4One.
Off all the terrible things I've done in life, skipping out on my great aunt's funeral is probably around the top of the list. I'd place it somewhere under stealing five hundred dollars from my grandparents to feed one of my coke binges.
But there I was, sliding out of the church where dear aunt Ruth was getting her "May she rest in peace's", already fumbling around my clutch for a Camel. My fingers bumped my red lipstick, emergency condom, and the small baggie of grass hanging out of the Hello Kitty coin purse I never used. The sun was brutally hot, licking its way up my face and down my dark dress that my mother had tried her best to convince me not to wear. In her mind, I'm a rebellious teen whore with a notion for royally pissing her off. Well, screw her.
I'm a bottle red indie goddess, a hell cat flipping off conformity and any morals that Bible pushers throw my way, moshing my way through life. Sitting across a church on the curb in front of a 7-11 while I was wearing a skimpy pair of panties that read Find My Hidden Treasure beneath my daintily tucked under dress, with eyes still blood shot and skin smelling like sex and Opium perfume only made me grin wide at the sun. My eyes sizzled and bubbled. Scrambled corneas.
There was something nice about being in the hot hot sun. Cleansing. Purifying. My pores opened up and spewed whatever crap was brewing under them. Sticky sweat laced with drugs and booze and semen.
The church doors opened and closed. Probably some poor fuck trying to escape the incense that they forced into your lungs. I never understood the whole to-do over dead people. Once they're dead, they're dead. It doesn't matter how many tears you spill. Unless those little droplets of water have special healing powers, the person's worm food. Or fish food.
"Violet?"
I shielded my eyes to see who was walking towards me. It was…Mason. Mason Quest.
"Violet?" He repeated again once he stood beside me.
"Shouldn't you be…in there?" I asked waving my hand at the church before sucking on the cancer stick hanging from my fingers.
"My dad needed something from the car."
I squinted up at him. It had been…three years? since I saw him last. At the first party I ever went to. I remember that bong that Mary's now boyfriend had there. It was made of red glass. Pretty.
That first ever party took place in a small house with half dead bushes planted outside. My then new friend Mary had supposedly gotten invited by a guy who's brother's friend's cousin's cousin Mary had blown. I didn't really believe her then. Now I do.
I had gotten separated from her. One minute she was sitting on the stairs with a guy who had pink hair and a hand up her skirt, and the next she was gone, slipping through a door with Pinky. The thump thump thump of the bass line that spewed out of the stereo shook every nerve in my body as I tried to get to that door Mary had disappeared into. But I was stuck in between a skin head and a big girl with the words BITE ME written across her gigantic breasts.
If the fact I was being sandwiched between two people way bigger then me didn't make me dizzy and sick, then the fifth red cup that had been passed into my hands definitely did. Half of it was spilled down my mother's beaded top I had borrowed (stole) from her closet. The swirl of the stain weaved its way with the swirl of the red beads snaking their way down my torso.
Then I was freed. Someone had gotten hold of my shoulders and pulled me with them. It was Mason. He was the son of a friend of my dad's. Back then, all I knew about him was the fact that his hair was the color of melted chocolate.
"Hey…Violet. What are you doing here?" He asked, looking over my shoulder.
I took a gulp out of my cup. "I'm…looking for my friend. Have you seen her? Blonde hair?"
He shook his head. "No. Maybe…"
"What are you doing here?" I interrupted and jabbed a finger into his chest.
"I'm picking up a friend." Back then, I didn't find that as pathetic. After all, I was a naïve fourteen year old who still secretly slept with a blankie clutched in her hands.
"I should drive you home," He said and tried to take my cup.
"No!" I screeched and cradled it in my arms. "I need to find Mary!"
"Violet, I think that maybe-"
I fought my way out of his hands and ran off, elbowing people. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if he took me home. I probably wouldn't have become me, because the minute Mary hopped off the bed and ran to me, high as a kite, and I caught a glimpse of that pretty red glass, I was gone.
Looking up at Mason, I wondered if he remembered that night. Probably not. I'm surprised I did. Half of my memories spiraled down the toilet with my puke.
"So…I…I saw you and…" He trailed off, a blush spreading across his cheeks.
He looked different since the last time I saw him. Back then, his hair was short and groomed. Now, the ends curled over his sharp looking suit and fell into his eyes. It kind of surprised me. He was always a good boy. The kind of boy that always got a pat on the head for doing a good job. Like a dog. Good boy, Sparky.
"Well…I'm going to go back inside," He mumbled. I gave a sarcastic wave and he left, walking back across the street with his hands shoved into his pockets. I shook my head, cigarette dangling from my lips. What a loser.
Kent's house smelled nasty. Nastier then nasty. Like weed, vomit, and cat piss.
"What the fuck happened?" I yelled after I opened the door. There was shit all over the place. And in the kitchen, Kent laid naked on top of the counter, his dreadlocks spilling over onto a stack of plates.
I gave him a good thump on the chest and he sputtered to life, like a defective TV.
"W-What!? I swear I didn't do it!" He screeched eyes yellow and fists clenched.
Snorting, I got the broom out of the closet and shoved it up at him.
"Vi?" He sighed in relief. "I thought you were a cop. Or my mother."
"Your mother's a whore in Los Angeles," I reminded him. "You live by yourself."
He blinked. "Oh. Right. Hey…what are you doing here? That lady died right?"
"Whatever," I mumbled. "What the fuck happened here?"
"Knarly ass party." He tossed a bag at me. "Got some good stuff."
I opened it, and then closed it, a smirk stretching across my face. "So early in the morning?"
He laughed and got up, still stark naked. "It's never too early to fly."