With intense concentration, she worked her fingers back and forth
as she braided her hair into long thing pigtails on each side of her
head. She stood there in the bathroom in pants that were too big and
a shirt that was too small.
"You know, it takes me a lot more time to do the left side than
the right side," she said as she turned her attention from the bathroom
mirror to me. "It's just so much harder."
"It's because you're more dominant with your right hand," I
commented back.
"I know. I was just saying that it was a pain in the ass."
With that, I walked over to the kitchen counter and switched the
CD in the boombox. The music started and I heard the snap of a rubber
band. I looked over at her. She had finished her braids and had wound
them up into buns on either side of her head holding them with her
hands turning to the side to see how they looked.
"I have these crazy scrunchies that I usually use to put these up
in little Princess Leia buns, but I left them at home. I guess
they'll just have to stay down for tonite."
Letting go of her pigtails, they promptly unrolled and fell down
past her shoulders.
"I kinda think it's pretty cute the way it is right now. I'd
leave them down anyways."
"Thanks," she said to me with a smile. "Hey, you want some
glitter? I have plenty."
"Sure," I said knowing full well that I had never used body
glitter. I joined her in the cramped closet of a bathroom.
On the sink, she had placed several tubes of glitter in a variety
of colors; green, white, silver, blue, orange, gold and multicolor. I
looked at her in the mirror from behind her as she rubbed the silver
glitteronto her face, arms and bare stomach. As she moved, I could
see the particles of glitter sparkle as the flourescent light played
on her skin.
"What color?" she asked through the mirror.
"I guess I'll go for that transparent white stuff."
She handed me a tube over her shoulder.
"Do I just glob it on?" I asked.
"Well, you rub it in. How much you use is up to you. I'm of the
opinion that there is no such thing as too much glitter."
Carefully, I squirted a glob of glitter into the palm of my hand.
It didn't look like much; just some hair gel with some sparkles
suspended in it. The initial touch of the glitter on my arms was cold,
but with each stroke, the gel warmed to my body and seeped into my
skin leaving only a little shine. With each handful of glitter, I
became more ambitious to the point where I was just short of being a
mirrorball. I covered my arms, neck and face.
She turned around and looked at me leaning against the sink. She
looked at me for a second, then reached her hand up and touched my
face. With her thumb, she gently rubbed along my cheekbone.
"You had an uneven spot," she informed me before changing tones.
"You know what would look cool?"
"What's that?" I asked as I smeared another glob onto my arm.
"I think you need some blue," she said as she handed me a tube.
"Hmm," I examined my glittery face in the mirror. "I don't know
how freaky I want to get tonight."
"Why not?" she asked. "It doesn't really matter. Remember.
Dark plus rolling equals beautiful."
I chuckled. "Sure. Fine. Okay... Let's do it. Do what you
will," I said as I tossed the tube of glitter back to her.
Squirting a small gob onto her finger, "Close your eyes," she
said.
I closed my eyes and felt her fingertips run over my eyelids.
From there, she moved to my cheekbones. I could feel her moving
closer to me. Her warm breath fell across my cheek and I was afraid to
open my eyes.
When she finished, she wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered,
"Done!" into my ear.
Slowly, I opened my eyes as if I had just been spooked and was
curious of the ghost was still there. When I finally focused, there
she was staring back at me. She smiled. I couldn't help but look her
in the eye. They were like two glowing white and blue orbs that
illuminated the rest of her face. I couldn't help but get drawn in.
They were hypnotizing. Helplessly, I found our gazes inching closer
and closer.
Blink.
I snapped out of it and tilted my head to the right to check out
my new glitter.
She then took her arms from around my neck allowing me a full
view of the mirror and stood behind me with her chin on my shoulder.
When I looked in the mirror, I didn't see myself. There was
someone else staring back at me. It was someone with all of my
features except for my eyes. I could see that person staring back had
a different mind set, a different agenda. He had all of my confidences
and more. Strangely enough he had none of my insecurities. The longer
I stared at him, the more scared I became.
