Meetings & Yesteryears: “Like Red on a Rose” Chapter One, Part II

Previously…

While finding ways to survive in the gutters of Chicago’s south side, she thought she could rely on those who looked like her. She could, as long as she acted like they wanted her to. It wasn’t a question of manners; she was always grateful and respectful. She quickly found her way out of house and home, through either her hosts’ boot or her own, when she found that people wanted you to be an individual as long as it aligned with their beliefs. So she decided to align with no one but herself.

The life of a teenage runaway can be crippling in its bleakness. You’ve heard the stories. Piri’s written herself into more than a few of them. Suicide never crossed her mind, but she knew she needed as extreme a coping mechanism if she was going to survive. There were little things that helped, like her headset radio. The medley of pop music that B96 offered was her only addiction. She was shattered when it focused on rap because she craved variety. A frantic flick of the dial took her to Q101, which was for rock what B96 was for pop, and she was pleased. Especially when Dance Factory popped up on 99.9 nightly.

But being a musicophile wasn’t an extreme occurrence, no matter how much she loved Aqua and System of a Down. She had to make her heart bleeding or calcified. Nightmares of her mother reminded her of what a stone heart was (in)capable of, so she chose compassion. This extremity created an agony debt that she unknowingly forced her subconscious to pay, even now.

Finding out about squatter’s rights was one of the best things that happened to Piri during her vagabondage. The long and short of it’s that if a building’s not occupied, a homeless person can live there. She was 26 when she found out, but better late than never. She chose a place in Hegewisch, a factory town, which ended up being a genius move since it’s also a transportation hub.

Having conquered two levels of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs in one fell swoop, the racks in the nearby Goodwill in Lansing enticed her with style as well as function. Her figure was at the mercy of others’ generosity, but she managed to develop a Punk patchwork she could appreciate. Started designing her eye patches, too.

Maslow brought other needs to Piri’s attention. Having a roof over her head meant she could cross things off her years-long to-do list. Being homeless meant the company she occasionally kept was addicts and their dealers. Dealers had a hard time keeping molly because it was in demand. A place where it was in high demand was raves. Piri wanted fuck-all to do with molly, but she was dying to go to raves. Thanks to the company she kept, she knew where and when the best ones were.

And they were glorious. She was introduced to the likes of Dougal & Gammer, Infected Mushroom, and what passed for her first girlfriend. Piri wasn’t as ready for her as she thought she was, due to her agony debts. It took a while to get over her, but she did. By then, she was a renter and a waitress.

Life went on, with all its undulations, ’til Piri met a mortuary assistant who’d change everything.

Chocolate and Peanut Butter

The concept of dinner before a movie along with overpriced, underserved munchies at the concession stand were absurd to Rudella.

Thus, her tummy was particularly rumbly after “Tusk” ended. She was at a Schererville AMC, which meant that the Round the Clock on Lincoln Hwy. was a 30-second drive away. But she didn’t feel like dealing with the crowds. Watching a man turn another man into a walrus made her withdrawn and introspective. Driving north on Indianapolis Blvd. that early-Autumn eve, she passed Highland’s Round the Clock.

If she believed in fate, she would’ve gone there since two appearances wouldn’t have been a coincidence. She’s a rational beast, so she parked her Honda Civic in the Lake Stop lot.

To be concluded…

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Published on July 31, 2024 06:51
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