and not at me? Since he is the one who should be faithful to you, not me. I don't owe you shit, Sandra.”
“So you admit it then. You whore!”
I do have to admit she does look pretty when she's mad. Real. I find myself wanting to make her cry just to ruin her makeup, to take a glimpse of her true self. Maybe that was what Satan saw in her. I get up and she takes a step back. I'm taller, larger and slightly scary — mostly because I dress like one of the girls from The Craft and there's a rumor I once beat a guy into a coma.
“I don't know what you want me to tell you, Sandra. I have never fucked your boyfriend. I will never fuck your boyfriend. Your boyfriend does not love me.” I look around, all eyes still on us. “Is this honestly news to anybody here? I mean, even freshmen know this. It's probably written on the university's website”.
There are some laughs, Satan's being the loudest, but Sandra is still raging.
“I saw him get out of your house!” She screams.
“We are friends. We have been friends for years and we will continue to be friends until I can't stand this fucking shit anymore. Do you see how little he cares?”
“Hey, easy. I do care.” Satan says.
“For your dick!” Someone else yells. Kim laughs and I'm suddenly exhausted. I do not want to be here, my day is ruined. Such a perfect day, weather wise. I want to disappear. What we have, Satan and I, may not be special but fuck. It is mine. I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to lose it, I don't want it to change. But I also don't want to lie to this poor girl who had the bad fortune of falling for him. I remember his tongue on my clavicles, his hands brushing my hair, my mouth watering with desire and Almost Crimes sounds so incredibly thunderous it is making me dizzy — flashback to the past and his elbows are pressing me against the mattress, rusty words of love and hate being the only way, and to the present with this girl calling me a whore — and I feel as if I'm looking in a mirror. Are we that different? I pick up my bag and walk away from them, from this place, from Satan.
Jesus stops me just outside the old building. “Are you okay? Where are you going?” He looks young, high and honestly concerned. Kim's calling for me on the hallway. I shrug and start walking again, towards the bus stop. They both stand beside me,without saying another word. I want to thank them. But it's always better to stay put. Nathan's old yellow mini honks from the end of the road. He sticks his head out and yells, “Free ride to Paraíso!”.
somehow, it got easy to laugh out loud
Paraíso is my favorite place on earth.
The owner, Avon, is around thirty but acts like a true teenager. Who, you know, owns a building. We call him Avon because he looks like Avon Barksdale from The Wire and he always ends phrases with “Are you feeling me?” I love, love, love him. But I love his Paraíso more. It is a bar slash venue slash book slash record store slash some kind of bed and breakfast slash home. The building has three floors: Avon lives on the third, the second is the B&B for musicians or runaways, the first the book slash record store and the basement the venue slash bar. As soon as the strong smell of old beer, rolling tobacco and Hamilton's voice hits me I know my sanity is intact. We take our usual table, closer to the empty stage, and shortly after, Hanna, the daytime waitress, brings us four beers with four shots of tequila.
“You look like you need some salt to purify those tormented souls of yours,” She grins.
Jesus throws both hands in the air with a smile, “I don't drink alcohol.”
The woman runs away like he has some kind of disease. Awe, it's good to be home.
Because Kim and Nathan are such wonderful friends they have been waiting for me to talk. Not about what happened exactly. Just waiting for me to feel like talking again. And I was, I swear I was but Jesus, poor adorable kid, had a question.
“Can I ask you something?”
I drink my shot at once, “You can.”
Kim gives me one of her industrial cigarettes, my lips burn.
“Okay. Don't be mad.” Jesus says and that makes Nathan laugh for the first time since he left Eden.
“I promise I won't eat you alive,” I smile, although I totally would. He surely tastes like candy.
“What's the deal with you and Satan? I mean, I know the deal. I'm curious about the when, the how and the why. You know, the facts. The true tale.”
Kim and Nathan are looking at him like he's insane for touching such forbidden subject, half expecting me to tell him to fuck off, but curious withal. I imagine how funny it would look, this whole moment, if we were anime characters. Rue The Day plays in a quiet lament, Paraíso's way of telling me it has my back no matter what.
