#yes tarring everybody with the same brush really helps me to take you seriously

[lunatheranter]

#5 Series: White People Are Evil!!!1!!

Yes, we are all evil. Every single person on the planet with pale skin is 100% Satan-born ignorant scum. Nice 👌 This rant is coming from several places. It's coming from my own experiences and perspective. It's coming from my POC friends who are tired of having oppression prescribed to them. Who are as tired as I am with their white friends being attacked for disgreeing or agreeing or just showing up to the party. It's coming from a place that's unplugged from the fucking matrix. This rant is largely anecdotal, because it's also personal, but who doesn't love a good anecdote? Or ten. 1. "Why don't you just leave then?" Recently in the comments of some or another Facebook post, a (white) girl made a joke about the US being a mess. Somebody subreplied that she should just leave, if she hated it so much. This girl came back like lol I'm from Hungary idk what you're talking about. Because some white people AREN'T AMERICAN!! ISN'T THAT AMAZING!!!! This is sale point one of this rant. Europe is hella white. Some white people, would you believe, were born in largely POC countries. Would you believe!! There are all types of people everywhere!! NOT ALL WHITE PEOPLE ARE AMERICAN ISN'T THAT INCREDIBLE!!!!!! 2. You White People™ Again in the Facebook comments (notorious for The Discourse™). I watched a clip from a film in which an African guy had taken artefacts from a museum & was on trial, arguing that he had not stolen them because they had been stolen from Africa in the first place. (If anybody knows what film this is hmu bc I lowkey wanna watch it). I noticed in the comments an ongoing (in some places surprisingly civil) intersectional debate about the ownership of art, with even many native Africans suggesting that the art should stay in the museum because art belongs to everybody. I commented on this discussion: [I'm not sure how I feel about this perspective. It's interesting to see the contrasting views across race lines in the comments. "Does anything ever really belong to anybody?" It's a curious thought.] This was my entire comment. I did not state an opinion. I expressed my interest in a discussion. The tirade of abuse I was subject to was unreal. One person subreplied with an entire rant, condensing me to an Evil White Person™, accusing me of ignoring historical fact and trying to blot out Black culture. The main catcher? My name is Luna Kwon. It is a Korean name. In my profile picture, my face is mostly obscured. This person had no reason to assume that I am white. And I didn't express an opinion. I was on an endeavour to educate myself on the opinions of others. I literally got dragged for thinking. 3. Yes it's Facebook again. This is the article which largely prompted my writing this rant this morning. You can read it here: http://afropunk.com/2017/07/white-friends-comes-trauma-im-not-willing-deal-anymore/ A few things to note: it's on Afropunk which is a POC forum, and while I understand that this is a POC space, the headline is nonetheless inflammatory. Secondly, it is one person's experience. One American person's experience in a Southern state and we all know what they're famous for. I read the article. I read the article and spent the whole time thinking "What? Really? Who does that??" Because I certainly wouldn't even consider behaving like any of the situations this person describes, and I don't know anybody who would, either. Maybe it's because I grew up in a metropolitan area, went to a metropolitan school, and have all of about 3 white friends. Maybe it's because I view every individual as an individual and I cannot comprehend judging person B, C and D based on person A's behaviour. Before anybody starts going off like we're in the Facebook comments, I'm not trying to invalidate this woman's experience. I hope she would not try to invalidate mine. What she's dealt with is what she's dealt with and if other people identify, that's their experience. Nonetheless this view (the inflammatory nature of the writing, not the content) is grotesquely separational (as somebody got dragged hard in the comments for pointing out) bc if my POC friends suddenly dropped me because I'm white (not only would I have no friends but) I would be very upset. I would want to understand exactly what I did to offend them. I would want to correct that behaviour. But I'm sure that this would never happen because, as I've said, I cannot imagine behaving in any of the ways the author of the article described and I would say to her: those people are not your friends. And it's not because they're white, it's because they're ignorant bigots. What you want to say is "having bigoted, ignorant, racist friends is a trauma I'm not willing to deal with". Because I'm from the UK. I live in a metropolis. My closest friends consist of: one Yemeni Muslim, one Punjab Indian, one mixed-race British-White/Indian, one Caribbean, one Korean (born and raised), one Chinese, one White with untraceable lineage and one White-British. I have no concept of racial sterotyping. Disrespecting another culture is completely alien behaviour to me. I've spent my whole life trying to understand and integrate into other cultures, to cultivate a greater understanding of my friends' backgrounds, to gain a deep comprehension of what it means to be culturally respectful. Because I grew up in this metropolitan environment, it is second nature. I don't even think about it. I also want to point out that the person in point 2 decided that I can "probably trace my lineage down through many generations" so let me clear that up *just incase she's watching*: my family (father's side, my legal family name) originates from German war refugees. I can trace my lineage back to the First World War, because my surname was fake from the moment they hit dry land. My mother is from a closed adoption. I have no freakin idea where I come from. As opposed to some of my friends, who can trace back to their great x16 grandmother's neighbour's uncle's cat's second cousin because they are descended from migrants. But yeah you looked at my skin tone in bright sunlight and determined that you know everything about me. So how about you take a fucking seat. When I hear "white people" I hear "yeah, you". When that finger is pointing, you better be damn clear who you're pointing it at because I am sick of being shamed for my skin colour and I am sick of feeling ashamed. I am Welsh. We have a rich history and culture dating back to the ancient Celts - can I not celebrate that, because it's a white culture? Empowerment is one thing, and I'm all for it. I hate that many POC suffer on a daily basis, I can't comprehend it, we should all be equal and free to seek happiness. But shaming people you don't know based on their skin tone is (racist and) not born from a desire for empowerment, it comes from a place of anger-fuelled supremacy. When I hear "white people are evil" I hear "I am not capable of rational thought". I hear "I think I'm the centre of the universe and everybody shares my experience and view". Shaming others is not the path to empowerment. We've already established this argument within feminism: tearing down other women does not make you an empowered woman. Well tearing down other people does not make you an empowered person. It makes you a bigot. You attack me for something Person A did, that makes you the same as Person A. Go yell in the mirror.

