How nice that must be, to blend in with unexceptional people in that banal, work-a-day banter. Like regular people. With shoes.
“Oh, shit! Ivy! Catch that!” The sound of Bronwyn’s voice makes me jump.
I turn to look at Bronwyn and see that I’ve given birth to my shirt baby, which is now flapping in the wind, about to take flight. All three of us scramble for it. Our mess of flailing arms and legs all knock into one another for a few seconds before Dom gets a good grip on it and begins stuffing it back under my sweatshirt.
“Oh, fuck,” he says.
The truck pulls over. The driver’s eyes bore straight into mine in the rearview mirror during that small fragment of time before we come to a stop that slams the three of us into one another. We’re already hurrying over the sides of the pickup bed when the driver steps out.
He can’t be much older than any of us, nineteen or twenty at the most.
“What the fuck is going on here?” His hands shake the way furious people quake just before they lose it and hit someone. “What kind of sick fucks are you?”
“We’re going,” Dom holds his hands up in front of him. “Sorry, man. Thanks for the ride.”
The guy gives Dominic a shove, knocking him back a few steps.
“Hey, c’mon,” Bronwyn takes a step forward. “He told you, we’re going.”
The driver turns and looks at me, standing there like an idiot with the sleeve of Dominic’s flannel shirt hanging down from my sweatshirt and dangling between my legs. He runs his hands through his hair and shakes his head.
“Do you think about what you’re doing to other people?” He fixes his eyes on mine and I feel like he’s boring straight through my brain, dissecting me, removing small pieces of me and replacing them with regret. For a second, Dom and Bronwyn aren’t there, it’s just my shame and this stranger’s clear gray eyes.
He jumps back into his truck. He takes his time reentering traffic and leaves me a little surprised that he doesn’t peel out as he drives away.
“Dammit,” I say. “Now what?”
“Don’t worry.” Dom takes out three cigarettes, lights them and hands one to each of us. “We’re not too far away from the detox center.”
“Okay, uh… why do we want to go there?”
“I’m friends with a couple of the nurses there.” Dominic had been in the county detox center and the juvenile detention center a few times already. Each time he got locked up in a place for a few days, he returned with a new batch of stories about all the interesting friends and acquaintances he’d made. To hear Dom tell it, these places were constantly populated with some of the most colorful and fascinating people in all of Colorado.
“Okay,” I say. “Would one of them give us a ride downtown?”
“I dunno.” He shrugs and flicks an ash. “But, I do know they have a lost and found. Maybe there’s a pair of shoes in there that’ll fit you.”
5. SWEET EUPHORIA
AT FIRST, I think the odor of menthol cigarettes and designer impostor body spray is the result of being trapped in a closet stuffed with the discarded and forgotten fragments and garments of countless drunks, derelicts and drifters. After a few moments, I realize it’s the result of being shut in a closet with Glenda.
I look down at the top of Glenda’s grey frizz-covered head as she digs around in a big cardboard box filled with shoes. I have a pink canvas sneaker with no laces on my right foot. If it wasn’t the size of my own big foot, I’d think this sneaker came from Glenda’s personal shoe collection.
“The left one’s got to be in here somewhere.” She leans farther down into the box.
“Anything in a left that I can get my foot into is good enough for me.”
“What?” She looks up at me, scrunching her nose and squinting. A tiny blind mole rat with a face made of parchment.
“Maybe I can take a gander.” I’m trying to sound affable and helpful instead of impatient.
“Have at it. I gotta go out for a smoke. You kids holler if you need me.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
I dig into the box and within seconds, I’m holding the ugly pink sneaker’s mate, which is also missing a shoelace. When I emerge from the closet, I see Dominic and Bronwyn standing at the front desk of the detox center.
Beyond the desk, there’s some kind of lounge or rec room where a droopy-faced bald man and a blond man with an unflattering bowl haircut are sitting at a table. At first, it looks like they’re playing checkers, until I notice there’s no pieces on the board other than a couple of Styrofoam coffee cups.
Behind the counter is a bottle blond wearing thick black eyeliner. Her lips and eyelids are painted the same shade of purple as the streaks in her hair. A big silver hoop glimmers from one nostril. I try to picture what she might look like underneath all the paint and purple, but it’s impossible. It doesn’t matter. Even with all the shit on her face, she might be the most stunning girl I’ve ever seen.
Both of my friends gawk at her in fascination. Theresa is studying this girl. Taking a few notes for her Bronwyn building project, I guess.
I have no doubt that I’m watching Dom fall in love. He manages to take his eyes away from the girl as I approach the counter.
“Damn, Ivy. Those hooves are the bee's knees.” He gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
“Fuck you, Dom.”
“I expected someone in dainty pink slippers to be more of a lady.” Bronwyn just has to chime in.
I turn to the purple painted blonde. “You busy right now? I need a new best friend.
