A NIGHT AS
I was having a makeover, preparing for the most awaited event, of a monster’s calendar, after a year of living life as a single woman, erasing the scars Victor left on me, when a wise, and I would say occasionally, a bit evil hairdresser, shared with me a secret tool that was useful to get her through life in one piece.
Since my creator was no longer in the picture to fix me up with new pieces, I listened.
Whilst she was sticking metal in my skull, spraying it with toxic chemicals, trying to build an indestructible tower of hair, similar to Marie Antoinette’s hairstyle but missing the extravagant feathers, she advised me to stop distracting myself with the wrong boy, to find a man who will financially support me, the one that will be there for me, more as a friend than a wild lover, someone nice, even if boredom was guaranteed. The rest, which I assumed she was referring to passionate love, doesn't matter anymore, you had that when you were a teenager, an innocent child refusing to put on a bulletproof vest, leaving the heart widely exposed to the evil of the world.
“So honey, remember the lovers of your youth with kindness and nostalgia, but understand from now on, your mind must focus on surviving in the practical world.”
It took me five years to appreciate what she meant without feeling horrified by the idea and judgmental about her way of thinking.
“AWWW FUCK!, that hurts like a cheater.”- I screamed, but she ruthlessly kept burying metal in my hair.
“Sorry love, suffer now and you´ll look astonishing later. Now—the final touch, the white lightning—hand me the paint.”- The hairdresser said.
This is how my Halloween night started in New York City, complaining while my host, also a professional hairdresser, tied heaps of knots in my hair to bring off the appearance of Lily Frankenstein.
Later, I found myself being part of one of the biggest parades of the continent, among Michael Jackson and his zombie dancers, along with Chewbacca, some superheroines, more zombies from a bunch of other movies, and a killer clown. Wait, maybe the killer clown was also Michael?
Anyhow, I was adjusting to the euphoria of the audience cheering us from the far, while meticulously, also absurdly, looking for my relatives, who were visiting from the south, in the middle of a massive disguised crowd.
In the absence of the Dutch Courage sweet poison, I was consciously walking for kilometers, while I couldn't stop myself from thinking how unusual this was. Alcohol prohibited on a party parade in one of the drunkest countries I've ever been to?.
I must confess since I moved here, I was buying a six-pack twice a week, drinking with a girlfriend on a boat in a residential lake, living in an American TV show set from seven to sixish, as a housewife of Connecticut, borrowing the mansion in the woods, the BMW, the kids, the wife and thankfully, no having to worry much about the husband. I was a full time, extra time, Au Pair.
Finally, I reached the end line of this scary parade, just in time when my phone started ringing.
My godfather and his smart doctor's girlfriend had found free WiFi and they had managed to call me.
I believed it was the first time we met as adults, drunk beer together, and danced the night, which for them the length of the night lasts only two hours.
Midway through their night, he started crying.
It’s clear that now, we have been drinking the sweet poison, perhaps it was not allowed before, because it was being reserved for the moment of your life when you really need it. I incredulously thought this was that moment for me during this night.
He apologized, or in his mind, the speech he gave me sounded similar to an apology.
My godfather dressed as a member of Damas Gratis :
“Goddaughter, I'm sorry for...”
Wait, this is a relevant piece of information. Damas Gratis is an Argentine cumbia villera band.
Back to the scary speech:
“Goddaughter, I'm sorry for not being there for you when you were a child, I was dealing with my own problems, studying medicine while working, raising two kids, going through a divorce, fighting for the love of this one.”- he winked at his girlfriend and continued.
“I feel, — now it's the best time to have this conversation, because...”
Frankenstein's ex bride interrupted:
“I strongly disagree with that.”
The member of Damas Gratis:
“You are a grown-up, capable of understanding that we cannot be everywhere or be present for everyone at all times, our own lives are shitty enough. So forgive me for not being there, but you aren't in a position to judge, think where you were, when your sister was decorating the salon party, standing alone on a ladder, without anyone holding it from the bottom, on your goddaughter’s birthday party.”
You see why I wasn’t convinced about this being an apology.
In an act of solidarity, his girlfriend took me to the bathroom, we chatted for a few minutes, then she held my hand, left two pills of ecstasy in my palm, and said:
“We already took ours, we should go home to be safe when it kicks.”
I took the train back to Connecticut although there was one more place where I intended to be that night.
Before arriving at the station, I looked at my reflection on the window, my face was covered by a thin layer of white gray paint, my lips colored with dark violet lipstick, I was wearing a short black lace dress with a violet classical ballerina tutu under. The hair tower was intact. I could see how this outfit wasn't my sexiest, but certainly the most playful one.
I went straight to the bar, he was smoking at the front door, standing almost naked, waiting for me.
The cold wind of the New York fall was carrying a noisy sound, a voice, her voice. I could hear the evil hairdresser’s lectures, while I couldn't avoid looking at him, wearing only a diaper, dressed as a baby, a hot ripped Eminem baby.
He started rapping my song in the middle of the street, I ran to him, jumped on him, and gave him the scariest kiss.
Definitely not thinking tonight on financial support or yet preparing myself for a life of boredom.
We drove away as fast as we could, snuck in his house to do it in his bed.
Immediately, he got rid of my dress and his diaper, although I kept my tutu.
How could I not? It was so pretty, I've never had a chance to wear one nor never taken classical dance lessons.
The only other part of my costume that also didn't abandon me, despite the wild sex, was the perfectly constructed tower of hair on top of my head. It held steady, not even one thread of hair moved or any metal clip went missing.
By the time of the third orgasm, something else went missing.
We couldn't find it anywhere.
“It might still be in there.”- The baby said.
“No, It can't, I checked.” - Frankenstein's ex bride replied.
“My fingers are larger than yours...”- The baby suggested.
I was trying to make peace with the idea of him, scavenging through my vagina, when someone knocked at the door.
“Are you okay there?.” - His mom, who was also his flatmate said.
She kept offering her help for whatever was happening in his bedroom while her son's fingers were mining their way to the missing condom in my vagina.
“Got it.” - He yelled excitedly.
“Oh, wonderful sweetie, go to bed now, it's late.” - His mom congratulated him.
Having enough of the Halloween rap, I managed to get home.
There she was in her pj's, sitting outside, having a glass of chardonnay as breakfast, being financially supported, waiting for the fucking cats to come back.
This is how she called them. To be fair I wouldn’t blame her. She has never been a pet-friendly person, although she warned him, he brought nine cats into the house and on top of that, he was never at home.
As I said, she was a bit evil, but not completely, at least she was still taking care of them.
I sat next to her:
Trick or treat? - I asked while showing her the two MDMA pills in my hand.
A moment of silence between us.
“Awww__fuck it.”- the awesome hairdresser replied.
And we took one each.