One
Dyke Cozy
by
Rhani D'Chae
Genre:
YA Drama
People
come into our lives for a day, a season, or a reason...
"Shy
taught me to fight like a champion, love like a poet, & live like
it was my last day on earth."
One
Dyke Cozy touches on the lives of two girls, Gabby and Shy, from
their first meeting as children to Shy's untimely death.
This
novel contains profanity and adult situations.
Rated PG-13.
Goodreads
* Amazon
Excerpt #1
My mother used to say people come into our lives for a day, a season, or a reason. For the most part, I've always found her statement to be true. There were exceptions, but more often than not, the people who entered my life fit predominantly into one of those three categories.
And then there was Shy. My best friend, my pseudo-sister, and the person who was by my side through thick, thin, and everything in between.
I say was, because Shy's been gone for quite a while. But her influence remains, and not a day goes by that I don't hear her voice in my ear, guiding my steps as I meander through the years in search of some deep meaning for my life.
Shy was with me for a season. A long season, though not nearly long enough. More importantly, she was with me for a reason. Had we never met, I truly believe I would've lived, grown old, and died as a carbon copy of my mother. I would've married my high-school sweetheart, popped out a couple of kids and then spent the best years of my life as a stay-at-home mom. I'd have been an excellent cook, an immaculate housekeeper, and would've had no interests beyond the devoted care of my husband and children.
Eventually, I'd have woken up and climbed out of a bed my husband hadn't been home to sleep in. I'd have looked in the mirror over the bathroom sink and seen a forty-something face from which beauty had long since vanished. Like my mother, I'd have wept bitter tears and wondered what I could've done differently. What I could've done to prevent distance from growing between us and to keep his love with me, as he'd promised in our vows. I'd have been one more pathetically hopeful divorcee at the SeaTac Hilton, sipping martinis at the bar while hoping some lonely businessman would take the empty stool to my right.
It's even possible I'd have followed my mother a step farther. Unable to bear what she considered a personal failure, she'd gone to sleep one night with no intention of waking up. I don't know where she got the pills, but it doesn't really matter. What matters is that she had no life of her own and didn't know how to find one. In that respect, she mirrored her own mother as much as I believe I'd have mirrored her.
Wise beyond her years, Shy saw my most likely future long before I did and made it her personal mission to send me in a different direction. It didn't matter what direction, as long as it was different. She was a free spirit, what my mother had always called a wild child, and nothing was too scary – or too scandalous – for her. She colored outside the lines every chance she got, and I willingly followed her from one adventure to another. I can't begin to count the significant moments we shared, but that's probably because the number is uncountable.
From the backyard swingset to a quiet room where I sat alone and watched the candles flicker, Shy was always close at hand. We were joined at the hip, and neither one of us wanted it any other way.
Excerpt #2
I turned the subject back to Shy. "I think you should go with Brian. I think the four of us would have a blast!"
Her eyes twinkled, and I knew she was warming to the idea. Before she could raise any more objections, I pounced. "We're pretty much the same size, so I think any of my dresses would fit you. I can do your hair for you, and it wouldn't kill you to put on a little makeup."
"It might!" Shy flapped her hand at me. "Begone with your paints and your powders. I'll be having none of it!"
"Come on..." There was more whine in my voice than I wanted, but I made no apologies. "You never wear makeup. Aren't you the one who always says there's a first time for everything?"
Shy picked up Mr. Happy and looked into his perpetually smiling face. "Whadda you think? Should I go?"
She turned her hand so the bright yellow smiley was facing me. I smiled back, as if doing so would elicit a positive response from him.
Lifting Mr. Happy to her ear, she tilted her head and gazed into space as though listening. Finally, she lowered the cozy and pointed to my closet.
"If I'm gonna do this, I'm gonna do it my way." Her voice was firm, leaving no room for discussion. "I'll do the dress, and I'll do the shoes. But I'm not wearing nylons! They cut off my circulation, and they make my ass itch."
I nodded agreeably. She was going, and she was wearing a dress. I figured I would work on the hose later.
"As for makeup," she continued, "I won't do lipstick, but I'll do lip gloss. And I'll let you put that black shit on my lashes."
"Mascara?"
"I guess." It was clear from her expression she'd already forgotten the word.
I was proud of her willingness to compromise and commented on it.
"That's me," she said with an expansive grin. "Always eager to please."
I had just taken a mouthful of Coke and almost choked on it. "Since when?"
She checked her watch. "Since about 30 seconds ago. But before you get too happy, you're not curling my hair, and you're not putting anything on my face. Savvy?"
"Yes ma'am." I was more than willing to agree to any stipulation. It was Junior Prom, Shy was going, and I couldn't wait!
Excerpt #3
Shy rolled her eyes at my reaction. "Lighten up," she said in as worldly a tone as she could muster. "It's no big deal."
But it was a big deal, at least to me.
