Losing My Burner Virginity

http://matadornetwork.com/nights/16-burners-who-lost-their-burning-man-virginity/

Shame and Shamelessness

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a good Grove of Eglantine, must be in want of a wax. However little known the feelings or views of such a woman may be on her first entering a beauty salon, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the neighbourhood, that whatever pain and shame lay before her, there is none more great to a lady than that bestowed upon her by an overgrown garden. It is in a single lady’s best interests to look as handsome as she can at all times, since gentlemen callers can arrive most unexpectedly.

“Good morning.” 

“Oh, good morning Miss Bennet. Would you like to come through?” 

Elizabeth replied that she would.

“Please, replace your undergarments with these muslin ones here, lie down on the bed, and I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

Elizabeth had been here many times before, yet nothing ever prepared her for the awkwardness of this moment; she found the stiffness of the occasion rather disconcerting and at times such as this, she wished she had more of a lighthearted manner. Yet when the beauty nurse returned, there was such an expression of goodness in her countenance that Elizabeth began to relax in spite of the situation. 

A few minutes later, she recognized that she had regarded her condition rather rashly, as now the pain was so forceful she found it necessary to bite her lower lip. At first there was too much to be felt for attention to any other objects, but after the pain had subsided a little she became terribly aware of the beauty nurse and the heavy silence between them. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together and because it was the least agreeable circumstance Elizabeth took it upon herself to begin conversing.

“The weather has been highly changeable of late, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh indeed Miss Bennet.”

“Please, call me Elizabeth.”

“As you wish. And you can call me Darcey.”

The increasing civilities continued and Elizabeth noticed that when Darcey spoke, it seemed the effect of necessity rather than of choice: a sacrifice to propriety, not a pleasure to herself. It made Elizabeth feel even more uncomfortable and so presently, she fell silent. Darcey, however, sensed her client’s disquiet and because she regarded her as a kind-hearted girl with an agreeable disposition, she endeavoured to use all her arts and allurements to make her feel contented.

“Pray tell me, Elizabeth, are you single?”

Under normal circumstances, Elizabeth would have been shocked by the impropriety of such a direct question, but there on the beauty bed it all seemed so natural; this was compounded by Elizabeth’s desire to mediate any other imagining besides that which was going on right there and then out of her view. There then began an exchange so agreeable that Elizabeth could not remember when she had spent more delightful a morning. Darcey’s powers of conversation were considerable. She could describe an entertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour and listen to her acquaintance with spirit. When the wax was over, Elizabeth almost dared not admit to herself that she was a little disappointed and loathe to leave her new confidante; but such was the conventional conduct of the occasion that as soon as Elizabeth had replaced the muslin undergarments with her own, the conversation ended and the heartfelt passion was replaced by civil leave-takings.

Over the next few weeks Elizabeth busied herself by taking long walks through parks, to farmer’s markets and public houses. Suddenly she had the desire to be by herself, felt no need for company and resolved to walk as many miles as it would take to clear her head of the perplexing thoughts which had come to possess it. It was while she was on one of these lengthy walks that she developed quite a thirst and so stopped off at The Prince Regent public house. She passed over the threshold and was waiting at the bar, when suddenly she saw her. They were within ten yards of each other, and so abrupt was her appearance, that it was impossible to avoid her sight. Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest blush. Darcey absolutely started, and for a moment seemed immoveable from surprise; but shortly recovering herself, advanced towards Elizabeth, and spoke to her, if not in terms of perfect composure, at least of perfect civility. Elizabeth instinctively turned away; but, looking up on her approach, received her salutations with an embarrassment impossible to overcome.

Darcey seemed astonished at finding her alone in the public house, and apologized for her intrusion whilst Elizabeth blushed again and again over the perverseness of the meeting. Darcey stood for a few moments without saying a word, while Elizabeth wondered if the correct conduct for such occasions was to make a few formal enquiries, suffer the awkward pause and then just walk away; and yet there was something of dignity in Darcey’s countenance which kept Elizabeth stood where she was. She was so overcome by a mixture of shame and affection that she had not happened to see another person by Darcey’s side, who now had the advantage of seeing Elizabeth unguarded and without her usual outward composure. She looked over and met a woman’s eyes shining with impudence.

“Oh excuse me, but I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure. I’m Darcey’s companion, Miss Witless. Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.”

“Likewise,” Elizabeth softly replied, the greater the impropriety of the situation now that someone else was present occurring to her mind, making those few moments the most uncomfortable of her life.

“And, pray, how do you two know each other?” she asked them both, fixing her eyes on one and then the other. Elizabeth blushed at her gaze and then again upon seeing Darcey’s vexed and embarrassed looks.

“We read together at the book association,” Darcey said at last, an air of confidence surrounding her quick-witted lie.

