Friday, August 24, 2012

Your hair is beautiful

When I wake up, I'm collapsed on a sofa and Sean is waving her hands in front of my face and saying Mattilda, are you there, Mattilda, this is Dawn Davenport, Back Bay station, Dawn Davenport and I know she's talking to me but I can't say anything. When I look at her eyes I see my eyes but upside-down and everything in the room is dark and buzzing like there's suddenly a shadow over and around and inside everything. It's like reverse ecstasy, how do I get out?

Somehow then we're in the car and I'm trying not to look outside, too bright and sharp like my eyes might break, where are we going, oh, we’re going home yes home, maybe I said something and I look at my clock, 3 pm and I don't know how I'm going to sleep so I snort some doxepin, take a Xanax and throw off my clothes and get in bed and for a while everything is zooming past me, like I'm having conversations in my head with Abby who isn't here, she's at work, but she's here in my head and eventually the clouds start slowing down and oh, I love it here under the covers, and then someone's knocking at my door.
         Mattilda, Mattilda, wake up—we’re going to miss Avalon.
Avalon?
Mattilda, it's almost midnight.
Midnight? What do you mean? I look at the clock, somehow can't figure out 11:30 when it's dark outside and oh, I'm so hungry.
Okay, I'm getting up.
I put on my robe, and it feels sensual even though everything hurts, maybe I'm still feeling the good part of the ecstasy a bit—I guess I got my eight hours of sleep, maybe I'll be okay.
Abby’s sitting in the kitchen smoking a cigarette; she's wearing the same outfit, including the sunglasses. Did you sleep?
A little bit.
Are you sure you want to go to Avalon?
Mattilda, we have to go to Avalon.
Why?
The photo booth.
 
Oh, okay. I need to eat something first, and then take a shower. It'll be a while—we probably won't get there until the last minute.
 
That's okay.
 
I'm already starting to feel sad in that way that feels like it will never end—at least I had that Xanax last night, what am I going to do when I run out of the samples from my father's medicine cabinet—don't worry about that now, I still probably have 50 of those. I open the refrigerator—oh, I'm so glad I got this hummous and tabouli—Abby, do you want some hummous and tabouli?
 
I put the pita bread on the table, and we dip it in—oh, this is delicious! Abby’s smoking in between tiny bites and I eat pretty much the whole container of hummous, which makes sense because I hardly ate anything at all yesterday – oh, wait, is that really the same glass of orange juice on the table, I mean I don't usually believe in doing drugs in the morning but this isn't really the morning, is it? An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but a quarter glass of ecstasy-laced orange juice and yes, just the right amount to bring that softness back to my head, okay now I'm ready for my shower yes this shower is amazing I can't believe I didn't try this yesterday and then I'm downstairs and I throw together the perfect outfit, paisley housecoats one over the other, pink on top, purple on the bottom almost like petticoats with my combat boots and pink, purple and green plaid tights—Newberry Street is good for something—but what should I do with my hair—oh, I know, green rollers and now Sean and Billy are downstairs too, Sean is trying to get the last little bit of coke out of the vial and Billy's eating my pita bread without asking but at the moment I don't care I'm just so glad I don't feel hideously horrible, deathly and disastrous, you girls going out tonight and then just like that we’re in the car.
 
Sure, we don't get there until just before closing and by then I already feel like I'm crashing again but Jason waves us in and right when we walk in the door they're playing that song that goes "Your hair is beautifu-ul,” and yes I’m giving slow runway as we make our way through the endless glitz of carpet and the bar that never ends and the fancy lights and the dance floor full of Boston's finest messes and I lean over to the tired bitches looking at me like they've never seen anything like it and I say yes, my hair. Bitch. Yes. My. Hair. Yes.
 
Turn, stop for the camera, turn again—yes, bitch, my, hair, yes, bitch, my, hair— speeding up with the beats and Sean starts to sing it, pointing at me, your hair, and Abby’s got her Long Island ice tea and she's doing that thing where she hums and sways with her eyes closed and the straw in her mouth and Billy’s whining about needing a drink and just then the music stops.

2 comments:

kayti said...

I miss xanax so much but luckily I still have Ativan. This book about Boston is going to have a lot of drugs in it and a lot of drama and hopefully some romance and passion in it. Do you have a name for it yet?

mattilda bernstein sycamore said...

A lot of drugs and drama, indeed :)

This novel is called Sketchtasy.

Love--
mattilda