[pjbehindthesun]

chapter 15: have you heard the one about…

Hey, I feel like this one needs a preface, if only because Chris shows up briefly, in a very lighthearted scene, and it's a tough time of year to feel very lighthearted. All I will say, inarticulately, is that I started tinkering with and ultimately sharing this old project last year to help me process what happened. Something about having an alternate universe where I could keep things exactly the way I wanted them, keep everybody safe, felt healing. I hope it feels that way for you, too.

So that's enough of that stuff. Peace, love, and I hope y’all like dirty jokes.

Tuesday, October 23rd, 1990

shit. Shit. Shit! SHIT! What was that??

I let go of my lip only when I'm positive I’ve regained enough control of myself not to say anything completely insane out loud. I keep my eyes shut tight though… whether to avoid the awful, crashing reality of looking my boyfriend in the eyes and facing what a terrible person I am, or whether I'm just not ready to surrender the stolen image behind my eyelids quite yet, I can't begin to understand.

Meanwhile, Alex seems totally oblivious as he rides down from his own high, pressing a kiss to my damp forehead.

“Mmmh, where did that come from?” he mutters, brushing my hair back from my face.

Your guess is as good as mine. Well, maybe not exactly…

I shake my head, still not feeling entirely trustworthy enough to speak, and let out a little laugh, shaky and slightly hysterical-sounding.

“Well, whatever it was, it was fuckin’ hot…” he says, nuzzling my nose.

Oh no, don't be sweet, please, after all this time, don't suddenly start being sweet now…

“I'm gonna, uhm... I’ll be right back,” I stutter, nodding in the direction of the door. Really smooth, Cora, Christ Almighty.

After disentangling myself from him and bolting to the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face for several seconds while I try to get my heart rate under control. But it's no use, every time I close my eyes I see the same thing… I try glaring at my own reflection instead, hoping to scowl some sense into myself.

God, get a grip Cora, it's nothing, okay? It's just been so long since you even had sex, you're all mixed up. And it doesn't mean anything, you were just hanging out with him earlier tonight, that's why he popped into your head, just a totally innocent fluke of the subconscious… and you know your subconscious is a crazy motherfucker sometimes … but it doesn't mean anything, right?

