Ozzie Fitch: Chapter 18
I didn’t betray Leon. I swear. After Cindy’s chant, what he said, did he think he was recruiting me? Like making me part of his team? What did he think was going to happen? How he think it was going to go? Binny step down and everything work for him?
Cindy asked one day. Binny didn’t say anything except ‘dark magic.’ That was that. Leon was gone. He wasn’t ever coming back.
Cindy didn’t like that. She pouted about power-plays and how no one should ever get kicked out, that wasn’t what the chant was about, was it? That was the point of a circle.
Used to think that way, me. Thought circle was just essence of the gutter. The cogs and their system threw us all away, so we make our own system. No ladders and grids here, no sir. Just smooth grooves where the water flows down to the sewers, a whole ecosystem of the free. If you listened to the flow, if you opened to the others, you hear the chant. You find a circle. Embrace the gutter and it embraces you.
But that’s not how it is. Gutter is true, gutter is real, gutter has no curtains, but you can have real grit in the gutter. Assholes everywhere. Even among the downtrodden. Them what think they matter more than anyone else. Them who think their pain deserves care, while others pain can be ignored. Like some pain matters more than others.
Chanting, not everyone can be a chanter. That’s why they want to be a chanter. That’s what makes us special. A place where anyone can belong. Especially those who don’t belong anywhere else.
Me, I don’t argue. Leon was a nut, I liked him, sure, but he should have known better.
Darla, she didn’t say anything when I told her. “Swear to god,” I said, in-case she didn’t hear me. “Kicked out, just like that. Not even a vote.”
“Don’t vote much,” she said, then. What was that supposed to mean? We didn’t need to vote. We all knew each other. We talked. We agreed already. We were all the same. That was the chant, when you followed the chant, you saw the truth. That was how it worked.
“Kicked out,” I said again. “Just like that.”
Darla didn’t say anything. Not for a while. She just sat there. Wasn’t eating. Wasn’t smoking. Just looking.
“What are you looking at?” I asked. It had been bugging me, to see her always looking off somewhere, distance like. Like she doesn’t want to be here. Like there’s something else somewhere out there that’s more important than the here and now. I’m here, I’m not even sizzling. She was mad last time, I could tell, so I’m here. Not a pop in my skull. So where is she? “What are you looking at?”
She looked at me, then. Then she looked at me. “Nothing,” she mutters through pink lips. Pink. Like she didn’t even care anymore. Like why bother?
“You were looking at something,” I say as I bite my sandwich. It bugs me. Irritates. Why not tell me? Was she ashamed? Like she had to be ashamed of Old Oz?
“Nothing,” she says again. She’s not even eating.
I chew my sandwich. I’m eating because I’m hungry. First thing you do when you’re born is you eat. Right? It’s not like I don’t want to sizzle. Been wanting to sizzle a while now, but I don’t. I’m nice. I do what other people want. Didn’t want to come here. Donnies is better, but here we sit outside Ma’s, munching away on sad dry meat patties. Almost crispy. Cheese sometimes wet. Bread is thick, that’s good, and fries crispy hot with salt, but everything else is awful. Darla likes Ma’s, so I said okay. All the time, Old Oz is thinking of other people, and how to give them what they want.
I went with JJ to the library, and that’s how I met Darla. Listened to Leon spouting his nonsense on the fire escape. Chanted with Cindy when she asked for it. Went to the hospital to see Ribber. The hospital!
But what did they ever do for me?
Darla, she just looks at me.
I look at her.
Her lips a ten. I remember kissing them and licking them all sexy. I remember the shine and gilt as we sway down Upper West. Catch all the cheeks with golden hooks. I remember every roll we ever had, smell the chemicals lick the sweat from her neck. I remember my head in her lap and hers in mine. I remember sizzling together until we were the same thing, just sitting and sizzling and chanting and her smile popping open wide. Popping.
She’s not smiling now. Truth, it looks different, her face, when she’s not. Can’t help it. You think I like it? I want to see a seven. Frown makes it six or five. Not pleasant. I chew on my sandwich some more so I don’t have to look.
“You ready?” Darling Darla said. Fingers pushing in her hair. Two Darlas, one in the mirror, looked up. One looked at me, the one in the mirror. She looked through the glass at me. Her eyes sparkled and popped. The real Darla was looking away.
“Yeah,” I said, turning my head. Look at the wall. Blue. Blue everywhere — the ceiling too, like blue sky, quivering above the bed. Sat on the bed. Faced Darla’s back as she pushed her hair. Long tines carving through long thin black worms.
“You take something?” She asks. My brain fizzled as she looked through glass. The other Darla, backwards, right-handed, eyes looked dark and through me.
“No.” I said, falling into the darkness of her eyes.
“You promised.”
“I’m good,” I say. Fizzle sizzle. She make me promise. Like I agreed. Said we’re going on a date, like proper. Not food court, not Donnies, not sitting sharing a basket. No, a restaurant. Me, I don’t get it. Nothing wrong with cozy joint, outside, pull from the box and bag. Could use the whole meal later in a chant.
Darla wanted somewhere with candles and tablecloths. Can’t sizzle while you eat. I’m nice, so I say yes. I sacrifice for her. Even wearing a suit. Like a suit. no tie or vest, but jacket. White and black looking good. Clean up nice Paula said once. Know I look good. It’s a sacrifice for her. She laughs when I call it a suit.
“You call in?” Darla asks.
