Content Warnings: drinking
A hypnotizing beat pulsates and the floor seems to shake as I breath in the heavy air perfumed and glittering. A hand swipes toward my ankle, waving a bill and I bend down tucking it in my purple corset and blowing a kiss towards the face shrouded by the darkness. The smile on my face is big and wide, the beat picks up and I feel myself moving through the practiced steps naturally, not preoccupied whether or not I am doing them right, because they just are. My crown tips and before I have a moment to worry about it I take it off of my wig and use it as a prop during the next few steps taking care to not damage it. I hit the splits, and in the moment of stillness, I secure the crown back in place, the crowd cheers and I pause my lip-sync long enough to smile proudly.
I am woken up by my alarm clock and I find my mind lingering on the corset and the crowd. Last night's drag race episode was so alluring, that must be why I dreamed what I did. I get myself out of bed and ready for the day, passing my mama in the kitchen and kissing her head as I grab a cup of coffee. She's reading a paper, the headlines are no longer shocking, but they hurt all the same. "All that just to read to kids, if they really were doing something so innocent there's no need to gussy themselves up and parade around like whores. Pardon my French, dear." I just sit down with an orange and focus myself on the peel.
"Sam, dear, can you pick up the grocery order today? The office has several appointments today and I just have a feeling their gonna hold me over." She doesn't look up to see my answer, it's an order.
"Yes, mama." I look at images on my Instagram of the beautiful dress designs from last night's episode, and I find myself lingering on a tight purple glittering one.
My boss is nowhere to be seen and the next girl hasn't come in for her shift, but I need to pick up the groceries and I have something I want to sketch out. Sibella sidles up to me, "Did you like last night's episode?"
"It was spectacular," I breathe as I roll silverware.
She smiles, "I just knew you would like it!"
My face feels hot and I look down to evade her pride. "I mean they were all very beautiful."
"Yeah, they were." She starts holding poses from some of the queens in the episode and the chuckle that escapes my lips is unexpected.
"You know it gave me the weirdest dream last night." I say absentmindedly.
She turns her full attention to me, "Oh really? Do tell."
"Well, um, I think I was performing on one of those stages in my dream," I shake my head at the thought. "It was so wrong."
Her face seems to fall, "No, it's not, Sam."
"What do you mean? I don't do that 'whore stuff'," I roll my eyes, "My mama would have a conniption."
"So what if she does? It's your life, babe, there's nothing wrong with wanting to dance in a pretty dress, lord knows, I do it every Friday night. You should join me, hon, you don't have to gussy up, just hang out. Maybe dance if you're feeling it. You might like it?" Her eyebrows lift at me and the offer is enticing, but my mama would not like it.
"Mama would tell me no, Sibella." I go back to lining up forks, knifes, and spoons.
She shoves me, "Oh, Sam, respectfully, screw your mama. You are 24 years-old and can go out if you damn well want to. If you're that worried about her disapproval don't tell her."
A sardonic smile creeps up my face, "I don't really like anyone screwing my mama."
Sibella's laughter is beautiful and she puts down the roll, "So you'll go?"
"What time?" I ask still keeping my eyes down.
The chair creaks as she bounces excitedly, "Ahhh! You're not going to regret it, stash your tips for drinks, I'll pick you up at 8. Sneak out if you have to! Oh my goodness!"
I run my hand through my hair and smile at the thought of myself in a club with something other than a Miller lite. Stephanie finally comes in and I am clear to go.
Now's the moment, I look down at myself in the mirror and a shiver runs up my spine. This outfit shows more skin then I ever dared to before, but before I can change my mind I throw on a jacket and zip it up. The fabric armor to safe-guard my insecurities and hide from mama the atrocities I will commit tonight. I feel my phone buzz and I know that Sibella is here.
"Mama, Sibella has a project for her college that she needs help with, I'm gonna help her work on it tonight since the deadline is tomorrow. I promise I'll be back when we're done." I say as I pass quickly through the kitchen trying to avoid her.
"Sam, you didn't tell me about this before! I don't want you out too late with that girl, hear me?" She's calling out the door as I rush to her car. "Wait, Sam, you don't have your bag with you!"
I am safe in Sibella's car before mama can catch up, but I roll down the window and call back to her, "I don't need it, it's an art project and she has all the supplies at her apartment. Bye, mama!" And before she can respond I roll the window up and try to signal to Sibella that she should drive, fast. Thankfully, she does and we are well on our way to wherever she has in mind.