It means one big thing, at least. It means I am the world's most horrible girlfriend. I didn't even want Alex tonight, not specifically… I didn't even want him to kiss or touch me, I just wanted one thing… even before I thought of, uhm, someone else… so where do we go from here? If things have gotten so hollow and disconnected that the only sex we’re ever going to have now is this meaningless and empty? Doesn't this mean we’re completely through, if I can't even trust myself not to use him while I fantasize about someone else?

And of all the someone elses, it wasn't just anyone, it was Stone! Stone?! Fuck, it's like my subconscious is on a mission to destroy me. What was it about him tonight? How did he get me so unglued? What made me say such an idiotic thing to him? He probably thinks I’m insane now, or some kind of damn groupie or something. I have a thing for you playing an acoustic… What the fuck, brain, have you been working on this scheme ever since that day at the fucking gallery? That level of treason takes commitment, kudos. But seriously, Stone?

...okay, fine, admit it, Stone’s not the problem here. He’s actually pretty fucking great. He’s insightful, and hilarious, and brilliant, and talented, and lately he's been a lot less of a shit for whatever reason… last night, he seemed so much more sincere, or secure, or something, I can’t figure out what it was... and okay fine yes shut up he is also extremely good-looking shut up already. But it's one thing to respect and admire a friend, or even acknowledge their empirical attractiveness. It's another thing altogether to mentally cheat with one of them.

I scrunch up my face, like I can somehow squint hard enough to crush all these thoughts of him out of my disordered mind.

I grope for the shower faucet and turn it on, climbing in before the water even has a chance to heat up. I don't know how I expect soap and water to wash this night away, but with shaking hands and a sick heart, I have to try.

*

When Alex's alarm goes off, I slam my eyes shut and pretend to sleep. I spent the whole night staring at the ceiling while he snored softly, trying to figure out how I was going to face him in the morning. And the coward’s way out wins. After waiting the usual amount of time to get ready for work and only crack an eye open when I hear the front door open and shut. At least after my shame shower last night, getting myself ready this morning is a quick process… oh, look, a silver lining…

The only glimmer of clarity I found in my panicked thoughts all night was that if there’s any hope for me at all, any hope of retaining any decency or value as a girlfriend and human being, I’ve got to stay the fuck away from Stone for a while. No, strike that, make that all of the Mookie guys, just to be safe. My heart aches at the thought of such an extensive amputation. This could get messy.

The one thing that can make me smile right now is the sight of my little brother in pajama pants, eating cereal on the couch and watching garbage morning news.

“Morning, sunshine!” he quips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You look like shit, C. Didn’t you sleep?” He peers at me through his shaggy bangs.

I shake my head and gravitate towards the coffee pot. “No. Busy week at school, I guess… I’ve got a couple exams next week…”

He nods thoughtfully. “...your bratty kid brother all up in your business…”

“You know you’re not, drama queen.”

“Yeah, well, I was thinking, I’m liking this Portland idea more and more. I was gonna call around today and see if I can set something up for this weekend.”

My heart throbs painfully again. “So soon?”

“Well, yeah, C, I have to, like, find a job and be a productive member of society, I can’t freeload off of you and Alex forever.”

Definitely my little brother. I frown at him for long enough that he gets off the couch and comes over to give me a quick hug.

“What’s going on with you out here, Cora? You seem so unhappy.”

“I’m not, I --” I swear to god, I’m not, it’s just that none of the right things are bringing me happiness anymore, and I can’t begin to explain that to him “-- I’m okay,” I finish weakly.

“Oh yeah, sure… and you and Alex, that’s okay too?”

“What do you --”

“Come on, it’s obvious, it’s been obvious since the day I got here. Maybe not to you, but I have the benefit of not having seen you in a while. You two are done. You know I love him to bits, C, but you gotta cut him loose if you’re done.”

Guilt churns through my chest as I echo him. “If I’m done…”

“Cora, you’re not happy. I fucking hate that. I don’t know what’s going on, and I for sure know you’re not going to tell me, but you deserve to be happy. You’re the smart one, you can figure it out.”

I allow him to pull me into another hug, which gives me a chance to try and squash the sob I can feel rising up in my throat and the tears pricking my eyes. Just as I think I’ve gotten it under control, there’s a knock at the door.

“Thanks, kiddo,” I mumble as he lets me go.

“You can repay me by letting me use up all your hot water,” he cackles, heading toward the hallway to take a shower.