“Oh, and which book are you reading at present?”

“Tipping The Velvet,” Elizabeth blurted out, keen to come to the aid of Darcey; yet as soon as the name of the novel she had recently had the delight in reading left her lips, she realized at once the misapprehension that would now come forth and her heart filled with bitter regret.

“Oh, how marvellous!” Miss Witless exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with the richness of loose chatter at this discovery. “Well, do get yourself a drink and then please come and join us. We’re seated over there.”

After Elizabeth had bowed her head in acknowledgement and turned to the waiting barmaid to request a half of pale ale, Miss Witless began abusing her to Darcey before they had returned to their seats. Miss Witless found it almost incredible that she should have walked miles so early in the day, and by herself, to a public house, where she was intending to sit on her own at the bar. She went on to critique her clothing rather harshly and even the way she presented her hair. Miss Witless was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. The business of her life was to follow Darcey and her brother’s fortune everywhere she could; its solace was guarding this money from anyone else, by whatever means was at her disposal. On Elizabeth’s return to their company, she overheard the spiteful remarks and was perfectly sensible that they were about her but she vowed to not allow any such acknowledgement from being detected in her behaviour.

Elizabeth was occupying herself intently with this vow, when a familiar voice thrust its way into her thoughts. It made the ceremonious salutations and pompous apologies for its absence before stopping abruptly in the presence of a motionless Elizabeth. 

“Oh, Elizabeth, this is a most unexpected surprise. What an honour to meet you here. I see you’ve met my lovely fiancé, Darcey. We got engaged a couple of weeks ago. At last I’ve found a woman who contributes much to my felicity. Our situation is indeed the sort of extraordinary blessing, which few can boast. There is in everything a most remarkable resemblance of character and ideas between us. We seem to have been designed for each other.” This gentleman, one Mr William Bungle, had the remarkable ability to never tire of the sound of his own voice. He had not seen Elizabeth for a twelvemonth, not since their parting, and he addressed himself particularly to her, as if wishing to make her feel what she had lost in rejecting him; he thought too well of himself and was too lacking in the virtue of shame to comprehend on what motive she had refused him all those months ago.

On his address, Elizabeth’s colour increased. She wondered whether this perverseness would ever end and was bewildered at the cornucopia of mischances that had happened to her that very day; yet she received his silly remarks with a forbearance and a propriety of behaviour free from any symptom of resentment or any unnecessary complaisance. 

“Yes, they are violently in love,” cried Miss Witless.

“Many congratulations, I’m sure. I saw it on the world wide web.”

“Oh, but you didn’t make a comment, dear Elizabeth.”

“I shall be sure to make one when I’m next in the domain.”

“I’ll look forward to it. So, come, tell us all about your boyfriend.”

“Oh no Will, she likes Tipping The Velvet!” Miss Witless cried with mirth.

Both Elizabeth and Darcey blushed at this.

“Pardon? No, you must be mistaken. This is my ex-lover,” he said with monotonous solemnity, his eyes watching Elizabeth closely.

“Oh!” cried Miss Witless, while Darcey expressed her surprise a little more quietly, with a widening of her eyes.

“Pray, how are you two acquainted with one another?” Mr Bungle asked Elizabeth and Darcey in an ill-natured tone. 

“She’s one of my clients,” Darcey explained brusquely.

“Oh! How simply marvellous. And just how intimately do you know each other, my ex and my fiancé? Just what sort of treatment are you having dearest Elizabeth?” As he spoke, Elizabeth noted that his eyes shone with a familiar lust. She looked expressively at Darcey.

“Will, you know I can’t discuss that with you.”

“Aye, that is just like your impeccable propriety and discretion darling Darcey. But your avoidance of the answer tells us a great deal.” 

At this remark of Mr Bungle’s, Miss Witless squealed with delight, encouraging him to continue his impolitic monologue.

 

“I expect dear Elizabeth, you’d rather be dead right now than standing here with us, all these wild imaginings in our heads. I always remember there seemed to be a prettyish kind of little wilderness on the sides of your lawn, yet now I shall think of it with very different landscaping indeed.” Mr Bungle made no attempt to hide the pleasure he obtained from his humiliating of poor Elizabeth, although she saw the suspicions of Darcey were awakened against him as he revealed his true disposition, and in her countenance Elizabeth detected anger and repulsion. This gave her the courage to express her true feelings.

“Dearest Will. I do know Darcey intimately, yes. As intimately as any woman could dare to know another and I can honestly say that I have never had the pleasure of being in the company of such a generous and kind-hearted soul who has more wit and charm in her graceful fingers, than you possess in the whole of your awkward, cold and unforgiving body. And, dare I say it, hairy! If she becomes wedded to you, it’ll be a crime against the institute of marriage and God will punish you greatly for such insolence in his presence. Well, if you will kindly excuse me, I have things to be getting on with; like washing my hair and undergarments.” 

