during the day into something more “nice.” And by more “nice” I mean something that’s not a just a shirt or a zip up sweater that a friend left behind. My roommate tells me, “Don’t dress up. Nobody’s going to be there.” I laugh to myself because is finding someone normally the goal when going out? If I want to wear something nice, I will, but it’s for me and not for anyone else.

Nobody is going to be there, but my roommate manages to find a tight striped shirt and jeans to flatter her curves. 10:30. “You should start getting ready,” her voice comes from her bedroom where she’s still straightening her shirt out. No rush, but I might as well get dressed. In my mind, I already know what I’m going to wear because it’s usually what I am wearing during the day. It’s too much of a hassle to change into a new set of clothes and I don’t understand how girls have a closet full of unlimited options, but maybe I’m not the most girly person.Before I walk into the room, I look at myself in the communal full body mirror hanging near my door. Plaid shirt from today and pajama pants. Nice. I’ll be able to whip up something“nice” in 10 minutes. On my bed is the same pair of jeans I was wearing during the day and jeans always work. I slip my pajama pants off. It doesn’t dawn on me that I could wear a dress or a skirt because it’s slightly cold outside. Just slightly. I look down at my athletic looking legs and think, “they do look kinda good,” but then I look closer and run my hand over my skin and feel slight prickles. Mmm, no I haven’t shaved and again it’s too cold for anything else, so into my jeans I go. 10:42. I’m doing well on time. I run my fingers through my hair. Maybe I should do something different tonight. Not curling because that takes too much work and no one’s going to be there, remember? I grab the compact mirror off my desk to see how my face looks. My eyebrows could be better shaped, my skin looks really dry, those freckle things on my cheeks should go away, good thing I wear glasses because these dark circles look really bad, why is my nose so big, and when is this acne pimple scar going to go away? I see all of this in a mirror that is smaller than the palm of my hand.

Besides makeup, there’s nothing I can do to remedy this because this is just the way I look. And makeup has never been my thing. To put it simply, I’m lazy and that time can be spent doing better things both at the beginning and the end of the night. So, I do what I can. I grab this Olay moisturizing lotion that my mom got me (she was shocked when I said I don’t moisturize during the winter) and dab it on my cheeks. Good, less dry. I grab my tweezers and pluck a couple of off hairs around my eyebrows. It’s good enough. Hopefully I won’t see anybody super attractive tonight. I take my glasses off to get a better look at those dark crescents. Hmm, I should get some more sleep, but maybe tomorrow or in a few months. I can’t do anything about my nose though. Dad, I blame you. I pick the acne scar a little bit because there’s some dry skin coming off. All of this because of a mirror.

10:55. I open the door to see my roommate standing in front of the communal mirror and putting together her look for tonight. With the precision of an artist, her hands take the tip of the pencil and line her eyes. She takes the brush out of the mascara tube and I watch her eyelashes slowly get darker and longer. The lips are colored in a red-ish hue that really complete the look. The whole process is almost robotic, like she’s done this a million times before and she has and this routine is familiar to me too. She’s done and our eyes meet and I wonder if she realizes the contrast in this scene. It’s almost a game of can you spot the differences in these two images because our outfits look the same, in the sense that we’re both so casual. But, if you look closer at our faces that’s where you’ll win the game if you see that mine is as bare as it can get and hers is decorated. Lost in the scene, I check my phone. 11:10. Time to go.

The details of the party aren’t important because it’s the same as the other nights. It’s dark and I can’t make much of anybody’s faces. I slowly seep into the light because the unknown faces in the darkness make me weary of it. I’ll probably end up doing something stupid and people don’t need to see that. A familiar face comes to join me and as we exchange random, meaningless bullshit, the light hits his face and I know it hits mine too. I feel a little exposed in the midst of all of the dancing in the darkness and he’s totally exposed too; not just his emotions and his thoughts, but his face and his skin too. Does he feel it? There’s nothing to hide from in the light. I see the messiness of his beard, the faint spots on his face, and the slight acne scars that are slowly healing themselves, but because he’s a guy stuff like that doesn’t matter. He has it lucky like that, but for girls, it’s everything. After all, look at all that time my roommate spent getting ready, but it probably took him less than 30 minutes to leave for the party.

I drift out of the conversation and turn to the corner of the room where this girl’s body is getting closer and closer to this guy. That dress looks great on her and if I were a guy I would be doing the same thing. How long did it take for her to get ready tonight? To have a look and a face that attracts someone? It has to be much longer than my ten minutes and likely as long as my roommate’s forty five minutes. Maybe that’s why I’m people watching over in this corner instead of being her.

12:34. The thoughts linger and before I know it I’m back to the conversation. At the most we’re friends, but I wonder if he’s thinking anything as he’s looking at my face. There’s light, but that doesn’t mean that he can see the freckles on my face or the dark circles or the dryness. Nobody remembers in the end. We’re just passing faces.

Time doesn’t seem to exist at parties, but my phone says otherwise. 2:01. If going home with someone is a goal for the night, then I didn’t reach it. But it isn’t. Standing in that dim lit darkness, I know that whatever is happening in that party isn’t anything too real. 2:05. Time to go. I walk home with my roommate and try not to stumble too much, but I’m probably not doing a good job. Not that anybody would notice because they aren’t doing a good job either. I push through my door and am glad for the rush of warm air that caresses my body. I empty my pockets, pull out keys, gloves, and head straight to my room. I’m glad that I can just pass out in bed without worrying about wiping makeup off after a long night. I know my roommate just passes out and worries about it in the morning though. All those chemicals just sitting in her pores.

My bedroom looks the same as I left it: the pajama pants are still on my bed. I do the exact opposite from the beginning of the night and slip out of my jeans and into my pajamas. I’m not ready to sleep yet, but I turn off the lights. I lie in bed and pull the covers over me to feel the warmth again; this is the best I’ve felt all night. I let my eyes adjust to the darkness before I check my phone one last time. 2:08. I see a new text message from some guy (that’s as much as I’m going to define it because that’s college.): “Yoooo.” He says his friend saw me at the party: “BlahBlahBlah wanted me to come see you.” I laugh a little to myself because he didn’t come. He says this as though he wants it to mean something, and maybe in this hazy mess, he thinks I’m pretty, even though in his sober state he might think differently. But all I see is the alcohol and my bare face and I don’t feel pretty. I still feel like the girl in the party watching from afar as the other girl is pursued. These messages aren’t one hundred percent untruthful though, and I linger on some of them for a few seconds because it’s nice to feel wanted because I don’t feel that way some days. I watch as the screen fades to black and I’m faced with my own reflection once again. 2:20. Time to escape to another reality.