I frown at Eddie in confusion when I find him standing outside my door, exposing one of the most obvious flaws in my plan. It’s a little tricky to amputate people from your life when they live across the hall.

“What’s up, bud?”

“Hey, sorry, hope it’s not too early, uh… hey, you okay?” he frowns back at me, inspecting my face.

“Yeah, uh, just… something in my eye.”

“Uh huh,” he muses, clearly not buying it but not pushing me for further details. Thank goodness for that.

“Anyway, what’s up?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, we’re gonna be at the gallery all day, we gotta record these demos, but uhm, we happened upon these six tickets for the game tonight, preseason game, Bulls at SuperSonics…”

“Oh right, your Chicago roots,” we share a grin. Damn it, I always forget about those dimples until they blind me.

“That’s right,” he beams.

“Your team’s got my guy, you know.”

“Who?”

“Jordan, who else?”

“Really?” he chuckles. “I didn’t know you were a fan.”

“He’s a Tar Heel, Eddie, of course!”

“Oh man, so then this is perfect timing… we’re all going, the whole group, Lucy’s coming too, and Dave was gonna come but he can’t make it, so I was wondering if you wanted his ticket.”

The distraction of Michael Jordan is immediately replaced by panic swamping my brain at the thought of seeing Stone again so soon. Operation Amputation doesn’t seem to be going so well. And the thought of trying to explain to Lucy why I can’t hang out with her and her boyfriend gives me a bellyache. Why do you have to be so nice to me, Eddie? Be a jerk, make it easier.

“I really shouldn’t… you know, I’ve got a lot of work, and my brother’s leaving soon, and Alex is gone all next week… I should probably stay pretty close to home this week…”

Eddie nods sincerely, wrinkling his forehead. “Sure, yeah, I totally get that. Well, hopefully we see you around soon. You, uhm, you really helped me out last night, you know.”

Without another word, he turns on his heels and starts down the hallway. Suddenly, I remember something I should have said to him already, and I yell out to get his attention, “hey Eddie!”

He whirls around and gives me a questioning look.

“You did great last night.”

He lets loose another one of those massive, dimpled smiles, nods once, and disappears down the stairwell.

***

I decide to cut through the park on my way back. Maybe it’s not the most direct route from my house to the gallery, and I know I need to get back, but it’s a more scenic ride on the bike, and since last night I’ve been looking for any opportunity to be alone with my thoughts.

You know I have a thing for you playing an acoustic…

I still get a thrill in my veins every time I replay it in my head. The little smile, the color in her cheeks, the awkwardness that took over as soon as she realized she’d said it out loud. It was undeniable, even for Cora. She’s gotta admit it now.

But what if she doesn’t? What if she regrets it? What if I try to talk to her about it and she bites my head off yet again? Talking to her last night felt so great, and as much as I want us to finally air out all of our feelings, I don’t want to blow up our whole friendship by fixating on an impossible crush. I just want us to start being more honest with each other. I want her to be more honest with herself. I know she’s not happy, I...

Way up ahead, I spot a redheaded girl on a bike heading towards me on the path… that’s not her, is it? Jesus, man, get a grip, that’s ridiculous. Why would she be all the way up in this part of town? You’re hallucinating her.

Except…

“Stone?” The redhead in my thoughts is the same one braking right in front of my path, and I stop dead, blinking like a deer in the headlights. Funny thing is, she’s got the same expression on her face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Cora asks, looking a little wild-eyed.

“I live around here, what’s your excuse?”

“I, uh,” she stammers, “just heading up to UW. Classes, and, uh, I wanted to do some stuff in the lab beforehand...”

“This is kinda out of your way though, isn’t it?”

“Uhm, I guess,” she chews her lip and looks around like she’s just realizing where she is, “but it’s pretty, and I guess…”

“It’s okay, Red, I’m taking the scenic route too.”

She fixes me with a questioning expression but can’t come up with anything to say. I can’t get over how nervous she looks. Something really shook her up, I just wish I knew what it was.

“I’m heading back down your way, actually,” I explain, “gotta get back to the gallery, but my parents are out of town for a couple weeks so I’m on geriatric dog piss break duty.”

“Glamorous. Well, I don’t want to keep you…”

“It’s okay.” I glance at my watch. “Did you eat lunch yet?”

“Uhm, yeah, why?”