As she quitted the table, Elizabeth caught Darcey’s eye and discovered an expression of awe, while Mr. Bungle and Miss Witless had silently formed their mouths into the shape of an ‘O’. She felt how improbable it was that she should ever see Darcey again on such terms of cordiality. So she phoned up the next day to form an engagement with her for the following week.

Rites

So I walked in on my Mom and Dad having sex to let them know that I was moving out. They stopped and looked at me, my Mom from the wrong way up, and she spoke to me in a weird upside-down voice.

Oh honey, do you want me to make you up a cooler?

In an emergency, her first thought was always food.

Nah, that’s ok. I don’t know which day yet, so I don’t need it now.

Ok sweetie, well let me know when you know.

Sure. Just going out for a bit.

Ok. Oh honey, we’re outta weed. Can you pick some up while you’re out? There are some necklaces on the table.

Yep.

I untangled my bike from Rex’s and Mom’s and headed off to 5.30 and C. The streets were fairly clear, as it was just after dawn, so I could ride as fast as I could pedal. Noodle and Firebird were still dancing hard at the Pink Mammoth, and hollered at me as I went past.

Hey Cands, come round to mine later!

I’m going to Galore’s.

Ok, I’ll see you there.

Noodle and I are good friends. I wouldn’t say best friends, because I considered my best friend to be Galore, but she’d say hers was Noodle. He’d say his was me. It was kind of a bizarre best friend triangle that we’d gotten trapped in. Like the Bermuda Triangle, but maybe more dangerous. I think it was because we all liked to be awkward, as my Mom said. The other thing was that Galore had given Noodle a blowjob, which he’d later told me had really hurt his penis, but as he was a polite and considerate person, he’d suffered it the whole way. Yet it had put him off Galore not only as a blowjob giver, or a girlfriend, but as a friend. Weird how sex can affect people like that. It’s why I haven’t bothered with it. Stuff’s complicated enough as it is, without bringing blowjobs into it.

I cycled across the playa, kicking up dust in my wake, letting all the prehistoric sea creatures swim again, but this time in the air. My Uncle Flash once told me that the desert used to be the bottom of an ancient lake. Nowadays, it’s only a lake during the winter when the rains come and wash away our city till the next summer, so it can be born again anew. I felt like going faster than I ever had before. For some reason I was in a hurry, but I didn’t know why. I stopped off at Malmart to pick up some chocolate for Galore. After deliberating for far longer than anyone should choosing candy, I went for Harley’s Kisses. Yeah, it was kinda weird for me too. But that was the decision I’d made, and I felt strangely calm and a little euphoric as I took the packet over to Naked Lunch at the counter.

So what’cha got for those then Miss Bomb?

Depends what you’re after. I’ve got some of my Mom’s necklaces. Or I could show you my new dance routine?

Hmm. How’s about reading me this in your soft little voice?

He slid a well-used book with yellow pages that smelt real musty over the counter. It was a Bukowski short story where the woman he stays with has sex with her pet tiger. I got quite into it as I was reading, and barely noticed Naked Lunch’s moan and before I knew it he was telling me to stop reading.

But I haven’t got to the end of the story.

Yeah, that one’s pretty long. You can borrow the book some time ok?

Ok. See ya later.

I headed towards my bike and looked again at the packet of Harley’s Kisses in my hand. Why did they make my heart beat faster? Something was happening to me. It had been happening gradually for a while, and now it couldn’t wait to have happened, to become a moment, possibly the biggest of my life so far. I guess the whole moving out thing was connected in some way that I’d vaguely known about in the back of my mind, but didn’t have the courage to see clearly. Until now, as I looked at this packet of Harley’s Kisses. 

The closer I got to Galore’s, the faster my heart was beating. Mongoose was sat outside his trailer, and it sounded like he was trying to beat his guitar to death, but it matched the rhythm of the beat inside me, the rhythm of my future. That scared the shit out of me, so I took a detour to the Yum Bar to find out exactly what the future tasted like. I hoped it’d be sweet like Harley’s Kisses. As I cycled up, I saw that Angel Fish was behind the bar, staring up at the sky.

What’s up Angel?

Huh, oh hey Candy. Jus’ looking at the stars.

The stars? Can you see them at this time of day?

Yeah sure. You just have to know where to look. See, Cancer’s over there, near Orion.

Angel Fish could always see things other people couldn’t. Like the future. I was glad it was her behind the bar, and not Anti-matter. He was the dark to her light, and he always left a bad taste in my mouth.

So what’s your flavor today?

The future.

Oooh, good choice.

She rummaged behind the bar, and pulled out different bottles of liquids and syrups. She then got out a spoon and a shaker.