I am shaking, and I don't know if it is nerves or excitement. I focus on the radio to try to calm myself down and Lady Gaga is playing. It's a song I know well. I like it a lot, it just sounds different tonight. It normally just feels like her celebrating or partying, I never really paid much attention to the lyrics. But tonight, it feels as if Lady Gaga is singing this song just for me and I find comfort in the lyrics.
I glance over to Sibella and see her dancing and singing the song, "No matter gay, straight, or bi, lesbian, transgender life." I notice the outfit she is in and I suddenly feel too dressed and not dressed enough. She has on a black halter top and silver mini skirt, her hair in a messy knot and her make up is gorgeous. I don't know what I expected, but I don't know how I was supposed to dress. I'm wearing a sleeveless plaid button up and jean shorts.
Sibella looks me over as the song ends and she smiles at me, "Nice fit!"
"I don't know, I don't think I did this right..." I say uncomfortably.
She focuses on the road, but tilts her head in my direction, "Sam, babe, there's no right way to dress to go out. You dress like yourself and how you feel comfortable. I think it's charming, there's nothing wrong with your outfit. I'm just glad you're here."
This makes me smile, I'm still anxious, and want to do this right, but I'm a bit more hopeful for tonight. "So, where are we headed?"
"Oh, we're heading to DRUS Place," she says shyly. "Unless you want to go somewhere else."
"Sibella, I have never been to any clubs, the only bar I've been to is with my mama, and I got one Miller Lite, because she wanted me to DD her home. Anything sounds good to me." I half laugh at the memory. It was my birthday, and I didn't know what to drink. The bartender gave me a strange look then said, "You seem like a Miller Lite person." He put the beer in front of me and proceeded to prepare a Bloody Mary for mama. I had no trouble staying the DD that night, the Miller Lite was awful and I had half of it before asking for regular water because it was bitter and disgusting.
Sibella looks at me with sorrow in her eyes, "Well, you don't have to DD tonight, okay, babe? Have fun, tonight is for you to enjoy yourself. And if at any point you are not having fun, tell me and we will go."
I feel kind of shocked, it is a very nice sentiment. Although I thought we were going out because she wanted to, I don't know why she's so worried about me. "Sibella, the same goes for you and don't worry, I don't really like alcohol. So you don't have to hold back for my sake, I'd be happy to DD."
Sibella shakes her head at, "I proposed we go out because you always seem stressed and I want you to be able to relax. So, I will DD. End of discussion." Her tone is so matter-of-fact, I don't know what to say. I didn't think I came off as stressed, but I'll admit I have been anxious a lot lately. I'm not sure exactly why, but I just feel like something is wrong. Sitting back I listen to the radio, play some Maroon 5 song and stare out my window as we drive further out of my bubble.
We open the doors and I am overwhelmed. There's little to no light in here, then I look around and realize there are plenty of lights in here, but the stage lights are the brightest. Sibella says something to the guy at the door handing him cash and showing her ID. I hand mine to her while I take in the place. There's a stage opposite the bar and Sibella walks right over and sits on a stool. She gestures to the one next to her and I join her uncertainly, taking back my ID. She waves at the guy behind the bar, "Hey, Andy, this is Sam. It's their first time out of the house, what do you think they should try?"
'They' , I'm not sure why that pronoun bristles me, but oddly I like it. It feels right. Suddenly I panic, I don't really want alcohol - the taste of the Miller Lite comes to mind and I cringe - but before I can protest the bartender asks, "Do you like orange juice?" And it catches me off-guard, I nod slowly confused where this is going. "I'll start you off light. Regular pour for you, Sib?"
"You know me so well, Andy, but I'll only have the one drink tonight, so add a glass of water to that too." Andy nods to her and I watch him mix together a drink with a lot of a clear liquid from a bottle that reads 'Everclear'. I'm confused and wondering if he made a drink with water for Sibella. In less than two minutes, two drinks are before us and Sibella slides her card across the counter.
Again I am about to protest, but Sibella picks up the orange drink with red at the bottom and hands it to me. "My treat," she says.
"What is this?" It doesn't look like anything they were serving at the bar I went to, it's kinda pretty.
Sibella smiles, "It's a tequila sunrise."
I recognize the word 'tequila' and wearily put it back down on the counter. "Look, I don't think I'm going to like it, Sibella."