“I don’t know, just wanted to know if you wanted to get a bite to eat.”

“I just told you, I already ate.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“So you very sensibly asked me to eat lunch with you because…?” she asks wryly, putting a giant crack in that nervous shell.

“I don’t know,” I smile stupidly, thankful for an idea that just popped into my head. “Hey, but there’s this great little ice cream place near here, we should go…”

“Ice cream? It’s almost November.”

“Right? Damn the man! Let’s go get ice cream in 50-degree weather. This place is worth it, honestly.”

“I’m sure it’s great, but I really should get to the lab…”

“Come on, Wet Blanket, there’s always time for ice cream. I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream… in the land of the ice and snow…”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” she laughs.

“That’s how the song goes, you uncultured swine, the ice cream song.”

“So Zeppelin ripped off a 1920s novelty song?”

“Honestly who didn’t they rip off? Come on, are we getting ice cream or not?”

Her smile broadens. “You’re not gonna drop it, are you?”

“You’re quick, Red.”

We steer our bikes across the park to the place I’m thinking of, talking idly on the way about nothing and everything, and she’s becoming more relaxed by the minute. Maybe this means things are really changing between us now. Maybe she doesn't regret what she said. Maybe the nerves are just because she’s finally letting her guard down.

We park our bikes outside the ice cream parlor and step inside. While she contemplates the choices, I place my order because I know exactly what I want.

“Seriously?” she asks with a snort. “Old lady butter pecan? That's what you're going with?”

“Is there a problem here?”

“No problem at all, granny,” she snickers as she scans the freezer case to make her own choice. “Actually, that's kinda perfect.”

“Granny?? I'm all man, Red. And what the fuck is that supposed to mean, perfect?”

The clerk hands me my cone and glances between us, obviously waiting for Cora to make up her mind but too polite to say anything. Cora, meanwhile, is occupied with way more important things.

“Uh huh. I don't know, butter pecan just makes sense. Like, it's you, in ice cream form. It's a little ironic, so it's got that going on, but it's also undeniably one of the best, most underrated flavors. And it's probably kind of a pain in the ass to make it just right, a little finicky, so the details are important. It explains you perfectly.”

“I'm not sure if I want you to keep describing me or order some damn ice cream so you’ll shut up,” I make like I’m going to mash my ice cream cone in her face, and she squeals with laughter. The clerk sighs and gives us a pleading look.

“Strawberry, please,” Cora finally says.

“Oh hell no, you're not getting off that easy,” I shake my head.

“And your problem would be…?” she raises a lazy eyebrow.

“In no possible scenario are you strawberry ice cream, my fine feisty friend.”

“Bonus points for alliteration, but I was not choosing myself as ice cream, I just fuckin’ wanted strawberry.” A mischievous smile spreads across her face. “But since you brought it up, what ice cream flavor am I?”

We pay for our cones -- I tried to pay for hers but she rolled her eyes and teased that it wasn't a date -- and go sit outside on a bench, which is ridiculous in this weather, but I’ve got a very serious question to ponder and a beautiful girl to eat ice cream with, so who gives a fuck if it's a little cold outside. None of it ever makes sense with her. That's why I love her.

As I'm figuring out how to define her in flavor terms, I glance over and watch her take a bite of her ice cream, thinking of how sweet she looks when she's completely unaware of having an audience. Well, bite’s not really the right word, she doesn't exactly use her teeth, and what kind of psychopath bites ice cream, anyway… but she doesn't simply lick the whole thing, either, except for occasionally running her tongue along the bottom edge to catch a drip… no, it's more like she gives a little lick to one chosen spot, and then applies her lips to melt a little circle of the ice cream, pulling it inwards, then licking again, starting over… uh, Jesus… lucky ice cream...

Her eyes travel up to mine just as she’s about to give another small lick, and she lets out a self-conscious giggle. “You're melting, Stoner.”

“Wha…? Oh,” I switch my attention to my own ice cream, which is starting to run in a little rivulet down my hand, so I busy myself cleaning it up with my own tongue to stop myself from thinking about hers. It doesn't work particularly well… I mean my hand’s clean now, but my thoughts...

“So, did you decide?”

“Mmhmm,” I say, simultaneously trying to corral my hormones and make sure I don't have ice cream on my face like a total dork, “I mean, you're something weird, let's just get that out of the way right now.”