Ok, close your eyes and put out your tongue.

I felt solid raindrops fall on my tongue and then quickly dissolve. They tasted kind of sour.

To really appreciate what tomorrow will bring, you have to acknowledge the silent sadness of today.

Like I said before, Angel Fish could see things others couldn’t. I mean to everyone else, I was happy and upbeat. Even to myself I felt happy for the most part, but somewhere deep down, I do have a sad place. I just try to avoid going there, unless it’s Monday morning and someone’s playing Neil Young. And still then I don’t venture too far. But Angel Fish could see it was part of me all the time, even if I didn’t want to go there.

A weird gloop then hit the roof of my mouth. As I swallowed it, I tasted watermelon.

The future will be surprising and energizing. The best way to greet it is to close your eyes and let go.

She then put a spoon of a creamy mixture into my mouth, flavored with all the best sweets I’ve ever had in my life.

This is what you want your future to taste like. But this is what it will taste like.

A jelly-like substance landed on my tongue. At first it was sweet, but then a kick of hot bitterness invaded my mouth, and I had to spit it out.

Urrgh…yuck!

Hey, don’t worry Candy. When you’re ready for it, it’ll taste like the most awesome thing in the world. Trust me. Just never be scared, tis all.

Her soft voice floated in the still air, wrapping round me like a cozy old blanket. So even though she’d told me my future tasted like crap, I felt pretty hopeful.

Sure, ok Angel. Well, catch you later.

I’ll be there.

It felt good to get on my bike and ride off again. What would happen if I just rode and rode and rode? Rex once said that there wasn’t a motherfuckin’ thing out there for miles, so if I really wanted to be a stupid damn bitch, then I should go ahead and do just that. Rex is only my Dad, he’s not my Father. I don’t have a Father, just a few Dads. I think Mom still feels guilty about it, but I’m ok with it really. I kind of used to pretend that Uncle Flash was my Father when I was a kid. I mean, he’s not actually my Uncle, so it’s not that weird. He’s like everyone’s Uncle, but to nature, he’s no one’s. Nature does get it so wrong sometimes.

I got to Galore’s place and her Mom was in a hammock out front, sinking Tecates. She looked at me, gulped down the last bit in her can then crushed it in one hand, while with the other, she pointed in the direction of Centre Camp. Galore’s Mom didn’t like to talk too much. Not since Galore’s Dad had come back and started living with them again. That had messed the family right up. Galore reckoned he came back and claimed he was the biggest loser ever, but had a massive grin on his face that hasn’t left it since, not even while he’s sleeping.

She’s at Centre Camp?

Galore’s Mom nodded slowly then waved her hand to move me on, as if I was blocking her view. I turned towards the direction she was staring in and saw the beautiful pink and brown mountains looking back. I bowed my head in silent recognition as I moved on. She bowed hers back.

When I got to Centre Camp, Galore was in the middle. She was practicing her Tamhulatha yoga, and there was a bit of a crowd around her. It’s a form of yoga that goes back decades here and is based round a trampoline and hula-hoops. I thought that yoga was a humble discipline that involved an inner journey between body and mind to reach enlightenment. But Tamhulatha yoga is kinda showy. It seemed that the more people who watched, the better the person performed. Plus the fact that you were supposed to do it naked, covered from head to toe in body glitter.

I made my way to the front, trying to catch her eye. But it was a little tricky, seeing as she kept bouncing up ‘n’ down and was concentrating hard on the five hoops spinning on her left thigh.

Hey Galore, have you got a sec?

Huh? Cand, I’m in the middle of something here. 

Her voice sounded worn out. But not the sort of physical, out-of-breath worn out that you’d expect what with spinning all those hoops on her thigh. No, it was a kind of deeper, desperate, emotional worn out. As soon as I heard it, I recognized it.

It’s important.

No Candy, this is important.

I remained there, staring, glaring, trying to make eye contact, my head nodding up and down as if I was watching a vertical game of ping pong. I realized I was the only one there who was trying to look into her eyes. Maybe the only one ever. I tried to look at her through their eyes, to see what they were seeing, but she just became someone I didn’t care about, an annoying attention-seeker wearing way too much body glitter. In a blink I looked back at her through my eyes and felt a fire in my throat. I thought my future might be repeating on me, but then remembered I’d spat it out. A hot sting burned the back of my eyes, making them water.

Look, I’ll see you back at mine soon ok?

Ok.

My voice sounded so pathetic and useless, if the struggling of a beetle stuck on its back made a noise, that’d be it. I high-tailed it over to Uncle Flash’s. I needed to get the weed and I needed to get high, and only he had the means. No one could lift my spirits like him. I passed Quirk and Sheepman cutting the cheese at the guillotine and dancing to Chromeo, but not even they could crack a smile in my dry face. Maybe it was because it was soaking underneath. When I got to Uncle Flash’s, all the crew were there stretched out in hammocks with either balloons or guitars in their hands, having a deep old discussion. I gathered it was their monthly book club meet. Others were a little way off by the temple, enjoying a moment to themselves. It was Sunday after all.

