Talks & Walks: “Like Red on a Rose” Chapter Three, Part II
The Rub
Hanging out with Theda was also part of Piri’s long reintegration into society, and it wasn’t something as simple or terrifying as pretending to be her.
Each person has a specific morality that, as long as they honor it, keeps them from picking up habits they shouldn’t. Piri’s vagabond life complicated her morality, but she managed to stay Neutral Good. Which means she does the right thing regardless of what the law says.
Many nights at Theda’s were spent with a press-on nail sitting on an armrest while she popped open cans of Old Style. After spending nearly two decades seeing people drink themselves to death or worse, Piri never drank. With Theda, she tried being around people who did drink without being (obviously) disgusted. Theda had Manzanita Sol for anyone who didn’t want beer, because only sick fucks said no to apple soda, so Piri was placated.
Another part of the long rehabilitation was tailoring a person suit. Piri didn’t know how fucked-up she was, but she knew she was. Because of that, she knew she had to present at least a semblance of normalcy or else she wouldn’t be allowed to do anything. No one wanted to be around a hot mess. So she spent her time with an unaware Theda trying out quirks and traits until she made “Piri”. This “Piri” would be the first of many until she tailored the perfect fit. No one wanted to be around a hot mess in a bad suit.
One visit, somewhere between DeBarge’s “Rhythm of the Night” and Deniece Williams’ “Let’s Hear It for the Boy”, Piri rolled cigarettes in Theda’s kitchen. Piri never talked about her vagabond life, but she did mention that she rolled cigarettes when she was stressed. She didn’t smoke, she just liked the distraction of creation and repetition. Theda did smoke, and asked if she wanted to make a few bucks rolling a pack or two. Piri did, so she did. Their conversations were notoriously random; this one led to Theda admitting that she was raped more than once, with neither fear nor shame. Piri was a secret member of that terrible club because she hadn’t learned to hobble its power over her like Theda did. Partially because she didn’t know she could. The hard, unpredictable road that would lead her to that goal was paved that night.
Theda finally had enough money from her casino gig to put a down payment on a car, which is why she and Piri were at a dealership one day. Leasing was the greatest invention for Champagne tastes and beer money, and Theda’s credit score was music to the salesman’s ears. When Piri later looked up why credit scores exist, she was annoyed; she could spend her life never late paying a bill, but that wouldn’t mean shit if she only paid cash. Fiscal responsibility only mattered if it was on plastic. She also went down a dark hole about why debt was good for the financial system because of defaults and interest rates… but that wasn’t why Piri was with Theda that day. As Theda and the salesman geeked-out over transmissions and heated seats, Piri looked at all things shiny and chrome, and was utterly uninterested. Not in cars, but the desire to stay in fashion. So much time and energy and money (interest rates!) were wasted on a concept created to be fleeting. She’d never let herself be shackled to haute couture or the status quo.
Theda vroom’d out of the lot with Piri in her gently-used, blue, Mazda RX-8, with Teena Marie’s “Stargirl” album pumped through the speakers. “Lovergirl” took them to the nearest Auto Zone, where she bought a bit of safety and aroma. After taking the pedal-to-wheel version of The Club on and off ’til it became second nature, she hung a coconut air freshener on a vent. The album, like their destination, was put on random as they went cruising north on Burnham, watching buildings turn to cornfields, ’til Theda had to turn left or right. She hadn’t been to Indiana in a while, so she went left.
As she got close to Indianapolis Blvd., Theda’s tummy started to rumbly. Piri pointed to the Round the Clock on the right, but Theda didn’t want lemon rice soup. She turned left on Indianapolis since the strip’s packed with eateries, then proceeded to shoot down each of Piri’s suggestions. As they were about to pass another Round the Clock, Piri pointed out that two in one trip had to be fate. Theda wasn’t having any of that, then she saw Lake Stop and pulled in.
Still riding the new car high, Theda offered to buy Piri lunch and ordered a perch for herself. Piri didn’t want to abuse the privilege, so she played it safe with a grilled cheese sandwich. As they enjoyed themselves, Piri knew that she wanted more of this for herself. Being able to go wherever she wanted and do whatever she wanted on a whim, not having to worry about money. Sure, on the surface, it sounded like her vagabond life, but having weather-controlled four walls and a roof and a car was never a possibility in those days.
Then Piri noticed the Help Wanted sign and wondered how quickly she could make “Piri”.
Samsara
Piri gave up on calling Theda after her fifth try.
She was at the nearby gas station because she didn’t want her new boss to think there was already something wrong with her. She already broke out in hives on her hands. Miserable thoughts buzzed around her head like the fluorescent bulbs above her. Superstitious ones told her Theda not answering was a sign that her plan to be a better person was wrong. Paranoid ones told her getting a taxi would give the game away to her “neighbors”. Morbid ones told her staying in one spot for too long would invite those who came with knives. Absurd ones told her to walk home since buses didn’t run that late. Morbid ones told her those who came with knives wouldn’t follow her. Paranoid ones told her she could still sneak into her squat if she was careful. Superstitious ones told her the ten-mile walk was better than thirteen. Buzzing was left to the fluorescents as she walked to Ridge Road with misguided determination.
To be concluded…