“Granted.”

“Strawberry is way too sweet.”

“Hey!” She elbows me hard and I almost lose the whole cone to the sidewalk.

“Obviously you’re a sweetheart,” I snort. “But, like, strawberry's too… accessible, or something. Too mainstream.”

“Mmmhk,” she says skeptically through a mouthful of ice cream. I will not stare. I must not stare.

“So you're a weirder one. Something completely awesome, but an acquired taste. Offbeat, unknowable, unpredictable. But that’s the fun part. Most people totally wouldn’t get the appeal…”

“Well, definitely don’t quit your day job for a career in ice cream marketing…”

“Hush. What I meant was, maybe you wouldn’t find it in every shop, but that’s a shame, because it’s the best one when you do find it. Except, it’s a little scary, too, like… the novelty makes it cool, and I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be awesome, but can I really handle a whole serving of something so unfamiliar? So what would that even be? Blueberry? Like, I never see blueberry ice cream anywhere but it sounds so fucking cool… but even that’s not quite right, ugh…”

She’s watching me ramble with the most curious expression, and she hasn’t even noticed that her own ice cream is dripping down her fingers. I nod at her and she jumps a bit before trying to clean up the mess and again running her tongue around the rim of the ice cream cone. Deep, steady breaths, man, come on, be cool. She smiles at me again.

“Offbeat scary blueberry, huh? I don’t know whether to be intensely flattered or completely insulted.”

“See? Perfect,” I beam at her, triumphant.

“You’re such a dick,” she giggles, her cheeks reddening just a little. Okay, if both of our minds are thinking about dicks, I might as well make the most of this opportunity.

“You wanna hear a joke?” I ask her, eyeing her as I take a bite out of the sugar cone.

“Always.”

“Okay, well it’s not really weather-appropriate, but I think it’ll still work… have you heard the one about the penguin driving down from Alaska to his vacation down south --”

“Penguins don’t live in Alaska,” she frowns.

“Excuse me?”

“There are no penguins in Alaska, Stone, they live in the Southern Hemisphere.”

“This is what bothers you? The inaccuracy of the penguin’s habitat? Not, oh I don’t know, the fact that the penguin is DRIVING?”

“Well I was gonna get to that next, but as the resident scientist, I felt obligated to --”

“It’s a joke, you fucking pedant!”

“-- it’s a pretty piss-poor joke so far.”

“Yeah, because of all the pedantic interruptions. Here, shove some ice cream in there, maybe that’ll help,” I nudge her cone up towards her face. “Okay, so who the fuck knows, maybe he’s fleeing a zoo or something, anyway, he’s driving south…”

“...probably to get back to the Southern Hemisphere where he belongs…”

“God damn it,” I laugh. “Okay, fine, have it your way. So he’s driving home to the Southern Hemisphere after VISITING Alaska, and somewhere in Arizona, in that intense desert heat, his car gives out. So he calls a tow truck and ends up at this repair shop in a little town, you know the type, just a big Main Street but nothing else.”

“Sure.” She takes the last bite of her cone and crumples up the napkin.

“Okay. So the mechanic tells him it’ll be about an hour to figure out what’s wrong with the car, so the penguin waddles over to this cute little ice cream shop across the street.”

“Ah, synergy, I see what you did there,” she grins.

“I’m good that way. So the penguin gets himself some ice cream, and he’s sitting down enjoying it…”

“What flavor?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a joke killer? No? Alright, fine, it’s vanilla. And he loves it, right, he’s devouring it with his little bill. But penguins are not the most dextrous of animals, not having hands and all… so he’s having trouble managing his treat with his little flippers, gets a little messy, and it's all hot out so the ice cream's melting, you know how it is. But he doesn’t care because he’s having a grand old time. Anyway, the hour’s up, so he waddles back over to the repair shop and asks the mechanic if he’s found the problem with his car. The mechanic looks at him and says, ‘it looks like you blew a seal.’ The penguin freaks out and says, ‘no no, it’s just ice cream!’”

