Headstands

"Go home Joce"

There I was, legs up on the wall. I was attempting a headstand in this glorious mansion.

House spinning. House upside-down.

House this, house mooottheeerrrflipping-that.

He was clearly pissed.

I just wanted to run away for a bit. So, I did.

I ran.

Mid-stride, hair loose (this is a euphemism) I tripped over Rich.

Rich, my singular regret. 

R is for Rich. R is for Regret.

R was for failure back in grade school.

I could see dust arrange itself luxuriously around the armoire's legs, large vases holding dried roses, baby's breath and jagged branches cut from hunting long ago. Rich comes from a long line of hunters.

Germans. British.

Old money, you see. 

Or the way his mother called it, "Funds from yesteryear dear, funds from yesteryear"

"Excuse me Mrs. What'syourface but, well, gee golly if they's from yesteryear, then how do you explain the luxury of having such an underachieving son?"

But I didn't. I just nodded and asked for the second teaspoon of sugar.

"Yes, and another?"

"And another"

Wanted sugar when I shoulda wanted the honey.

But he wasn't all that bad.

I wore a trampy plum number with lace and velvet in one. In one?! In one.

My eyes were so black from the pencil I was a stroke away from being crossed out and blind.

Fortunately, the sliver of light remained. So much so, that it managed to attract the only filth that could cover it up, spit on the mound and move on.

Pleasantly surprising for the both of us, the filth did. And then, so did I. It was seedy. What did you expect?

Oh, did you really think I was creative enough then to search for filth in the stuffy opera box-seats where it multiplied?

*

"You're squirming too much"

The wallpaper at Bethany's looks European. She's trying to fix my lace straps as I've made a mess of it all.

"You made a mess it of all Joce"

Mess of it all, mess mess mess of it all. I rap it out on the wall I've been staring at for the past 5 minutes. She's been fumbling with bows for hours and I just want to leave. Maria's wasted and can't move so she's been spinning the empty rum bottle on the dining room floor in the dark and watching the pretty colours reflect and break. Maria could be an artist. She watches the beams mesmerized and almost makes a mental necklace out of them. Why she won't just pick up a craft is beyond me. She always finds other things. Boys. Dieting.

Beth's pup came and sniffed my toes. He's so cuddly and cute and smells like rose soaps. I squirm. Finally, she turns me around and looks very pleased. Like a piece of work finished. Like a glowing Pygmalion was, inevitably, the only alabaster surface she was reasonable enough to expect knowing my stock and her..skill.

 

Bethany is smarter than me. She teaches me how to walk, dress, and what it means to invest. At 17, after my nebulous sadness lifted for a bit I found her and a whole array of girls in the French-speaking class Maria and I thought would be hilarious to join because crocheting with the chaplaincy crew was lamer than dipping off the docks when October grazed our plains with gold and brown. And pieces of branch.

The October branch I should have gouged my eyes open with. So I could see. All this time, I wanted to be seen. But did I ever really see?

"You look like Madrid on crack"

To Bethany that meant good. She puts on my fur coat. She brushes it, she brushes my hair into its folds. I look in the mirror and feel warmth. Whiskey fire, velvet cushions, pollen, my mother's singing, fuckable. Fuck-able. FUck-abe-l.

I have these high heels on. I don't know how to walk in them. It doesn't matter. All's a blur. I'm on an assembly line. 

Lights, lights lights, the broken jagged pieces of light that fall all over me. In shards, my eyes hurting, I'm scared and curious. I'm more curious than scared but the scared feeling never really goes away.

Maria's behind me and she's turned into the Cheshire cat she's so bubbly. She's an open champagne bottle and I drink a little.

By the time I've rearranged all the pieces of light and put them all back in the streetlights, we get there.

A subterranean door opens and I almost see Eurydice's sole disappear. I brush my eyes and remember I've got charcoal written all over me and I quickly look at my finger. It's dirty with greyish smudge. I lick it and it tastes like black perfume. I lick again.

I go down some steps and someone takes off my fur. It disappears but it's okay because I witnessed the gloved exchange and the sparkle of coin and ticket. Bethany is so smart. I sigh and as soon as I get to the bar I'm already in Rich. Or Rich is in me. 

Rich and I are in each other. An unspoken bond

*

"I'm waiting for my dress to dry"

"Just get it tomorrow babe. Wear my sweater"

Imagine that. His sweater.