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"so, he thought I was a fun companion, but he just didn't love me - and definitely wanted to nip all my wanting in the bud."
she pulled her spider hair out. she hadn't gotten the part.
there were literal ditch diggers in front of her house - something for the water company. the shovels made such an ancient sound... she imagined. She sighed as she pondered, why are there never any white people in these labor crews and never any non-white people at an lcd soundsystem concert. it felt racist to even say such a thing (everyone is racist). Besides Japanese people probably loved LCD and Mexico City... and she actually thought racism was the trauma wound still being played out in the world. Everyone wanted to get the part. for fook's sake, our lord billionaire is from South Africa. she remembers meeting that guy from SA and going, "oh, it sounds a lot like the South here." (she still used that guy's revived expression, "you turn me on.")
"me? I am kind of a snob - I like a nice Irish/british accent - the SA and Australia accents have this flatness in their 'r's' or something. I don't know.... he just didn't like me huh. all these words. all this angst. all this fucking avoidance attachment bullshit, and the thing I dance around is - dude didn't love you enough to go through what it takes to get to you"
they were using a machine now. it really killed the ancient vibe.
she was supposed to go to South Carolina soon. maybe she'd swing by wilmington and see some beach music, but it was kind of hard - the logistics, the cats, the mother/sister, the fucking car.
oh, she had taken a shower a day or so ago. it had been quick and her grime had been like an inch thick after cutting the yard a bit. it was what she had thought: annoying (ending something) then 'glad I did it'.
and all of it.
acting.
acting like someone who could be loved.
acting like someone who could be loved by a unique awesome freak.
"aren't the masks so interesting. I was thinking about my mask on the drive here. there was a great podcast about it."
maybe she hadn't loved him.
she
chortled sprite out of her nose
at
that.
but it's possible. she could have just used him to make her remember that she was kind of stimulating - not the rotting caviar of macon Georgia. She could have just thought "wow. someone like me. interesting." Instead, she had made him Elvis.
she remembers being a long wavy blond-haired (her mother had loved this phase) ittle 4-year old girl going to mrs. grace's nursery school just up the street from where she typed and how shy she had been - always the new kid kid - and how bonding it had been to try to dig a hole to china - the child crew covered the hole every day - to try like the most important thing in the world - to keep it a secret from mrs. grace. she loved her. Mrs. Grace gave her strawberry candy - the kind wrapped to look like a strawberry and a jelly filling inside the sweet hard pink candy. sugar is the gateway drug.
Kristy told her while she was fawning at her feet, "I'm not supposed to tell, but we're digging a hole to china."
she looked at me. "I know. I won't tell anyone."
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