Arizona bounded out of the closet (physically) and asked Freja, “Does my outfit look hipstery enough for Coachella?”
Freja did not turn around to check. She merely sat at her desk, looking at her computer screen. Arizona held her pose, and sported a duck lipped face she saw on some hipster blogs she had been looking at earlier in the day.
When Freja’s “Float” didn’t bend to see her ‘Zona, the silence and inaction was telling. “Frej?” Arizona asked with a slight tremble to her voice. All the memories of last year at Coachella rushed back to AZ and she began to worry. What if things had changed in the 364 days that had passed since then? What if things had gotten progressively worse, but no one admitted it, like Frejarizona’s love was Radiohead’s recent albums.
Arizona, in her crop top, jean shorts and rubber boots- her Coachella hipster look- galloped over to Freja.
“We’re not going,” Freja said, unable to look her lesbilove in the eyes.
“Freja, I was only looking at those hipster blogs for inspiration. I’m sorry the auto-play on 666-xoxo-princess’ blog woke you up.”
“No. It’s not that. I just went online to look at the lineups one last time and I saw someone was missing.”
Arizona knew that this moment would arrive, but she thought she could put it off until they were in the parking lot, trying to figure out how they were going to sneak Hanne’s beers past the gates.
“They call this a music festival, but they are missing music’s soul,” Freja said, finally looking Arizona in the eyes.
“Is it…” Arizona asked, then immediately sat on Freja’s lap because she knew that hugs will be needed soon.
“Yes, ‘Zona. It’s awful. Mandy Moore will not be at Coachella.”
Arizona hugged Freja and tried to hum the tune to “Candy” like Freja would to for her when Arizona would find out that she was passed up yet again for a fragrance campaign.
“I mean, what the fuck?” Freja burst out in anger, “They let Mac Miller in. I don’t even know what that is? How many times have you ever heard someone say, ‘Oh, that Mac Miller’s song is very not shit’? Zero times. That’s how many ‘Zona.
Arizona silently agreed that she had no idea what a Mac Miller was.
“This is all Bryan Adam’s fault, again,” Freja raged, “Fucking Canada.”
“I think you mean Ryan Adams?” Arizona corrected her.
“Who is Bryan Adams then? Probably Mac Miller’s brother.”
“I know, babe. Mandy made a great sacrifice by marrying Ryan Adams. Canada does seem horrible, and this is coming from a person who lived in New Mexico,” Arizona said as she stroked Freja’s hair.
“Will you be mad if we don’t go?” Freja asked Arizona.
“I could never be mad at you,” Arizona responded, now confident that in the past year their love only got better. Their love was the anti-Coachella.
Freja nuzzled her nose on Arizona’s terrible crop top and asked another question, “Will you do something else for me?”
“Of course my Denmarkian Queen. Anything.”
“Will you hold my hair back while I pout and listen to Mandy’s “Best Of” album on my ipod touch?”
“Forever.”
***NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION FILLED WITH VERY NOT REAL CONVERSATIONS***