"I remember when you couldn't do this," I heard a voice in my ear.
"I rememver when you couldn't do anything at all wiht your hair."
I shifted my gaze to see her in the mirror. She was running her
hands through my ponytail.
I want to do something funky with my hair tonight, " I told her.
"I want to do something just... different."
She paused for a moment. "I think I can help you out with that."
I closed my eyes and she took my comb from the vanity. I could
hear her turn on the water and dip my comb in. I coudl hear the water
spread, flow and drip through the comb as it sat in another's hand.
The first stroke pulled water through my hair, which trickled down to
my scalp providing me with a chill. Drops would travel over my skull,
down my neck and would be absorbed by my shirt. Five minutes later, my
hair was wet and was being parted down the middle. My hair, not
usually down, fell over and below my shoulders almost to the bottom of
my shoulder blades.
I opened my eyes and closed them again. In that fraction of a
second, I could see my hair hanging down in front of my eyes in thin
combed bundles. I couldn't see my face, but I could see the shimmer
of glitter through the broken sheet of pitch black hair like stars in
a midnight sky. For a moment, I thought that I could see two moons
among the stars. As I thought about it, if figured out that it was
a glow coming from my eyes.
After I closed my eyes, I could feel my hair being pulled on from
the front of my face to the back side of my head. I could feel each
side being being put up. Her hands and my comb ran over my head back
to the base of the bundles of hair. Her hands then smoothed over my
hair as if applying hair gel. An elastic was used to capture each
handful of hair on either side of my head. Two more minutes of
smoothing the hair against my scalp and messing with the bundles and I
opened my eyes to see two loose pigtails. My hair, now like my face,
dawned glitter evident as the light played upon it.
"Well," she fished. "What do you think?"
"I think..." I began. "I think it's cool. It's totally not what
I expected," I said as I checked myself out in the mirror. "I expected
spikes or braids or cornrows, but not these.
I pulled the pigtails up and away from my head.
"Cool... Very cool."
She smiled and wrapped her arms around me as she looked at me in
the mirror.
"Hey," she said as she let me go and turned to fish through her
nag. "Go get dressed. I think we should be leaving pretty soon."
"Alright," I said halfway to my room.
I was slightly in a daze. A week ago, I would have never expected
to look like this, feel like this or have her here. I guess that was
the most shocking part of this all.
CDs, clothes, papers, magazines and other random objects were
strewn about the room. The bed was unmade and the mirror waterspotted
from showers gone by. My walls were filled wiht the emptiness of
white paint and a Dali print was framed over my head board.
I opened the blue plastic bag laying on the bed and retreived a
bright orange pair of pants. I held them up to my waist, then up to
the light. Silver trim flashed as light reflected from it. There was
no doubt that these pants were way too big for me. The cargo pockets
alone were large enough to house a midget in each. I could see myself
as a momma kangaroo for two midget joeys. Furthermore thse joeys could
probably use the reflective straps hanging out of the cargo pockets
as seatbelts or tethers. I chuckled at the though.
After a couple of minutes, I emerged from my room in brand new
baggy orange pants and a navy blue Tribal Gear t-shirt which had the
word "Tribal" tagged on the chest. Upon arrival back into the kitchen,
she was already ready to go. She leaned against the counter and
sipped her light green Gatorade.
I remember a few years ago, I would come home from work or classes
or from just being out and she would be there in my kitchen sipping
something, waiting for me. Somehow, she would always be in the same
position. Leaning against the counter with her back to it, facing the
door with her drink of choice in her right hand and her left hand
either bracing herself behind her or holding some form of reading
material. There were days when I came home around sunset and the
window behind the counter would be filled with the watercolor red and
orange light. It would stream overher her shoulders reducing her to a
shadowy figure leaning on my counter. The sunlight would flow through
her blonde hair and illuminating each strand. When the weather was
good and the windows were open, her hair would calmly float in the
wind like tall grass on an open field. Now, she looked like a girl
that I used to know.