Sibella has a mischievous look in her eyes, "Maybe not, but you'll never know if you never try. Andy went easy on you, babe." She takes a sip of a drink that is mostly clear, but has carbonation. Her face contorts and she sucks in a deep breath after taking a drink, "Yo, Andy? Can you give me more Sprite for this glass of Everclear?" A second glance at her face and there are tears waiting to fall. I am definitely not tasting that 'tequila sunrise', let alone touching it. Then I remember watching him pour the Everclear, it's no wonder I thought it was water at first...
"What is Everclear?" I ask.
"It is a strong kind of vodka. If you mix it right, it's pretty good with sodas. I think this is Andy's way of saying he missed me last Friday and wanted his revenge." She starts to chuckle.
I look back at the pretty drink on the counter still nervous. Sibella can see this and a pitying look takes over her face, "Sam, you don't have to drink that if you don't want to. I just wanted you to try a cocktail, they're very different from beer and can be sweet too, when your bartender isn't heavy-handed with the liquor." She glares at Andy as he passes her a glass of water and one of Sprite.
He hands her back her card. "You caught me red-handed. I could have given you a hurricane, trust me this was the more fun alternative, sweets. We miss you." He winks then struts over to the next customer and I am shocked.
She turns to me, "Hurricane's are made with rum, I don't like the taste of it and he knows that. Different from a sunrise, but can look dangerously similar in his hands. Again they taste pretty good, it's just he would have surprised me with a heavier pour on that one too. The vodka soda is preferable." Curiosity is building in me as she mentions these other cocktails. I'm reminded of mama's Bloody Mary and just the thought of the tomato juice starts my stomach churning. No matter how pretty the 'tequila sunrise' is, I don't know that I can get over the thought of the acidic bitter glass of gold I was given last time. But then again, her drink looks very different from mine.
I pick up the glass and it smells just like orange juice. I'm not sure how to feel about it because I don't smell anything in it that resembles the alcohol I've tried. It's disarming and enticing at the same time. Sibella passes me a straw, "Just a sip, if you don't like it we can switch you to a Coke."
With that in mind, I sink the straw into the drink, close my eyes, and take the tiniest of sips. She's right, it tastes fine. I can't tell there's any alcohol in here, maybe there isn't? It tastes like orange juice, but there's cherry and something else I can't put my finger on. It's good. I take a bigger sip this time. Now I taste the alcohol, and it burns in the back of my throat, but it's not unpleasant and it's very light. Before I've realized it half the glass is gone and Sibella has the widest grin on her face. "So?"
Embarrassed, I put the drink down, "It's pretty good." I look at her drink again and now I'm curious once more, what does hers taste like? "Can I try yours?"
She laughs, "Maybe after I drink more and pour the extra Sprite in. It's pretty strong right now and you've just had your first cocktail." She takes a long drag from her drink then pours the Sprite over top, she mixes it with her straw and takes another sip. "It's definitely still stronger than yours, but it is better than it was." She hands me the drink and she almost seems anxious. I push my drink to her and I take a sip out of her glass, while she takes a sip from mine.
I want to cough, this tastes awful, worse than the Miller Lite. I can taste the Sprite in the second half of the sip, but it burns my throat like pure fire as it slides into my stomach. I start to feel the effects of the alcohol, like a blanket being draped over my brain. Everything feels warm and dulled. I push her glass back to her, grateful to have my 'tequila sunrise' back. She then stands up and grabs my hand and I follow her.
She finds an empty table and we sit down with the drinks as someone finishes singing on stage. She exits and I clap with everyone else politely. She is extravagant and her make up seems familiar, it is extreme and beautiful in the same breath. A person announces the next performer and a song starts up. A tall woman slowly stalks her way onto the stage and she centers herself just as she starts to sing. Her voice is like velvet and she has high cheek bones, her makeup matches her outfit a baby blue ensemble that gives way to her toned arms and legs. She seems very strong, and she holds herself as such as she begins to dance and sway and spin to the song leaving her lips.
Then, she steps down from the stage and makes her way through the crowd seated at the tables, the spotlights following her. When she is standing right in front of our table I notice that she is not actually singing, even though it looks that way. Sibella hands the woman a couple of one dollar bills and I am lost. "Why did you do that?" I ask.
"She's a performer, Sam, it's proper etiquette at these places." I look at the other tables and notice now that they too are holding up money and that the lady is taking it from them. Dancing her way over and around the tables stopping here and there for a well-timed turn, but never forgetting to continue moving her lips with the music. It is amazing. I remember the tips she told me to pocket and grab two ones holding them out to the pretty lady.