Welcome home!

This made me smile.

So how’s my beautiful princess of the sea monkeys?

That’s what everyone joked the desert dust was made from; petrified prehistoric sea monkeys. Grateful got up from the seat next to Uncle Flash, who patted it, beckoning me to sit there.

I’m ok I guess.

My Uncle Flash then communicated with me via a series of different subtle looks. We did this when we were in company, as he got that I didn’t want the whole city to know about my problems. It didn’t take any talking for him to understand that I was a bit down and didn’t really want to talk. Unlike the guys, who were in the middle of a heated debate about this month’s book.

But Whale, the issue I have with ‘On The Road’ conceptually is that although it’s all about spontaneity, freedom and improvisation, Sal and Dean would have experienced jack of that if someone hadn’t planned and built that goddamn road in the first place.

Grateful completed his critique with a long hard drag of his balloon, then sat back, swinging in his hammock, his eyes closed and a huge smile on his face.

Yeah, I guess in that way it’s ironically a love letter to Uncle Sam, as it glorifies America’s roads, made possible by the puritan work ethic and capitalism.

I’d rather look at it as sabotaging the original purpose of the road, you know, to transport workers and goods from one place to another for our god-blessed economy to make rich people richer, but instead pissing all over that and actually using it to escape from the shitty 9-5 lifestyle. If it wasn’t for Kerouac, we probably wouldn’t freakin’ be here right now.

I just hated that Dean for the shitty way he treated his girlfriends.

All the guys turned to look at me, as if I’d mentioned the unmentionable. Even Mongoose stopped beating his guitar. I’d gone and brought relationships and all the emotional stuff into the guy talk. Uncle Flash laughed, breaking the tension.

Aah, sweet princess. You’ve got a lot to experience. For me, the book’s about letting go of stuff. Having no possessions, and I mean people, not just fancy cars and clothes. That’s the only way you can be truly free. It’s what the poet Elisabeth Bishop called, ‘The Art Of Losing’, and if you can master that, then you’ll have no fear of anything. All we can do is try it bit by bit, and sometimes life pushes us into trying more than we’d like in one go. But in the end, that can get us closer to becoming its masters.

So you mean Dean’s excuse for treating his girlfriends badly is that he didn’t want them to think they owned him?

That’s part of it. But it’s a bit more complicated than that. Like for instance, contrary to what you’ve been told, love on the playa does exist. But in different ways to anywhere else. In better ways. It’s not possessive, it’s free, and there’s more giving than taking. You just have to get yourself ready for it.

You know what? Talking about roads, I’ve always thought that the ring road round Centre Camp should be based on a 24-hour clock. It’d just be less confusing that way.

And haven’t you noticed that the traffic’s always bad at the intersection of 6.30 and F? What about creating a roundabout to free up the flow of traffic?

Roundabouts? Wow, that’s a bit rad Grateful.

The guys were back to talking about stuff that was comfortable for them, and it was time for me to move on.

Well, I’ve gotta go. Have you got that weed for Mom?

Of course princess. It’s right here, close to my heart as always.

He looked at me and smiled as he pulled a brown paper packet from the top pocket in his shirt and handed it to me. I gave him the necklaces in return. He twisted them about with his fingers, staring at them for a while before putting them in the same pocket. They seemed to mean something to him, but I didn’t ask. I felt I didn’t need to. I guess he hadn’t mastered the art of losing yet. I got up off the seat and walked towards my bike, waving goodbye to the guys. Uncle Flash followed after me.

Why the hurry anyway Candy?

There’s just something I gotta do.

Ok but remember, here, time is a place. So you don’t have to hurry to get there, as it’ll always be there, waiting. Sometimes it’s good to take the detour.

Yeah but also, as there’s no time, there’s only places to go, so I have to keep on moving.

That’s my girl.

He grinned and watched as I cycled off to the place I had to go.

When I got back to Galore’s, her Mom was still in the hammock staring at the mountains, but this time Noodle was there too, sat on an upturned crate next to her. They were both in the middle of a deep wordless discussion. As I approached, without looking in my direction, Galore’s Mom pointed over at me, across Noodle’s eye line. This made him look up.

Oh, hey Candy, I’ve been waiting for you.

Where’s Galore?

She’s got a shift at the Kissing Booth.

Oh right. Well she told me to meet her here.

I think she’d forgotten about her shift. We can go over there if you want. Then maybe catch a ride on Toad’s art car, just, you know, you and me.

