Vintage Memories

Chapter Thirty "The Eve of the Extermination."

It was easy to forget about Dezire Jackson, especially when she shed her performative self and reverted back to Dani, Danielle Sandweg; a shy bunny from the vest-pocket town of Costilla County, Colorado. And that was precisely the state she slipped back into within the safety of the Happy (gag) Hotel. Like a favorite pair of athleisure pants.

A certain security resided in being on the outside-looking-in, in disappearing into the flower wallpaper and seeing all while remaining unseen. It was something she started in high school, earphones in so no one thought to bother her (Listening to Fall Out Boy or Panic at The Disco, and feeling edgy by-proxy.) but keeping the volume low so she could be more engrossed in the drama happening around her.

Now, she was down in Hell and up to her old tricks, appreciating the entertainment in times when people couldn't figure out things amongst themselves.

One of those times came careening into the present, but it wasn't the recreational experience she hoped for.

She sat at the hotel bar, earphones in. The Verosika Mayday New Year's album had dropped this morning, and spread across her phone screen in vivacious shades of pink sensuality. The play button remained decidedly unpressed. Dezi instead hung onto each word that came from the bickering at the hotel front entrance. The two spearheaders of this hairbrained redemption scheme argued over the fate of Angel as they boarded up the front of the hotel for the upcoming Extermination.

"What the fuck is Angel's deal?" Vagatha complained. "He hasn't come out of his room in two weeks."

"Vaggie, calm down," Charlie cooed, holding up a board over a window for her girlfriend to nail in. "He's just having one of his low points. We need to be patient."

"Every point he has is a low point. Every time we think he's making any sort of progress, he goes back on it. He's not participating all over again." Vaggie brought down the hammer onto the nail with that all-knowing condemnation of a judge driving a gavel against a sounding block.

It pissed Dezi off.

Put that fuckin' hammer down until you calm your tits... big yikes.

"C'mon Vaggie..." Charlie placed her hands farther away from the nail this-go-around. "We talked about your breathing exercises. Count to ten."

Vaggie decimated the nail, driving it in with one ireful hit.

"I'm at twenty-five, Charlie." Vaggie's voice rose a level, falling just under the line of shouting.

It made Dezi, a ways away from the altercation, flinch. The discord of others triggered an anxiety deep within her. It nipped at the heels of this internalized responsibility for others emotional well being, the same way it had when she was growing up amongst six younger half-siblings in a two bedroom mobile home in goddamn Costilla County, Colorado.

Almost every night, Mom and Stan went at it hammer and tongs. The topics, of course, changed, filing through in a never ending cycle: Mom's spending on raffle tickets, Stan's drinking, the bills, the cheating. But all that screaming, and arguing, and detestation always seemed to redirect itself to like Dani Sandweg like lightning to metal.

And this fight, marked by the irregular, intensifying drum beat of nailing boards, sounded just like all those other ones.

Dezi had learned early on not to meddle in others affairs, no matter how much she knew. It was always better to keep your head down. A 'let it build until it blew up' doctrine; you could get far from the blast if you focused on yourself. But this wasn't it, chief.

"Charlie, I think we need to cut our losses and find a new participant." Vaggie sighed, and put forward her proposal as they put up another board.

This wasn't the first time Vaggie had suggested such a thing, but never so solemn. And perhaps the worst part, was that Charlie didn't jump in with her usual refusal. The princess was silent, ruminating.