She saunters back over to our table, somehow graceful, despite how high her heels are. When she is right next to me, I notice that there is a bit of chest hair peaking up out of her dress's neck line and that she has a mustache that has been smoothed down and painted over with makeup. Realizing that 'she' is actually a 'he', my jaw drops and a chill moves down my spine. Mama's gonna kill me. He takes the money from my fingers and moves on to the next table, while I almost fall out of my seat.
"Sibella, what kind of place is this?" I remember the drag race episode and realize that his makeup looks similar because that's what the drag queens did.
"It's a bar." She says sipping her drink.
"But, Sibella, he's in a dress and makeup." I don't know why she doesn't get it. How wrong this is, I'm shocked. Maybe it was because he was performing so closely. But honestly, I feel kind of upset because I didn't realize he was a 'he' until just now.
"And?" She eyes me, this time she looks disappointed and mildly angry. "What's wrong with that? She's a drag queen."
I look back at the person performing, and after a few more turns and smiles I wonder to myself, what is wrong with that? There's nothing wrong. It just seems weird or different, I guess. "Why do you say 'she'? Isn't he a dude?"
Sibella shakes her head, "You liked the drag race show, right?"
"Yeah?" I say confused.
"Well, drag is not just a TV show thing. This is drag too." I look back at the guy performing,"I say 'she' because right now she is a queen; that is who she is right now, in that dress and that makeup. And because I think she's doing a good job and I can appreciate her sharing that side of herself with us tonight, I refer to her as 'she', it's respectful and polite."
I wrap my head around this as I take several sips of my 'tequila sunrise'. I was thinking of that person as 'she' for most of the night. I don't know why, but it feels hard to call him 'her' now that I know. It feels ingenuine, like I am playing with a delusion. Yet, I look back at the performer, and for a moment I can forget once more and 'she' is 'she' again. It's weird how the pronouns seem to slip and slide around in my head. I could refer to this person by any pronoun, but Sibella said, it's respectful to call this person, 'she'. My mama raised me to be polite, so I tell myself it doesn't matter what pronouns come to mind and think she, she, she, while staring at the queen.
It's not that difficult after that, several drag queens come up to stage and perform, some are the same people, just in different costumes. And as I learn one is a woman, it takes me aback. Gender here seems to be twisted like taffy, and in spite of it, I enjoy the music and find myself giving them dollars and as the drinks go down I am dancing along to the music in my seat. Sibella seems to be in a great mood as well and she eventually calls an end to the night. I find myself staring back at the stage as we leave and the thought lasts for just a second, but that dream feels more vivid here, and pleasant.
I have been joining Sibella every Friday night since. It is such a fun atmosphere and I've started talking to some of the other people at the tables. They talk about work, college, and a few are performers themselves. Tonight, I am at a table with Jackson, Maria, and Tate; Sibella is grabbing me, a hurricane and a Jack and Coke for herself. Tate is telling me about this one venue they performed at where they had a pole built into the stage. "It was honestly the most fun I have ever had. No wonder it's a sin, most of the fun stuff is." Maria nods her head at that with mock solemnity.
She looks over at me, "Hey, Sam, have you ever performed before?"
My face feels hot, "The last time I was on a stage I was in the ensemble for Music Man in high school. I wouldn't really say I am much of a performer." I scratch my neck and stare down at the table, I wish I had more to say.
"No worries, I have two left feet, otherwise I would be up there with Tate and the rest," Sibella says depositing the drinks in front of me. "But, Sam, that is such a lie."
I turn to her confused, "What do you mean?" I haven't performed and she especially didn't see my high school musical.
"I mean, I've seen you dance, you think you're subtle with it, but I've seen way more drag race than you and you practice some of the steps at work when we don't have as many customers. I've noticed." She sips her drink, "Also I may have peeked at your sketchbook when I was over last time."
My face blanches, "What do you mean?"
Sibella sighs, "You have sketches, babe, of outfits and costumes, in various poses too. If they were from the show or from here, that's one thing, but I can tell that's clearly you in those costumes you sketch out, and your dancing isn't bad." She blushes now and I am mildly irritated that she looked in my sketchbook, but I am also scared by what she is suggesting.
"No, I would never, Sibella. Those are just from the dreams I keep having. My therapist told me to sketch out my dreams since they have been bothering me so much lately." I stir the hurricane and feel embarrassed.
"What dreams?" Jackson asks.
I feel very vulnerable now, but I feel like it may be better to share it with someone. "It's nothing really. I am performing on a stage, often in these outfits. It's really nice, if I'm being honest because I feel happy in these dreams. I just have been feeling wrong looking in the mirror and in general, like something is wrong with me. I can't pinpoint what though and my therapist thinks maybe something in the dreams may tell me what that is."