Then I saw it. On the back of his hand painted on very carefully, thoughtfully, was an artwork of a bird flying with huge graceful wings, and in a delicate script underneath, the words, ‘Love like the wind. Galore xx’. I had no idea what it meant and it was a little too schmaltzy for my taste, but the words ‘love’ and ‘Galore’ were in it and that was enough. It felt like Noodle had punched me in the heart and I suddenly wished they hadn’t banned guns on the playa.

What’s that?

I pointed at this doodle on Noodle at the same time as Galore’s Mom. It was as if she was supporting my feelings, backing me up, making me realize that I wasn’t going crazy. Although she did it without looking, still staring at those mountains with vacant eyes.

Huh? Oh, just one of Galore’s dumb ass doodles, you know.

No I don’t know. She’s never doodled on me before.

Well I’m sure she will if you ask.

He laughed, and this made me mad.

How can you be so goddamn casual about it?

About what?

The fact that she doodled you.

For some reason, the doodle hurt more than the blowjob. But probably not to Noodle.

Have you guys had a fight or something?

Not yet.

I swallowed hard and stalked off to my bike. Noodle came running behind, but I didn’t want him to follow me. I needed to deal with this by myself. Then suddenly a key flew past me and instinctively, I caught it. I looked at it in my hand and realised it was the key to the ‘Thrust’, Galore’s Dad’s bike, which was the fastest, greatest bike ever seen on the playa. It’d broken man-powered land-speed records, or so Uncle Flash had said.  I looked in the direction the key had come from and saw Galore’s Mom staring at the mountains. I silently thanked her as I rushed to unlock the bike and sped off, leaving Noodle to eat my sea monkey dust.

With the Thrust between my thighs I could really ride like the wind. I did have such a long way to go, but luckily not as far as the border of Mexico. It had been locked up since Galore’s Dad’s return and seemed to want to make up for it. I flew past Firebird and Quirk dancing like maniacs on top of the scaffold at District 9. They saluted as I glided by, in awe of the supreme machine.

Everyone at The Kissing Booth stopped snogging to get a proper look at the Thrust as I cycled up. Galore was the last (but not least) at the end of the line-up as usual. I did my best not to catch her eye as I locked the Thrust to Milky Way’s bike, before attempting my blasé and slightly bored swagger over to the queue. In my head she was staring at me in wonderment, which made me perform my swagger a lot better than I’d hoped. 

Naked Lunch was there as always, repeatedly clearing his throat. I had no idea why he had this habit, and of course, had never cared to ask. He nudged me as I stood behind him and whispered in my ear.

Have I got anything between my teeth girl?

He then pulled slightly back to reveal his perfect, white teeth right in front of my face. That was the amazing thing about Naked Lunch, he had the most beautiful teeth, if nothing else.

Not that I can see.

Fortunately this satisfied him and he waited quietly until it was his turn. It was comforting to see Naked Lunch’s vulnerable side. If he had one, everyone did. When it was his go, I found myself watching him kissing first little Widget, then Buffalo, Milky Way and finally Galore. I guess it was kind of a morbid fascination, like when people can’t help but stare at a car crash. When he kissed Galore, I was happy to see she didn’t kiss him back. Otherwise it would have become an issue, brought up again and again in many an argument that we’d never be able to resolve without the cunning intervention of one of those terrible tabloid talk shows. Instead, she looked over in my direction and my hands started to go clammy.

I had only visited the Kissing Booth a few times in my life, and those had really just been out of curiosity or for fun. I had never taken kissing seriously. It seemed like a strange thing to get all heavy over, as it can be pretty enjoyable - if the guy or girl hasn’t drunk friggin’ root beer before of course. I can’t stand that stuff. But this time, I didn’t want to fool around. So I walked straight past Widget, Buffalo and Milky Way, and right up to Galore. Her eyes were fixed on me, watching my every move, which made me feel self-conscious about my silly swagger, so I dropped it. Yeah ok, I said with my eyes, this is me now, and I want to tell you something.

I brushed her lips gently with mine, and her mouth opened. But the only thing I ever wanted her to say with her tongue, she just wouldn’t. She only skirted around the edges, avoiding my subtle hints. I opened my eyes, and I was surprised to see hers staring back with an angry look of something like vengeance. Then I realized we were in a battle; we were deer locking antlers, but instead of antlers we had our tongues. We were rucking with our tongues. She got firm and fast, but I wanted sweet and gentle. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I heard her let out a grunt like a tennis player and I managed to pull away. I looked at her, and didn’t feel anything. It was as if she’d sucked all the feelings out of me. Like when Superman kisses Lois Lane at the end of Superman 2. I was left with a bad taste in my mouth, and wondering if it was a taste of my future, or my past. Galore was breathing heavily and staring at me intently, a wild look in her eyes.