While I was changing, she had put on her plastic bead jewelry
which she referred to as her "raver candy." On the counter she had
laid out a number of items: two disposable cameras, four glowsticks,
two thin hand towels, a vicks menthol inhaler and a bandana. She put
down her Gatorade.
"You look awesome," she gasped. "The look suits you." She paused.
"I mean really..."
"Thanks," was all I could come up with to say.
"Here," she handed me a towel, a camera and two glowsticks. "Put
these in your pockets."
She grabbed the remaining items and stashed them all away into her
pockets. In the span of about two minutes, she buzzed around and
managed to go to the bathroom, check herself in the mirror, rummage
through her bag to make sure that she wasn't forgetting anything and
made sure that she had her CD case in hand.
"You ready?" she asked me.
"Gimmie a sec," I told her on the way to the bathroom.
As I washed my hands, I took a double-take as I glanced in the
mirror. I had startled myself with my own image. Leaning onto the
vanity and placing my face inches from the mirror, I found myself talking
to myself.
"So, how do you like you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I said, how do you like who you are because I am you."
"You don't look like me..."
"Look closer. Look! Look into your eyes. You are me and I am you."
"Why are you here? What are you doing here?"
"I'm only here because you want me to be."
"But..."
"Hey," I heard from the other side of the door. "Almost ready? We
still have to stop at the A&P."
"Yeah," I replied. "I just got a piece of glitter in my eye."
I opened the bathroom door to see her already poised by the door
to the apartment.
"Ready?" I asked as I scooped up my keys in my left hand and met
her at the door.
She nodded.
I opened the door, turned off the light and placed my hand on her
back to lead her out. As she walked, I trailed my hand down, tracing
the line of her spine with my fingers all of the way down her back. The
tips of my fingers lingered at the base of her back before she escaped
me. After a few strides, she turned on her heel to face me as she waited
for me to lock the door.
"We have to take 'before' pictures, you know," she told me as we
walked to my car at the end of the block.
My car was just in sight as I agreed to having pictures taken.
Though not the most attractive of cars, my car was a dependable car.
It was like an old horse, stubborn at times to the point of needing a
soothing and encouraging voice to help motivate it and comforting like
an old friend. In the seven years since I had purchased the twenty-five
year old jalopy, it had served me well. It brought me to college and went
with me when I left. It accompanied me on my first cross country road
trip to see about a girl and wept with me on the road home after it
didn't work out. For a few years, every penny that I spent was on that
car; a new stereo, new tire, a new water pump and a cracked pipe on
the radiator. But after all of that and a little Bond-O on the body
behind the driver's side rear wheel, my car was the most comfortable
place in the world. It's not like it was so comfortable that I slept
there, at least not on a regular basis, but whenever I was awake, bored
or alone late at night or in the middle of the day while the rest of
the world worked, I would just turn the key and drive.
There was one time where I was alone on a Friday night. The day
before, I had broken up with a girl. Actually she dumped me, but if
had caught me on any other day, I would have said that it was mutual.
Anyhow, I was alone. My friends had all either gone out of town or
went out on the town. I was invited to go with them, but at first I
had planned to spend a weekend with my, what was soon to be,
ex-girlfriend., after that, I just didn't feel like being social.
It was two in the morning and the apartment was silent. The TV
was on, but was muted. I sat there mulling over a freelance project
that wasn't going anywhere when I grabbed my keys and my wallet and
took off. I blew through Manhattan, then through Boston. Before I
knew it, it was five-thirty in the morning on the rocky coast of Maine.
Perched on the hood of my car, I ate take out pancakes with real maple
syrup and watched the black sky lighten, bleed red and then return to
a baby blue. I drove for an entire day not knowing quite where I was
going, stopping occasionally to get some food, use the bathroom, or to
write in my journal.
"Smile!" she prodded.
I flashed her some whites.
Click.
My mouth returned to its normal relaxed state.
"Okay," she said. "My turn!"
I pulled the camera that was given to me not more than a few
minutes ago from my oversized picket and leaned against a tree to wait
for the flash to charge.