"Well, it sounds like you want to perform," says Tate. They shrug and everyone nods. I have thought this myself, but it seems too simple an answer to this nagging feeling. I shake it off and take a sip. "You should join me." I spit out my drink.
"What?!" I splutter. I grab the cocktail napkin and am cleaning the drink off the table.
Tate shrugs, "If something's bothering you and you keep having dreams of performing, maybe you just need to do it. What's the worst that could happen?" I stare dumbfounded at Tate. "I'll help you, that way you won't feel so out of water."
I shake my head, "I can't, that's just wrong."
"What's wrong about it?" Maria asks. "It sounds like you have a siren song in your head and it's always you performing, what are you performing to in these dreams?"
I think about it, "Well, it's different most nights, but it has been Born This Way a few times..."
"Then it's settled." Tate says, "I need a new routine anyway and Lady Gaga is always a good bet, it would be a great start for you."
I don't know how any of this is settled or what Tate is talking about, but for some reason I want to go along with this. Anxiety is in the pit of my stomach, but also a strange sense of excitement. I bury them both and the conversation shifts, my mind though is shifting through the dress designs, and before I know it I can already see the vision and I am vibrating from emotion.
I am standing in the wings with Tate, my face is made up thanks to their expertise and my heart is pounding. Staring through the curtains, I try to imagine the crowd in their underwear and it disturbs me just enough that I am no longer anxious about them watching me, just about being in a room of potentially naked people... Tate looks down at me, in their heels they are much taller than me, they gave me an old pair that they no longer use and a wig that has been restyled just for this routine. "Look, honey, I can taste your nerves at this rate, what's bugging you?"
"What if they don't like it? What if I mess up, Tate?" I voice, my voice is a pitch higher than normal.
They smile gently and caress my cheek. "Everyone makes mistakes, but no one will know but you, they will be too mesmerized by how gorgeous you are. And if they don't like it who cares? Do you like it?"
Under the makeup I know I am blushing, but I have had so much fun learning the dance and practicing with the heels. I could do that everyday if I were allowed... Mama thinks I'm taking classes somewhere to meet people... I exhale and say the truest thing that has ever left my lips, "I have never felt more right."
Tate's smile grows in response, "Then show them how right it is and never let them steal your light. I'm by your side."
Vaguely, an announcer begins to introduce us to the stage, "You know the sister, you know you missed her, let's welcome to the stage Big ol' Taters!" Tate struts to the center of the stage, and in that moment, with the light illuminating the pink diamond patterned dress that I had designed, my fear melts and pride takes its place. "Now we have a special treat tonight folks, she's neat, she's sweet, little Miss Sam-I-Am!" The name is for me, from one of my favorite Dr. Seuss books.
I slowly walk onto the stage and the lights are blinding. I realize I can't see the audience well and this settles the last of my nerves. The song begins and Tate does most of the work to set us up, by the time the chorus hits I have done all the moves near-perfectly and the crowd is clapping along. Tate leaves the stage to collect tips and it is now my turn to take over with the crowd before me. I was worried at first that I would forget the lyrics or that they would stop cheering when it was just me, but by the time I have finished the most complicated move they are loud and gracious. Tate comes back to the stage and lifts their chin signaling it's my turn to make a round.
I begin to make my way down the stairs, but I feel my weight go forward and I fall down the five steps. I am panicked and ready to cry, but as I pull myself up from the floor instead of booing or leering faces, I am met with an exultant cheer. One gentleman offers his hand to help me up and I take it grateful. He then hands me a five dollar bill and despite the shock, I try to remember what Tate told me and I tuck it into my dress. When I look around the hands are reaching, almost desperate for me to dance toward their tables and greet them, and the relief is met with a sense of bittersweet joy. I feel fulfilled somehow.
I straighten myself back up and resume the routine, the lip-syncing coming naturally from the practice. I dance from table to table and the smile never leaves from my face, the literal worst thing that could happen for me happened. And I survived! I am extra careful going back up the stairs and I join Tate for the rest of the number. While this is income for Tate, I find myself not caring how much I actually made, because this, the thrill, the electricity of the audience, and the beat of the song could carry me for the rest of my life. This is the best night of my life.
Dear mama,
I know you would want me to stay. I can't ignore it anymore. I've been dreaming of what I could do in L.A., what I could be. I know you won't understand, but there's this place I've heard of, where everyone can be queens every single day. It's just that, I don't know that I could stay here in Tennessee. Right now, Santa Monica is calling me. You'll always be on my mind.