I take Jesus' beer, “Have you asked Satan?”
He nods, “He said he would make it sound cheap. That you would tell it to me with justice. And pretty adjectives”.
I titter, drying his glass. “Orl Korrect”.
Kim actually gasps.
Nathan shouts “Making history here, Hanna. Bring the rat poison, por favor!”.
don't you know? there is no modern romance
I've never told this story, I don't know how to tell it and I'm somewhat afraid it will change the way they see me, that it will reverse the roles in our play and I'll become the villain. At the same time the memories are erupting from my chest, up hill and down dale, my tongue willing to transform them into spoken words and fuck it.
I inhale deeply, both air and tequila. “We met here.”
Kim opens her mouth but Jesus shushes her. I smile and carry on, “My first night in Paraíso. First week in the city. My flat-mate, I don't even know where she is now, played bass in some godawful post punk band and I came here with her girlfriend to see them. It was love at first sight. I mean, with this place. After the gig my flat-mate introduced me to Satan and the rest of the band. Did you guys know Joseph? Well, he was their drummer. Remarkably paranoid guy. He was the one who started the whole Satan thing, by the way.”
Nathan is blowing smoke rings that look like tiny white halos above Jesus' head, who's stroking his beard incessantly while Kim, already tipsy, plays with a lock of her hair. I stop to light another cigarette and something sharp hits me, the certainty that these eyes, that watch me full of caress, will grow up and blow away. That my story will be part of their memories and they will tell it to their children from their point of view and all its precious little details will be lost or messed up. In a couple of years the first person I'll see after waking up won't be Satan. None of this will matter in time.
Avon comes down, still wearing his pajama pants, grinning. “Speaking of the devil, he just called to see if you were in. I had no idea, man. Why didn't you come up to say hi?” I pump his fist and take a piece of white paper from his fingers.
Kim grins, “She was telling us about her marriage to Satan. From the beginning!”
And that makes Avon's jaw drop, “No way! Where you at? The No Age dedication of love? The sacrifice? Oh, did you already tell them about that time I had to drag my ass downtown to get you two out of jail?”
I murmur spoilers, thinking of how Avon should be the one to write my memoir if not only because of such kick ass chapters' titles, and unfold the paper carefully. It's an old note. The devil does what you ask of him. He must have found it on the blue bedroom. I look at him, who's laughing at something I didn't catch, and do the sign.
Avon rubs my shoulder, “Sure thing, sweets.”
“Guys,” I know they are going to be disappointed but this story isn't going anywhere and, besides, a big group of teenagers, with their hormones on a constant rampage, are yelling for fries and being obnoxiously loud “I really need a nap” I can feel the headache — and the heartache — creeping “We can meet up later. I'm going upstairs. Wake me up after dinner and we will proceed with the storytelling slash beer drinking.” I hug Kim and Nathan carries her watery body from my arms to the door.
Jesus stops, his cheeks painted with a rich deep crimson, “I'm sorry I asked. I just
think your friends should know. And that you deserved to talk about it, without the secrets”.
I smile, he reaches out for my hand, “Are you going to be okay?” He's just nineteen and I'm already jealous of the girl who gets to have him. He is becoming the type of guy who never falls for me; an old fashioned nice guy, who will focus only on loving you the best he can and making it enough. I give him a sloppy kiss on the forehead. “Go back to school, kiddo. Stay excellent.”
I'm halfway up when he calls for me. “I used to get so worried I would cry all night. Dad didn't care. No one seemed to care. After three days of absence he called me from here. I remember word by word because he sounded... Like himself. For the first time in a very long time. He sounded alive. Do you know what he said?”
I turn my back to him and bite my lip to fight the sorrow. Yes, I do know. I've been thinking about it all goddamn, perfect weather wise, day.
my world gets ugly when you're not with me
I was sleeping. There's a girl.
Even when the apartment is empty Avon always puts a record on. He says his building is like a big concrete flower and that he would totally spend his days singing to it, if his voice wasn't so terrible. I recognize the riff instantly and roll my eyes. Avon opens one of the windows and sits on the red sofa, mixing the ingredients for his breakfast joint. The living room's walls are all white but full of