Shit sorry. I blame that night we had with Courtney Love.

We had a sleepover once involving lots of chocolate, listening to Hole and having a heart-to-heart about our parents. We sung every word of ‘Live Through This’ through sobs, streaming mascara and a sugar rush. I had the time of my life. Now Galore just carried on staring and I detected tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

I gotta go.

She nodded. I turned and walked away. Everyone was still looking at our little sideshow, but I didn’t care. In the distance, I saw Noodle approaching on his bike. At times like this, you don’t know who your friends are, but you know your lovers. I was so glad he hadn’t seen any of that, and said, ‘Thank you Thrust’ repeatedly in my mind, as if it was some sort of mantra.

I didn’t stop to explain myself to anyone and it felt like the farther away I walked, the closer I got to the point of no return. But I kept on walking towards the Thrust, in a strange mechanical way, knowing I was leaving everything behind. But it was cathartic. Now I understood what that word meant.

I cycled and cycled, or rather, the Thrust cycled and cycled, like a big dog that takes its owner for a walk. I was going so fast and the wind was so strong, I thought that if I just carried on cycling, the wind would wear me down to nothing; I’d become a flake of dust. A dust storm was blowing in, and I was ready for it. I felt the Thrust cycle faster than any man, woman or child right into the whiteout. I closed my eyes and embraced each and every particle. Until I lost everything.

Whose Tears?

“Why are you crying?” the little girl asked innocently. The large door shut in her tiny face, although she didn’t even flinch and carried on as if the door wasn’t there. “But I want to know. Why are you crying?” 

Someone touched her hair and made her look up to see who it was. It was a woman she didn’t know, with large arms. For some reason, women little girls don’t know always feel like they can just touch their hair, as if they’re little dogs. The girl ignored the look in the woman’s eyes that promised the world of sweets, and looked back at the closed door. After all, she knew she wouldn’t ever get those sweets.

“Why are you crying?” she now asked loudly, into the wooden silence.

“Hey, sweetie?” she heard the woman with the large arms ironically say behind her back. She didn’t understand irony yet, but thought it was funny that the woman didn’t realise just how diabolical she could be, and that she knew she wouldn’t get those sweets.

“You have to go find your Mom now,” her thick voice said. Still staring at the door, the girl imagined the woman talking through her plump arms, both stretched out, one on top of the other, so they looked like the chunky jaws of a crocodile. “No!” she snapped. And stamped her foot hard against the door. 

“Now that…” the thick-voiced crocodile began behind her, but shut up when the door opened. A voice from within demanded, “Ask the child what she wants.” The little girl couldn’t see the person the voice belonged to, as another crocodile with big arms folded into a barrier, blocked the doorway. The voice was very familiar, so she didn’t have to see the face to know who was speaking. But she really, really wanted to. She peered round the silent croc’s ill-fitting trousers, and stared into the room. 

Not sure what she was expecting to find in there, perhaps a baby unicorn, a rainbow or a bit of glitter at least, whatever she thought it might be, it definitely wasn’t simply an ordinary room. It didn’t even have any slides, beanbags or a fountain of 7-UP, as far as she could tell, and they’d be the first things she thought anyone would demand. 

“I want to know why you’re crying,” she insisted with a wicked stamp of her grown-up sole.

“Come here sweetness,” the fluffy pink voice purred. The barrier immediately unfolded its arms and let her through. The room didn’t get any less disappointing the more she saw of it. It just looked like the room of a hotel she once stayed in with her Mum, except there wasn’t even a bed. Although there she was, sat at the vanity table, wearing a different dress to the one she’d had on before. A woman with very small arms was playing about with her hair. She nodded in approval at the woman through the vanity mirror’s reflection, before turning towards the girl. 

“What’s wrong honey?” 

“Why are you crying?”

“Crying?” At that moment the girl realised she wasn’t crying, and not only that, it looked like she’d never been crying. Her eyes were as bright as Bambi’s, and her cheeks were sherbet dry.

“Before, with that girl in the pink dress.”

“Oh, she just touched me baby. She connected with something deep inside me, and it made me cry.”

“But you don’t even know her.”

“That doesn’t matter honey, people you don’t know can still make you cry.” The girl thought about this for little while, still keeping a vigilant watch on those Bambi eyes.

“Can you cry now, for me?”

“I can’t just do it like that sweetie.”

‘My brother burps when I ask.”

“Yeah? But, hey, this is different. It comes from the heart, you know, it’s my feelings and emotions. I can’t just switch them on and off when I want.”

“My granddad died last month and I didn’t cry.”

“Oh my goodness! Honey, that’s so sad. Do you miss him?”

“Yeah. And it was my birthday last week.”