I love you,
Sam
I leave the note on my pillow. My bed is made. I glance at my suitcase and my heartbreaks. Last night mama found some of the make up I have been using for my performances and seemed very upset. I didn't have the heart to tell her what it was for. I told her it was Sibella's and that seemed to upset her more. Tate had already tried to convince me to try some other clubs and I want to go. I feel the fear claw at me, but I can't keep working at the restaurant and living here, I need more. I don't know what more, but I will find it. Until then this is the most I can give mama, because it would only cause a scene and I've only ever wanted to make her proud.
I am about to close the door and leave for good, but I look back and I see the bible I have read a thousand times sitting on my old desk. Before I can think better of it I am opening the book to a passage that maybe she'll understand. I put my bookmark in and hope she'll open it and read Jeremiah 29:11 and know that this is something I have to do, even if she doesn't get it. I block her number and grab my bag. Her words assault me, not the ones of adoration and pride, the ones she reserved for headlines about "God's mistakes" and the "perverted creatures". I don't know what I am, but I know enough others and care for them that the comments cut deeper than I would have thought.
I've put in my resignation and have hastily bought a plane ticket. Sibella and Maria pick me up and drive me to the airport. They are both weeping and begging me not to cut them out of my life. I hug them tightly and tell them to give my apologies to Tate for leaving so quickly. They both agree and follow me as far as security will allow. So I don't cry, I keep my eyes forward and head into the security checkpoint determined not to dwell and to forget the angry questioning look in my mama's eyes the last month and a half as she came across dollar bills tucked in my jeans, glitter, and then last night the makeup and perfume.
Time has not been kind to me, but the stage has. I step out and the familiar cheers beckon me into the light. I could really use the extra money, but I will try to not let the desperation guide me tonight. It's just for fun, I remind myself. The restaurant works me for long hours and they pay my rent for the most part, but I refuse to let go of this feeling, no matter how tired or desperate. The one that sets me right as the song plays and I begin to dance. As I slide down wickedly into the splits at the end of the stage, I am close enough to watch literal jaws drop.
I dance everywhere and feel an inner marvel as I step down the stairs gracefully in my three-inch heels. Now my only falls are intentional and they only drive the audience into a frenzy. One individual goes to touch my butt, but I catch their hand. I turn on them and tut. "You can look, but you can't touch, darling." The young man, obviously drunk melts and pushes me a five, which I happily take. I continue the song back on beat, feeling just as good as I did at the start. As the song ends I slowly strut off the stage and into the dressing room. I count together the cash and change out of my costume. I clean my face and fix my hair and I am a completely different person.
Unlike before I like what I see in the mirror, I don't know if it is the rawness of my skin after taking off the make up or an after-glow from a satisfying performance. I pack up my stuff and put it in my car, but head back into the club for a drink.
Shane notes my return and fixes me a tequila sunrise before I have a chance to ask. I sip it as I watch other queens perform and have their moment. It is roughly two am now. I look over at the bathroom and watch as two women holding hands slip into the bathroom together. As I sip, a line starts to form outside the bathroom, the women looking more agitated and desperate as the time drags on. I start to wonder if I should inform Shane, in case something happened, but then I am relieved. The two step, or rather stumble, out of the bathroom. One has her lipstick smeared and her hemline is sitting on her waist rather than at her knees. The other's lips have a reddish smear about them that vaguely implies lipstick, but looks too spontaneous to be purposeful.
I laugh, already knowing exactly what went down in that bathroom and the line starts to move. Albeit slowly. I think about how there are mirrors in that bathroom, but just shake my head and finish my drink watching the next queen. I open my messenger app and finally unblock her number. Maybe it's because her birthday was two days ago and I miss her, or maybe it's something else. I read through the messages, angry mostly. Underneath the anger though is very clearly fear. She seems to think it's entirely her fault I left. I wouldn't say she's entirely right about that, I made the decision in the end.
Whatever the reason, I feel it's time to send her something, at least to let her know that I am alive, if not happier than I was before. After scrolling through my camera roll, I settle on a candid from my latest performance. I am in the purple corset with a white feather trim and the half skirt that goes to my knees. I am in the splits in the photo both my hands are adjusting my crown upon my head. I smile remembering the mistake, feeling a strange sense of deja vu. With a steadying breath, I let the thoughts gather themselves and send her the text message.
Hey, mama...
ns216.73.216.69da2
and then Add to home screen.