Vienna

Melon Collie and The Infinite Sadness

     The taste should disgust me. It just feels too good to snort death chemicals. It's not the same when I swallow them. By the time they hit, I'm asleep. I was on a cloud all day and I was too fucked up to think about writing anything. Writing has felt pointless anyway. Just another page of wrong turns. One day I will edit and publish this journal and everyone in America will be able to find my desperate tragedy in their local bookstore. Hopefully by then I'll be even more repulsed by the sight of it and will find it in me to throw it away, or burn it.

     Max told me he was going to a party in the city tonight. He wanted me to dress pretty and come with him. He held me and kissed my neck and told me to wear the dress he got me for my birthday. He wanted to show everybody how pretty I am in red.

      Neither of us mentioned the Xanax on the drive. I just took line after line. We laughed, and smoked blunts, and touched each other. We almost swerved into a tree but it felt so good to melt into my seat and feel nothing and care about nothing. It felt so goddamn good to let go of the control and accept that if we crash, I die. Before I knew we were even close we were parked on a dim street and started walking. We shared a cigarette and laughed down the street. I held his arm and I felt like, finally, I was okay. There are no stars in New York City, but I saw them in the indigo sky tonight. Sparkling and silvery and twinkling at me. I should have thought about how stars aren't metallic and silver.

     When we finally entered the club, I felt rejuvenated. The lights shimmered and good looking people in expensive clothes were dancing, holding good looking partners and expensive drinks. Everybody fit, like in a painting you've seen many times and everything is just in place. I felt a lack of change, stagnant air, people stuck in this night purgatory. Everybody smiled and everybody was suspended in the music and lights and drinks and blissful ignorance.

     Max got me a martini, and a second martini, and another martini, and I don't remember if I asked for this, but I found myself sitting at the bar with a small bowl of maraschino cherries with sugar sprinkled on them. I liked the way the sugar tasted off of the artificial cherries and I swirled my tongue around one as Max flirted with the beautiful Latina woman next to us. Her name was something Lana. I couldn't remember at the time for the life of me. It wasn't that I wasn't included. He wasn't bold enough to completely ignore me. I knew what he wanted to do with this girl and I know I was included. I just couldn't stay focused, what with the sugar and the cherries and the Xanax drip and the swirling lights all around me. I downed what might have to be my last martini if I want to stay upright, and slipped away. I knew he would notice, but I had time. I stumbled my way to the bathroom, and looked up into a mirror. All I saw was my red dress and lipstick, everything else went transparent. Like a ghost.

     I opened my little bag and with shaky hands I prepared a bump from one of the last crushed pills in my bottle. I stumbled back into the stall behind me and fell down laughing. I stood up and fixed myself as best as I could, making sure at least my tits were inside my dress.

     As I walked back to the bar, a dark skinned man with a radiating glow asked me to dance. I liked his eyes and I wanted to dance. I knew it was a bad idea. I know it wasn't okay. I just didn't care. I swayed and faded in and out. I let him hold my hips and ask me if I'm Italian and if my name was really Vienna. I perked up when he asked if I wanted a drink. We headed to the bar and I knew I wasn't getting that drink when I met Max's eyes. He watched for a moment as the man asked me what I wanted. I just couldn't look away from Max's icy blue stare. I was frozen. He looked like he was considering a lot of things at once. Probably how big the guy was, how far from the door we were, how he could get away if the cops came. I saw his hand slide off of the woman's leg and onto his waist.

     It became about survival very fast. Would he really shoot this man? How drunk is he? Is there any way I can get the gun away from him without getting myself shot? How can I convince him I didn't do anything wrong?

     I saw Max walk over to us and I felt the Xanax hold my body tight against the bar. He didn't look at me. He walked past me and made direct eye contact with the darker man. At first time felt like it stopped. Then the clock started again when Max got up in his face, and the guy put his hand on his chest to push him back. Max, belligerent and irate, flashed his gun and the man started to back away. Nobody around us stirred. The bartender never stopped pouring Malibu into juice and people never stopped smiling and dancing. The lights sparkled with vigor and the music turned up even unbearably louder. Max walked away, close to a temper tantrum, and I didn't follow him. I knew he wanted me to. I made eye contact with the only one who really paid any attention.

     Her.

     She stayed seated at the bar, one of her long shiny legs draped over the other. Her seductive dark eyes surveyed me. I stood in shock. After a moment, she switched her legs and motioned for me to come with her pointer finger.

     She asked me if I was okay, and when I sat stunned, she took my hand with hers. Her fingers were small and slender. I felt my insides churn and my stomach burned with deep embarrassment. The last time someone acknowledged Max's behavior to my face was the last time I spoke to my mother. She had thrown a glass at me, losing herself. She asked me if this is how I liked to feel. If this is how I wanted to spend the rest of my life. If this is why her Mother came to this country with nothing but hope for our futures. For me to sit and allow Max to abuse me. Once she used that word, I had silently stood up and walked out. I never saw her again until the wake. And even then, I refused to look.

     Something was different about how the woman held my hand, and even though the words were the same, she felt nothing like my mother. She was beautiful, and I wanted to look into her eyes, and I wanted to soak up her essence.

     She told me her name was Solana and she wanted to bring me somewhere quieter to talk. I had already lost sight of Max and figured I'd be back soon. Part of me hoped he would worry. I walked away with Solana, hands still clasped together.