Head rolls, sizzling. “Yeah,” I say, sifting through bubbles. Hope I’m right. Legs need to move. Start walking. Back and forth like a tiger. Stripes covering my skin. Sit on the bed. Soft and pillowy. Breasts and smooth silky skin under my back. Head falls back. Back up to the blue sky.
Ceiling is blue. So are the walls. Fancy like, blue sea covered with blue sky. Like a beach. Rug is sandy tan. Feels like paradise. Fancy like. I feel Darla’s eyes on me. She looks through the glass at me. At the mirror me. The backwards me. The wrong me. Dressed in black like a funeral. Like a wedding. Transitions. Boundaries. Only suits in mirrors.
“You sizzling?” She asks, comb in her hair.
“No,” I say. “I’m fine.” Timed it. Only took one. Plenty of time. Not sizzle for the date, so I time it. No sizzling when we sit down. Nothing about before, yeah? Dinner after I fizzle out. Her red eyes still look at me. Combs long curly hair. Like thin worms.
Clatter of the brush brings me front. I look through the glass. Don’t want to miss this. Best part. Blink through pink clouds and a piece of floating mist. Leaned forward, licked my lips. Waited for hers. Moist.
She reaches for the pencil. Disappointing. Changed her routine. Never liked mascara. combing tiny worms with black. Make them look bigger, like a cat. Puffer fish. Avoid the eyes, so big. Scratches that stare with weeping sores.
A huff of air.
“You’re sizzling.”
“I’m not,” I look back at the window. Can see her frown at me. Mirror in the window. Reflection of a half reflection that’s pasted over the world. A boundary of glass that can’t quite re-make the world it sees. It sees both worlds. Tries to blend them. Fails. See, you can’t see underwater from above. Mirrored surface. Mirrors truth. Windows, light on glass, all lies. You can’t blend worlds. Mirror in the window is the biggest lie there is. So much a lie, it’s almost truth.
A click. A snap. A clack. A pop pop pop pop.
Head snaps back, sees Darla put closed mascara on the table. Pick up the lipstick. Soft fingers pull at the silver shaft, twisting gently, rubbing and twisting.
Pop.
A hollow pop. Full of air and musk and sex. Can almost smell the chemicals. Taste the color. Long thin fingers twist again, and deep red appears. Business red. Purpose. Focus. Drive. Ready for anything. Lips purse like a pucker fish. Touches the color to the lips. Paint them red, slow and sensual. Can see the color slipping onto the fresh soft lips. Gentle caress.
Then, it pulls away. Lips press. Press color together. Spread like butter.
Lips part.
Pop.
Soft. Spiky pop. Silky pop. Feel the need to lick and taste and press and slip over the color like swimming in the sea. What it does to me! I close my eyes, and sink back into the colors I see, awake in the world.
We got in a taxi. We were going to dinner, we were. Actual out like. Found a place downtown, Darla did. Clean. Expensive. A place the cogs go. Bread on the table, shit like that. I was wearing a jacket.
Me, I hated places like that. Reminded me of things. Old things. Things that bubble up from the forgotten past like soft pillows of white bright light shining the eyes.
I blink. I’m fine.
Darla, she wanted to go. Apology, maybe. Or she’s aching for the glitty. Take the girl out of the glitty, but the gilt stick like mud.
Trying to poison me with that shit.
No, not Darla. Cheeky, I think. See, I agree because subversion. Thumb the nose and get by unseen. Soil it all by wiping dirty shoes on the carpet. Let their clean hands and noses stain with our smell, open the door and let in the real world past the curtains past the doors past the foyer past the butler and maid to the master ballroom where they dance in lace and fine strings back and forth around they twirl cello viola powdered wigs white faces black dots red lips laughing at the darkness outside.
I blink. I’m fine. I timed it.
She wants to subvert like me. Apology. She sorry for not throwing out the jewels and the smokes and the lipstick. Agent. Like double-oh-seven. Sabotague. Wait for the right moment then explode like.
Outside the taxi, cars fly past wheels not touching the ground. Lights and flashes tickle my brain as we get closer. She wanted to go. Had money. Wanted to poison the place, I think. We stain the restaurant. They never know we gutter sit there next to them. Share the same air. Breathe in our smell. Like perfume.
“Did you chant for me?” Darla asked in the taxi. Lights flash by like bullets.
“Why?” I asked. Darla leaned closer, leaving vapor trails POP.
“You love me? Or do you just have me?” Her lips so close like slippery silver. Smoke curling out from behind ivory teeth. Smells like blackberries. Rich and tart. Sparkles in her hair POP glitter and shine. Wisps float up to the roof. Velvet like. Breathe deep through plastic straws. Some apology.
“I love you. I have you.” I smiled through the purple mist. Brain starting to fizzle. I look hard at the oncoming lights. Lights need to be looked at, or else they might crash into the car. Coming all the way forward like trains. Gangs of chains.
She turned away. Too close for comfort. Roll later, I know it. Still hear her voice. “You think you have me because of cardamom?” Important ingredient. Makes it work. Spice rack gives good chants. Savory makes it last. Salty POP sweat on the tongue.
“I love you,” I kissed. Window felt cold on the cheek.
“Burning sage and crushed paper,” Darla stretched, curving back on the seat. “You ever think it’s not real? If you stop, we stop?”
“I love you,” I kissed her lower. Then looked back at the lights. They whizzed and fizzled past like flashes and sparks in the night.