The subtle red tint in her cheeks creeps through her whole face and her eyes widen for just a moment before her shoulders start shaking and her face scrunches up. I’ve never seen her laugh so hard that she forgets to make noise, but it’s so fucking irresistible that somehow I’m doing it now too, and soon we’re both laugh-sobbing so hard my sides are aching. After several minutes and a lot of disapproving glances from passersby, we manage to collect ourselves. Cora wipes a tear from her eye.

“Okay okay okay, my turn... uh, have you heard the one about the nun who --”  

“Oh, please, Red, your Catholic schoolgirl humor is no match for a fellating penguin.”

“You think so? Shows what you know about Catholic school.” Her playful smile takes on a hint of puzzlement. “Hey, when did I tell you I went to Catholic school?”

“Uhm,” I take a moment to make sure I’ve got my dates right, “it was my birthday.”

“Really? You remembered that?”

“Yeah, wow, I listen to you. What a concept.”

There’s an expression of shock in her eyes that’s going to be the death of me.  I nudge her with my shoulder, “just make with the nun joke, will ya?”

“Yeah, uhm… okay, so Mother Superior’s at the convent, and she hears a knock on the door. She opens it up and is shocked to find two leprechauns standing at the door, holding their hats in their hands, all respectable-like…”

“Leprechauns? And my story was implausible?”

“Nah, you’re just funny when you’re all riled up,” she gives me a wicked look. “Anyway, the first leprechaun says, ‘Mother Superior, would you be havin’ any leprechaun nuns in this convent?’ And she says, ‘no, my son, we have no leprechaun nuns in this convent.’ So he asks, ‘and are there any leprechaun nuns in all of Ireland?’ And she says, ‘no, my son, I don’t believe there’s a single leprechaun nun in all of Ireland.’ So the leprechaun turns to his buddy and says, ‘oi, I told ye ye’d been fuckin’ a penguin!’”

We both crack up again, and this time she slumps into my shoulder while she tries to pull herself together. I lean back into her, trying to catch my breath too, but also jealously hoarding the feeling of having her so close. She lifts her face to look at me, her eyes still shining with laughter, her mouth curved open in an inviting smile, close enough that I can count the freckles on her nose, feel her breath on my lips… she smells like strawberries...

She inhales sharply and then tries to disguise it as a laugh as she sits up straight, fidgeting, her shoulders tensed up practically around her ears. “Ha, uhm, sugar high,” she stammers, blushing furiously.

She may be rattled, but I’m experiencing the exact opposite sensation. My brain seems to have slowed every other operation down to a crawl in order to make room for how all-consumingly I want to kiss her. “yeah, maybe,” I mumble sluggishly, trying not to smile too wide.

“We should probably get going, huh?” She bites her lip, glancing at our bikes. I nod, trying to think of something to break the tension.

“Uh, speaking of bikes… and nuns... have you heard the one about the side street?”

She shakes her head, watching me with a wary smile as we start walking our bikes back through the park toward the point where our routes diverge.

“Really, they didn’t teach you that one in Catholic school? The one about the two nuns who rode their bikes to the market, and they’re heading back to the convent? They decide to take a side street, this little cobblestone alley. After a couple of blocks, one nun says to the other, ‘I’ve never come this way before!’ and the other nun says, ‘must be the cobbles.’”

She cringes horribly, laughing in a much more frenzied way than I’ve ever heard, refusing to look at me. Damn it, I wish I didn’t have to go back to the gallery. I could spend all afternoon making her squirm with dirty jokes… or other methods…

Finally, she composes herself enough to rally with another joke, although she’s still stubbornly looking anywhere but at me. “What’s the difference between a woman and a computer?”

“Hm, you got me.”

“Computers don’t laugh at three and a half inch floppies.”

“Ohhh, brutal! Hey, did I ever tell you that I used to date an English teacher?” “No, why’d you break up?”

“She dumped me for improper use of the colon...”

***

Wednesday, October 24th, 1990

Okay, okay, so Operation Amputation’s kind of a colossal failure. Something about the combination of endearingly shy lead singers, my best friend dating the bassist, and the general Stoneness of Stone seems to be making that plan a little too complicated. Time to face facts, I can’t just cut them -- cut him -- out of my life. We’re way past that.

Not like I have any fucking clue what to do with that information, of course. So I settle for wiping this one section of the mirror behind the bar obsessively, until my reflection’s spotless…frowny and washed out under the ghastly halogen lights in this place, maybe, but spotless. At least the lunch shift has been pretty quiet so far today, letting me contemplate in peace. I don’t even look up when I hear the cafe’s front doorbell ring, signaling the arrival of a big group.

