But first I need sunglasses, where are my sunglasses?
Oh, I left them at Avalon. I’ll have to use another pair. Two pairs.
Okay, I’m fine. Just take the stairs.
Oh, the stairs, yes, I love these white stairs. Let’s see, where do I keep all my sunglasses? Yes, the closet. Here I am. In the most beautiful closet the world has ever seen, gritting my teeth—Alexa, stop gritting your teeth, everything will be fine. You just need a little Xanax, where’s the Xanax, oh, Nate took it from me, never mind.
Let’s take a look in the mirror. More lipstick, that’s what we need, yes, just bite off a few chunks, perfect. Let’s add the rainbow glitter, yes, let’s add the rainbow glitter to the lipstick. Love it. Now, let’s get the hair back in place and freeze those curls for the world, the world needs those curls. Here’s the sunglasses drawer.
Oh, my camera, camera’s ready, yes, let’s take out the camera.
But Colin’s ashes. They’re still here in that paper cup. I need to do something with Colin’s ashes.
Alexa, you’re mumbling. Mumbling and fumbling, no crumbling.
I need to hear that song.
Oh, that’s better. So much better. “Good evening parents, tonight I’m going to take you on a tour …”
Yes, a tour, honey, a tour—why didn’t I think of that sooner? And which purse should I bring?
The red one, darling, of course the red one, there’s always a red purse.
Alexa, don’t forget the sunglasses, can we fit three pairs on at once?
Maybe if I take the lenses on the middle ones out.
Perfect. It’s the hottest look for winter, spring, fall.
Sprinter, wring, sprawl.
Orange juice. We need orange juice. Yes. The colors. Bring back the colors.
Maybe a little more coke, just a little, and I’ll leave the rest here on the table for Nate.
Morning. It’s morning. I’m mourning. But I’m leaving the house for a reason, I finally found a reason.
Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Them. All.
Splinter, minter, mawl.
Printer, dinger, brawl.
Blur. It. All.
Except for the runway. Funway. Stunway. Mesmerizing get-done way. Obliter-one-way. Xtrava-spunway.
Okay, are we ready for one glance toward the hordes of beige and navy and, yes, everybody’s in awe. Turn the head, slowly. Then the shoulders. Then the hips and feet. Brilliant. Now we’re back to where we started.
And there she is, the queen of all runways, Miss Jeannine Hancockatiel, rising above the rabble as the office drones stream out of the T, yes, let me pour some of these ashes right here, under your perfectly shined loafers and sensible heels, oh, the runway of our destiny, grinding ash into cement.
Yes, it’s a bit hard to see through three pairs of sunglasses but I think that woman in beige just stepped on a bit of bone and why hasn’t anyone made a house song out of WE DIE, YOU DO NOTHING?
It would just be perfect, everyone could dance all day and all night.
But house music is never about you, is it? It’s always about us.
WE DIE, WE DO NOTHING—yes, I need to take some of these ashes back to Avalon. Or someone’s ashes—there will be more, there will always be more ashes over our runway. Runway over our ashes.
Doesn’t Jeannine look beautiful in this light? That’s because she looks beautiful in every light.
They’re all snapping photos, I’m sure. Don’t worry, Jeannine, I won’t steal too much attention. I’m just sprinkling some ashes in the park, so I can find my way back past the wolves, a trail of bone fragments to guide me.
Here I am at the entrance, all those mirrored doors and the office drones are streaming in. Are the cameras ready? I’ve got the ashes, please bring the sashes.
Rashes. Rashes for us all.
Last call.
MATTILDA BERNSTEIN SYCAMORE is the award-winning author of a memoir and three novels, and the editor of five nonfiction anthologies. Her memoir, The End of San Francisco, won a Lambda Literary Award, and her previous title, Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots?: Flaming Challenges to Masculinity, Objectification, and the Desire to Conform, was an American Library Association Stonewall Honor Book. Sycamore’s novels include So Many Ways to Sleep Badly and Pulling Taffy, and her anthologies include Nobody Passes: Rejecting the Rules of Gender and Conformity and That’s Revolting! Queer Strategies for Resisting Assimilation.
Sycamore writes for a variety of publications, including the San Francisco Chronicle, Bookforum, BOMB, the Baffler, Truthout, Bitch, and the Los Angeles Review of Books. She recently finished a book on desire and its impossibility called The Freezer Door and is working on a book about her fraught relationship with her late grandmother, a visual artist, tentatively titled Touching the Art. Mattilda lives in Seattle, where she loves the rain almost as much as she loves the sun.
mattildabernsteinsycamore.com
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