Old

Her nose is bright pink. She just spent ten minutes scrubbing it in the bathtub. She gazes at herself in the mirror, the teddy-bear patterned shower curtain sulking behind her. It reminds her of a ghost. She forcefully turns the sink on, as if frustrated with it, and begins to wash the make-up off her face that didn’t come off in the bath. In a couple hours her friends will be over.
She smokes .27’s. She has no summer outfits, wears cheap fabric T-shirts and chewed up sweatshirts that lose color immediately. Her friends’ clothing is fashionable and abstract, separates their appearance, yet amongst themselves they all look the same. Lots of ruffles and frizzles. The boys have the white folds hanging from their shirts like Renaissance pirates. She tries to remember if that was just the style of the Renaissance, and not limited to pirates, but can’t remember.
“HONEY, I’M HOME.” Door busts shut. The neighbors will have complained by the end of the night anyway.
“Hey, hey,” she shouts, hastily disassembling her make-up kit. “One second in here.”
“Sure. Mind if I grab a drink, Missums?”
“Go right ahead.”
She begins to dab make-up on, carelessly, then hammers her fingers into the mirror at something. She exaggeratedly sighs, rolling her eyes, shuffling her feet. She imagines someone watching her. After she finishes, her hands scramble to put everything back in the bag, and she juts out, rejuvenated. She greets her friend loudly, hoping that the others will come quickly so that they won’t have to be alone together for too long.
As she walks into the living room, he’s still taking his headphones off.
“I need a new pair of headphones, gosh. The rain ruined the pair my ex-boyfriend gave me. They were a good pair,” she says, swinging the refrigerator door back and forth.
“I bet.”
“Oh, now don’t be like that.”
“I’m not! What am I being like.”
“You know. Emohead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. What do you want to drink?”
“Anything. Do you have beer?”
“Colt 45. Someone must have left it here.”
“Why, that will do.”
She pulls out the can, and hands it to him. She watches him having trouble opening it, thinking about how awkward he looks in those clothes, not having fully developed. It’s attractive, to her. Surely not to most people.
They chat idly in her living-room for awhile, constantly changing sitting positions on her leather couches, softly chuckling at themselves. The kind of chuckle that continues to drift on, accompanied by sighs and blank stares at where the wall meets the floor. She begins to get nervous as he runs out of things to stay, and rambles, taking shots at some of their mutual friends. Both of them seem completely engrossed with the objects around them, talking in hushed, demure voices, adhering to a blasé state of nonchalance.
They waltz like this for half an hour, repeatedly getting up to go to the bathroom, calling people they usually wouldn’t otherwise. Another of her friends finally arrives. Two more following her down the hall. They’re dressed just as extravagantly.
“Leah, I must say, you look marvelous.”
“And you look like you always do, Alanna.”
“Thank you!” they laugh, hugging each other.
“Awwww. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. At least four hours!”
“I know, darling, I know.”
They greet for another minute or so, still standing beneath the doorway. Alanna, hostess, ushers them all in, and they drop onto the couches, removing their scarves, designer jackets. Everyone’s hairdo is perfectly tousled and jaded. One of the skinnier ones that followed behind hasn’t bothered to remove her sunglasses; there are glittery stars tacked around the rims. Alanna scuffles into her room to get her video-camera, giddy. Leah pounces after her.
“You know,” lowering her voice, “Johnny called me the other day, and threatened my life.”
Gasp, “Did he?”
“Another guy that I was with picked up my phone, you know, Louis, the guy I met in the Hamptons that I was talking about.”
“Oh, really.”
“Yeah. I heard that he was throwing tantrums in the bathroom at Gabby’s house, locked himself in and…started wrapping himself in toilet paper.”
“Jesus Christ. What’s wrong with that kid?”
“Mm. It’s Johnny, you know.”
Unaffected, “He’s gone crazy. Absolutely crazy.” Alanna scrounges through the belongings on her desk, not having cleaned in days. Leah keeps talking, placing her hand on her hip. She breaks off and asks for a cigarette.
“Sure…if I could find my pack. I can’t even find my video camera, Jesus. This is what I get for having people over constantly.”
“I know what it’s like.”
“I’m sure you do.” She peeks under her desk, flinging her hair. Dyed red, it glimmers in the dimmed lights. Leah unsuccessfully tries to find a way to stand that doesn’t make her appear concerned with herself. She fidgets, fiddling with her skirt and belt. She can’t think of anything clever enough to continue the conversation. Gabby shouts at them to come back, braying from the other room.
Alanna gives up and throws her hands in the air, stomping off back into the living room. Leah, having spotted the video camera long ago on top of the TV, gazes at it, disappointed. It was only so long ago that if the two of them were in a room alone long enough…Alanna is painfully coy. But then again, so is she. It’s the game of cat and mouse they play, aptly supported by text messages and Myspace and all that bullshit that benefits the photogenic.
More of Alanna’s friends arrive, pulling out liquor from their backpacks, satisfied with themselves that they were the ones to bring it. Everyone cheers, hands shaping speakerphones in front of their mouths, clapping. They get up to hug the newcomers, who are forcefully debonair, dressed appropriately for a masquerade ball. The first boy that arrived, Ruben, ghostly pale, begins to chant a familiar chorus, and they gather round, chanting along. The girls kick their legs in the air. Alanna, scooting to and fro, grabs the wheeling chair from her father’s room and rides it into the crowd. They all laugh, and giggle, and when she falls over they laugh at her. She lies crumpled in the corner, drawling “Help! Help! Help me!”
One of the boys that brought the liquor heads towards the bathroom.
“Hey, don’t go in there,” Alanna says, meekly, still crumpled in the corner. “Don’t go in there. The toilet overflows. The last time Johnny was here –”
Leah glares at her.
“The last time Johnny was here, he plugged it up, and we spent all night trying to clean up the half-shitty water that poured all over the place.”
Her guests all laugh.
“It was honestly, honestly all over the place. It even leaked out into the kitchen. If Fergus had known, he would have killed me. Actually, John cleaned up most of it. I helped a little. It was shit water.” They’ve stopped listening to her. She trails off, mumbling to herself. She gets up. The room is already swinging; the shot glasses are already out, faces cringing. She makes her way to the kitchen – essentially part of the living-room but separated by a counter – wobbling and sticking her arms out as if she’s lost balance. Someone calls her name and she perks her head up. Her tiny chest rises, and sinks. Leah, flippantly commenting on everyone’s attire, bustles towards her, knocking over a beer can and cursorily apologizing as it foams on the floor. Alanna snickers at herself. She wavers, her lips parting just slightly enough so that her teeth are visible.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh. Oh, me? Nothing. Nothing, why? What’s going on?”
“You’re…”
“Just in thought.”
“In thought about?”
“Nothing, nothing really.” She stammers, about to say something, but stops, and looks Leah directly in the eye. “I just. I just…”
“Come into the other room with me.”
“No, really, I’m fine.” She scuffles over to the coffee table, colliding with one of the boys. She pours herself a shot. “Here, to us, to everyone!” She raises her glass in the air and tips it back.