“What do you think you’re gonna find through the looking glass?” Eddie’s voice wafts over my shoulder, tinged with laughter, and even though I’m surprised by the ambush -- he’s flanked by Jeff, Chris, and Stone -- I have to laugh along with him.

“Hopefully no Jabberwocks.”

“Let’s hope not.”

“M’lady, a round of beers, if you’d be so kind?” Chris asks with a bow and a flourish, and Jeff bats his eyelashes. Eddie watches the two of them and laughs, but Stone’s quietly focused on me. His gaze makes me shaky all over again as my mind floods with sensory memories from yesterday. His green eyes, which were infinitely more vivid in the sunlight. The rhythm of his silent laughter shaking me as I leaned into his shoulder. The slight cedar smell of his sweatshirt. The way I imagined his lips feeling on mine, if we’d only leaned in a little closer. God, this is so much worse than I thought. I drop my washcloth and walk around the counter to say hi, hoping the rest of these idiots can distract me.

“How come you didn’t come out with us, Cora?” Jeff asks. “Eddie says you’re a big Jordan fan, you woulda loved it, he had a great game.”

“Bulls were victorious,” Eddie beams.

“Uhm, I just have a ton of work to do right now, you know, Patch and Alex are both leaving soon, and anyway I didn’t feel right going out on a school night,” I lie, trying not to look at the real reason for my absence, who is still watching me closely and who speaks up in his usual sardonic tone.

“Oh yes, there’s our good little Catholic girl,” Stone smirks.

Chris's eyes light up in that way that looks wholesome on most people’s faces but in his case always looks vaguely satanic. “Smokey Bear, I didn't know you were Catholic!”

“Recovering,” I fire back.

“Me too! I shoulda known, usually we can smell our own. Hey, you know what's even sexier than Catholic guilt?”

I shake my head, wary of where he’s going with this, and of the intensifying gleam in his eyes. He suddenly swirls an arm around me and dips me so low I worry my head’s going to hit the floor, but he’s got a tight hold on me.

“Absolutely nothing,” he sighs seductively in my ear, loud enough for everyone to hear. As he sets me back on my feet, the guys dissolve in laughter and chatter again, but Stone only gives me a tiny little smile. Even with Chris clowning around and monopolizing the whole cafe’s attention, it feels like there’s no one else in the room when Stone looks at me like that. I used to wish he wouldn’t do that. Now I don’t know what to wish.

The guys hang out at the bar for a while and finish their beers before saying goodbye, and I’ve just gotten back to my cleaning when I hear the bell ding a second time. When I turn around, my mind’s preoccupation is standing at the bar right in front of me, by himself.

“Uh, dropped my keys, had to run back,” Stone gives another little smile, waving his key ring as evidence and stowing it in his pocket. “Hey, you said Patch and Alex are both leaving? What’s going on?”

He really does listen, doesn’t he? “Oh, uh, Patch is heading out on a Greyhound on Friday morning, he’s gonna go visit a friend from high school who moved to Portland.”

“And Alex?”

“Work conference thing all next week, he leaves on Sunday.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. So forgive my antisocial behavior, I feel like I should probably spend time with them the next couple of days before I end up in an empty apartment for a whole week.”

“Sure, yeah. Just sucks, because I’m leaving Friday too.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“New York. With Jeff. We’re gonna meet with the record label folks and see if they’ll let us out of our old deal before we try to move ahead with this new stuff.”

“When are you leaving?”

“We fly out Friday some time, back Tuesday.”

I thought I’d feel relief at the idea of him traveling a few thousand miles away while I try to figure out what I’ve been feeling for him the past 48 hours, but somehow, relief’s not the word. What the hell, Stone, I’ve finally figured out that I can’t dodge you anymore, that I don’t even want to, and now you’re leaving town? No fair.

He seems to read my mind. In a soft, vulnerable voice I’ve never heard before, only slightly above a whisper, he asks very simply, “can I call you?”

His eyes widen with hope while he waits for my answer. A nod’s all I can manage, and only after he shoots me one more smile and ducks back out onto the street after the rest of the guys do I notice that I’ve been holding my breath.