It was a nice cool summer night, the kind where as a kid you
would stay out well past the time when the street lamps flickered on
and the crickets began to sing. There was no jacket required and
pants or shorts would have been appropriate.
"Ready?" she asked me.
I looked down. The flash was ready. I told her so and she
proceeded to pose for her first picture, just standing there with her
hands folded in front of her. She smiled with her eyes squinting and
a wide mouthful of teeth. It was a picture perfect reproduction of an
anime girl who was pleased with something that had just happened to her
or one of her friends. Entirely too cutesy, I thought to myself, but
I opted not to say anything about it to her.
For the second picture, she leaned against my car with her arms
supporting her against the hood. This time, she had a closed lip sly
smile. She looked at the camera; she looked at me like she knew
something that I didn't. Her eyes penetrated through the lens and
through the view finder right into my eye. I took the picture.
"Do you mind if I stand on your car for this last one?" she asked
in an innocent tone.
I thought about it for a second and against my better judgement,
I said, "If you really want to...."
Wintin a half second, she climed and stood atop the hood of my
car. Given that it was an old car, the painted stainless steel didn't
bow at her feet. It stood strong, the way that cars in the 60s and
70s did.
"Come closer and kneel down," she instructed.
I did as she said and knelt down a couple of feet from the car.
When I looked through the viewfinder, I saw her staring down at me.
Her feet were shoulder width apart and her hands were on her hips.
The streamers from her pants flowed in the breeze that whipped down
the street.
With all of the picture taking finished, we head down to the A&P,
which was just a couple of miles away from my apartment. When we got
there, the parking lot still had at least ten cars in it. Usually the
place clears out just after eight.
She didn't even have to tell me why we were at a grocery store at
nine-thirty in the evening before a rave. We were obviously in search
of Gatorade and Red Bull. The Gatorade was to keep us hydrated and
full of electrolytes for as long as we could go without breaking down
to buy some of the overpriced concessions. The Red Bull was to give
us a boost right before we entered and began the intense eight hours
dancing that lay ahead. I remember when we were together, she used to
describe to me the ritual that she and her friend Chaz used to follow.
So I knew that around halfway through the night we would be purchasing
another Red Bull from a vendor inside the rave for twice the price.
In the check out line, we held our precious bottles and cans of
energy. In front of us waited a middle aged woman to pay for her two
cans of cat food, half gallon of milk, wedge of brie, french bread and
a couple of granny smith apples. You could tell that she was trying
desperately not to stare at either of us, but every so often, I caught
her staring at my hair and my pants. Heaven forbid if anyone she knew
dressed like us or looked like us unless we were six year old girls.
As she slid her credit card to pay for her groceries, she looked at me.
I caught her eye to eye, nodded at her and gave her a wink. She
proceeded to look away, grab her groceries and walked away with great
haste.
Back in the car with Gatorade cracked and Red Bull stashed away,
I fired my baby up. With a roar, she came to life. As I pulled out
of the parking lot, I snapped in the removable face to my stereo and
powered it up. The thump of the bass came through the speakers with a
constant house beat. Themes and melodies broke out over it, joined by
a female vocal.
"Who's this?" she asked.
"It's a Hawtin bootleg," I responded.
"Oh," she said half-heartedly. "Can't we listen to Oakie? I
know you have Tranceport in your case."
I laughed. "And you think I'm mainstream for where I go to see
DJs I want to see all the while you want to listen to Oakenfold?"
"What's wrong with Oakenfold?"
"Nothing if you want to listen to 'the number one most popular
DJ in the world.'"
"Hey, at least I see these animals in their natural habitat, not
in those euro-trash Armani enclaves that people call clubs."
"I am going to this with you, aren't I?"
"It still doesn't change the fact that you get all dressed to the
nines to pay twenty dollars and only see at most two DHs, whereas I
pay thirty-five to see anywhere between ten and fifteen DJs. Any
Economist will tell you that I get the better deal."
"Sure. Fine. Whatever you sat." I conceded.I didn't much feel
like arguing with her for the remainder of the ride to the rave. "How
about if we thrown on some Cirrus?"