I Broke My Own Heart Eau de Parfum

She drafts an instant message to her best friend, the AOL screen the only light source in her room—teal-painted in the daylight, but everything looks dark purple at the late hour of 9:30 PM. "R u up?" Pressing send, she feels strangely vulnerable—a blast of cheap, "coconut-scented" detangling spray later, she realizes her best friend's hairs are still stuck in her plastic brush. There's no response by ten, so she goes to bed with still-damp hair. She doesn't know it yet, but she'll think about this night with unspeakable longing once every five years until she dies.