MICRO MONDAY, Suggestive Flash Fiction

It's called anemoia — nostalgia for a time you never knew. I blame Hope Sandoval: she's my mum's favourite, and I had such a crush on her when I was a kid. The 90s is what I listen to, how I dress; who I am.

I got a fabulous haul from the vintage shops this morning— just a ton of authentic preppy grunge: men's plaid shirts, oversized Levis, floral maxis, and one magnificent, purple, mohair cardigan. I can't wait to wear it all, so I put a bikini on and call my flatmate, Claire. Is it odd that I don't like other girls to see me in underwear? Whatever. I'm weird, I guess.

Claire doesn't think I'm weird. She likes me. But she says I don't wear grunge, I hide in it. She pretends to think I'm frumpy but she secretly loves my aesthetic: whenever I get anything new she wants to watch me try it on, and she makes me mixtapes of obscure dream pop and shoegaze.

I'm listening to her latest find while I try my new haul on. I don't know this song, but it's perfect: an epic, swirling, ethereal flood of distorted guitar and obscured vocals. From the few words I can make out, I think it's called 'Renewed' or maybe 'Be New'. It's good. I understand why Claire was super keen for me to hear it.

She's in an odd mood today. She thinks everything I bought is wrong, and I should show more skin, like her. She says that sort of thing sometimes, like, "Self-expression is sexy, Melanie. Why not be seen?"

But self-expression is why I came to Bristol, it's why I'm studying architecture. What greater self-expression could there be than designing an iconic building for Lodge Hill, in the liminal space where town and country meet. Wouldn't it be wonderful to walk through the city and see something minimalist yet still sensually feminine? A building like Zaha Hadid's Heydar Aliyev centre, like a white dress billowing over a subway grating. That's sexy. That's my ambition: I'm going to create a vision of beauty that everyone can see.

Claire's right though, about everything: this track is incredible, I do cover up too much, and all these clothes are wrong. I can't wear anything I bought. Even this vest is wrong; I should take it off.

Claire says I could try the Oxfam shop in the city centre, they have good stuff sometimes. "Come on, Melanie. I'll go with you."

When we get to the front door we meet Jake, our other flatmate, coming in. He stares at me and says, "Mel! You can't go out like that!"

He's right. That was crazy! I almost went out in a bikini. Why would I wear a bikini in the city? I should be nude.

I untie my briefs and let them fall on the floor. Clair smiles, unties my halter top for me, and follows me out.

More from Marsha…

Another Micro Monday Tale by Susie Mace