Friday, March 26, 2010

Flashback Fridays: How Twins are Made, Part IV-Confrontation at Mardi Gras

Read more about the love story here.


New Orleans, 1992.

We bob together in the tributary of hurricane-sweating beadwhores that has fed us into Bourbon Street without our having noticed.  In an eddy around a French Colonial stoop we strike at baubles tossed from Spanish wroughtiron balconies though our necks are already heavy with the shimmer of plastic treasure.

I am shirtless in overalls, and my friends are with me.  A skinny Englishman with granny glasses and a ponytail.  A strapping wunderkind who once thought he was in love with me but finally realized he only admired my capacity for drink, which rivaled his own.  And my Asian pixie, toothsome and quietly knowing. 

Brain cells are sacrificed,  laws are broken.  But in this place our sins are laughable.  We are amateurs.

Later, in the parking lot of Ratshit Motel, I am cornered.  Confronted.

"What am I to you?"

I mumble.  She persists.

I sidestep.  She demands. 

The shadow of a languorous ceiling fan drifts over her icy gaze.  Dark.  Light.  Dark.

"My special lady?" I venture.

Her lip curls into the slightest snarl.

"My lady friend?"

She spits.

"Um, girlfrie...I guess girlfriend?  Yeah?"

Her face becomes soft again.

9 comments:

  1. 3 tries to get to the right answer ain't bad at all!

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  2. Thanks Kathy. Under the circumstances, I would have to agree with you.

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  3. I wonder which babies or toddlers running and drooling about right now will someday fall in love with your daughters.

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  4. It's kind of you to have left out "All parties amazed because drunken wunderkind drove us back to Ratshit Motel with some dude he'd picked up, and somehow we all survived---both the terrifying drive and the "motel," also known as the nastiest place I've ever slept."

    As for your capacity to drink, you had far more redeeming qualities than that. More important, I'm glad that she confronted you and things worked out so wonderfully.

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  5. Paul--

    Thanks. It would have been indiscreet of me to mention those details.

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  6. But I'm glad someone did! Those little details add so much...

    What's a 'beadwhore?'

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  7. Ah, my Limey friend--

    The main activity at Mardi Gras is collecting plastic beads thrown from floats and balconies. People will do most anything for these worthless trinkets. Everywhere you go, you hear beadmongers screaming,"Show us your tits!"

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Don't hold back.

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