The girl watched in delight as she noticed her nostrils twitch slightly, along with her eyes. Then slowly, a glossy substance gathered at their corners, until it spilled over and teardrops as pure and sparkling as crystal fell down her berry blushed cheeks. But after they had fallen, the girl noticed with wonder, they didn’t leave any traces. These tears aren’t crocodile tears, well they weren’t crying were they. No, they’re something quite different. They’re Kelly Rowland tears. The girl picked them up carefully from the floor, and put them into the little pockets of her dress. They were hers now, she thought to herself.

Robert De Niro's Waiting

Robert De Niro’s waiting, at a bus stop in Brixton. He looks around 10 years older than he does in those films of his. It must be because there’s none of that moody lighting in the broad daylight and I don’t remember him wearing high waisted slacks on the silver screen. Here in south London he’s worn them every time I’ve seen him, so I guess they’re more comfortable due to that forgiving elastic waistband. Although the creases down the front of each leg are unforgivable. If you want to know the truth, he’s let himself go a bit but that’s probably because he’s out of the limelight here and there’s no one to notice him. Except me. Don’t think that means he's no longer handsome though. He still carries himself with a gentleman’s dignity and the lines on his face communicate every human expression of warmth, even when he’s staring vacantly into the distance.

I see him waiting at the bus stop at least once a week, when I’m on my way here and there. Not sure where he goes; one day it’s the council estate, next the fried chicken shop. He’s not a taxi driver now but a bus rider, an OAP with the freedom to hop on and off whenever he likes. He never talks to anyone or asks if they’re talking to him anymore, as he wants to remain incognito, you know. The 432 bus to West Norwood is the last place people would be looking for Oscar winning actor Robert De Niro, which is obviously the point for nowadays he prefers to be the spectator, watching out the window on the lower deck (as he can’t get up the stairs anymore), focusing on the blur of human tragedy and comedy through the murky glass. 

He’s probably getting inspiration for his next role, studying the South London Street Gangs - I saw a programme about them once on TV. Yet instead of looking mean and moody he glances timidly at the teenagers when they get on the bus, not wanting to look them in the eye and if he’s standing, he shifts nervously along to get out of their way. Maybe he’s worried they might recognize him and then confuse fantasy with reality, thinking he’s the leader of the Mob, when in fact, he’s just an old man. But they’re harmless teenagers anyway, as far as I can see. Well, they’ve never given me any trouble and I often travel home, alone.

I used to wonder if he was really lonely, playing this new part of his. I couldn’t imagine many of his Hollywood friends coming over to join him, or that wife of his. And you can feel quite alone in London when your friends aren’t around. I often thought I should go up and talk to him, you know, for a bit of company. I mean it’s nice to have a little chat every now and again isn’t it? But he always gave me the impression that he didn’t want any attention. Funny how he's travelled thousands of miles so everyone doesn't notice him while I wait for thousands of days for anyone of the opposite sex to notice me. If the truth be known, a cheery 'hello', little wave or perhaps one of those friendly winks would have satisfied me. 

I respected his privacy and kept my distance, sitting a couple of seats away. On the odd occasion I sat directly behind him, I tried to communicate with him telepathically. I didn't think that was such an invasion of his privacy, as I'd do away with all that tedious small talk by reading his inner thoughts and reassure him with words sent by my mind, such as, 'No Bob, Meet The Fockers was not your fault. You made it bearable. I promise.'

Then one day, this olive-skinned, good-looking kid of about 12 came clattering onto the bus with all his young friends, cutting through the silence (I’m so used to the sound of that bus’s engine, I don’t hear it anymore!). His friends all clambered up the stairs, but this one kid who stood out from the rest went right up to Mr. De Niro and started talking to him in Italian. At least I think it was Italian, yet some of it sounded a bit Spanish. I’m no good with languages without subtitles, so I assumed it was Italian since it was De Niro. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There was Robert De Niro chatting and laughing away with this young boy, his face and body all animated, which was strange to me considering I’d never seen him talk or even smile in real life. 

This boy was obviously pretending to be his grandchild to try and not blow his cover. Obvious only to me of course, no one else was paying any attention. To be honest the way De Niro interacted with this young kid was some of his finest acting, and I was deeply affected by the fake intimacy between them. I couldn’t stop staring and wished that other people could see what I was seeing, so if nothing else, I could talk about it with someone over a coffee afterwards. Then they both got off the bus together. Just like that. It made me feel so happy to realise he wasn’t lonely after all that I went back to my flat and put on one of his films. The Deer Hunter, my favourite movie. Even though I was happy, I cried and cried. I ran out of tissues and had to start using toilet paper.

That was the last time I saw him. I really wish I’d had the courage to go up and talk to him, but I was too late. Robert De Niro isn’t waiting for my bus anymore. He must be back in New York, hailing a cab instead.