Yesterday, the neon goddess arrived, running from the law with a broken jaw and a fistful of promissory notes she claimed were redeemable, but were not.
Never saw that in the cards. And I look twice a day.
I made her a milkshake and let her sack out on the couch. She spoke in whispers through the wires on her face. I had to lean in close to hear her. When I did, my hair became entangled in her apparatus. “You’re too bright,” I said. “You’ll blind me.”
But the truth is, she had already blinded and entangled me years before.
We were inseparable. Neon and Jade. We cut classes together. We hung out in BART stations, begging for change and snatching purses. She would cause a diversion and I’d grab and run. Playing to type. I was the fast one. She was the drama queen.
It worked great until we started dropping it all on drugs.
This was the nineties. Ancient history. But we’re both still scamming, each in our own way. I draw astrological charts, cast the I Ching, and see the future in the tarot. But only an idiot would ask my advice. I can’t even figure out my own life.
And Neon? She’s selling on the street. I didn’t ask how that was working out, but she told me anyway.
“Prison’s a royal bitch. Half my lights have gone out.”
“You still shine bright to me,” I told her, my eyes stinging. “Bright as ever.”