"You better hope your mother doesn't hear you say that," I warned. "She'd wash your mouth out with soap for sure!"
"My mom doesn't care," she replied. "I can say whatever I want, as long as I don't use the F word."
"What's the F word?" I'd never heard of such a thing.
Shy laughed, enjoying the superiority her knowledge of swear words gave her. "I can't say it, cuz I promised my dad I wouldn't. But it's another word for sex."
I nodded wisely, even though I knew less about sex than I did about the F word.
"Have you ever said a bad word?" Shy asked curiously.
I shook my head, slightly embarrassed at the answer I had to give. "No, never. I'm not even sure I know any. I mean, not any real ones."
"What words do you know?"
"I know the D word," I said hesitantly. "But I've never said it."
"You can say it now," Shy stated with cheerful matter of factness. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."
I wanted to say it. Boy, did I want to! The very thought of saying such an adult word made me feel sophisticated and quite daring.
Shy watched for a moment, reading me with an accuracy that was rarely wrong. "Go ahead," she encouraged. "There's a first time for everything."
"Damn," I whispered, not quite ready to put any volume into my voice.
"That's it," Shy responded. "Go ahead, say it again. Louder this time."
"Damn." This time I spoke in my normal tone.
"Come on," Shy shrugged her shoulders. "There's no one here, say it like you mean it! Come on, I'll say it with you. Count of three, okay?"
I nodded, tingling with a rush of adrenaline.
Shy begin to count, and when she said three, I shouted the word along with her.
"Damn!"
"Again!" She yelled. "Louder!"
"Damn!" The word burst from my mouth with the volume all the way up. But even so, Shy was right there with me.
"Damn! Damn! Damn!" We repeated the word several times, until we were both laughing so hard we couldn't speak.
"Look at you," Shy said when she had caught her breath. "You didn't explode or nothin'! Not bad for your first swear word. How does it feel?"
"Crazy!" I giggled, unable to think of a better way to express myself. "I can't believe I said it!"
Excerpt #4
Reaching into the center section of the backpack, she pulled out a fold over sandwich bag containing six cigarettes. My eyes grew big when I saw them, and I took the one she handed me with shaky fingers.
"Where did you get these?" I couldn't believe it was possible for a kid our age to have cigarettes.
"I got 'em from Gary," she said with a shrug. "He was twelve when he started smoking, so I figured he wouldn't mind givin' me a few. And he didn't."
Having spent time around Shy's brother on several occasions, I studied the cigarette skeptically.
"Oh, stop it!" Shy snapped. "These things came right out of the pack. He didn't do anything to 'em."
"I'm sorry," I said sincerely. "It's just with Gary, ya never know."
"You're right about that." She laughed, back in good humor again. "But he wouldn't give me something he'd doctored. Not without telling me, anyhow."
Her affection for her brother was evident when she spoke of him, and I wished for the umpteenth time that I had a sibling.
Shy dug a lighter out of her bag and lit her cigarette first. I watched what she did, not wanting to fail too badly with my first smoke.
When she touched the flame to the tip of my cigarette, I inhaled as I'd seen her do. Rancid flavor filled my mouth and burned its way simultaneously up my nose and down my throat. A fit of coughing bent me almost double, and I grabbed the edge of the sink for support.
"Are you okay?" Shy took another drag, suffering no obvious ill effects. "It takes a few puffs to get used to it."
A few? Who was she kidding? "I think so." I managed to gasp the words out before another round of coughing prevented speech.
"Just give it a second," Shy suggested. She reached over to take the cigarette from between my fingers, holding it in her left hand while she waited for me to catch my breath.
By the time I was able to stand erect again, my cigarette had burned almost halfway down. Shy held it out, and I took it bravely, hoping I could finish it with some shred of dignity.
"Take it slow," Shy said, as if reading my mind. "Don't inhale too deep. Just...let it happen."
I followed her advice, inhaling the acrid smoke in tiny, hesitant puffs. This time, I managed to smoke the cigarette down to the butt without coughing, and I grinned triumphantly as I dropped the butt in the sink.
"Ta-da!" I clapped my hands together in self-applause. "I did it!"
"You sure did." Shy finished her own smoke and deposited her butt next to mine. "How do you feel? Any braver?"
I didn't think braver was the right word to describe how I felt, but I did feel different. Older? Maybe. Sophisticated? A little. Ready to go out there and get my first kiss from Mr. Dreamboat? Oh, hell no!
Rhani
D'Chae is a visually disabled writer who was born and raised in
Tacoma, WA. Because of her failing eyesight, she no longer reads as
much as she used to, but she does enjoy falling into the worlds
created by other Indie authors as often as hre vision will allow.
Shadow of the Drill is her first published novel, and is the first in
a series that revolves around an unrepentant enforcer and the violent
life that he leads.
She
enjoys chatting with readers and fellow writers via Social Media
sites, and loves getting comments and other input from those who have
read her work.
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