Michelle Tea - Black Wave

I’m Not Just Bringing Them, My Van Was Stolen And They Dumped It Outside And Left These — Michelle cut herself off as the reality of her appearance dawned on her. She felt embarrassed, then mad at her embarrassment. She was telling the truth! She was the victim of a crime! Though perhaps she was what the woman thought she was, those weren’t her fucking needles. Fine, she spat, I Was Just Trying To Make Sure Some Poor Sanitation Worker Didn’t Get Stuck, But I’ll Go Throw Them In The Trash Out Front Then.

You can’t, the woman said nervously. You can’t just leave them in a public trash can. And you can’t leave them on our property . The two stared each other down. What was one supposed to do with a bag of fucking needles then? Oh, hold on, the woman’s annoyance broke and she punched some numbers into her phone. Eventually a man showed up, a doctor looking harried and a little nervous, possibly scared of Michelle.

Can I help you? he asked at a distance. Rattle, rattle . Michelle shook the bag.

I’m Just Looking To Get Rid Of These. They’re Not Mine. I Found Them. If I Was Shooting Drugs Why Would I Be Throwing Away A Perfectly Good Bag Of Needles?

The phrase a perfectly good bag of needles rang in Michelle’s head. Why was she throwing them away? The dealers on her corner sold rigs as well as drugs, they whispered outfits, outfits under their breath at passersby. Maybe she could have gotten her new friend Quinn to barter with them, trade the needles for some balloons. Too late now. The doctor moved toward Michelle to receive the bag. A clear plastic bag jumbled with clear plastic syringes, clear plastic syringes with bright orange caps.

Thanks, Michelle said. She’d been ready to fight the doctor and now had to readjust herself internally. The doctor seemed kind. He had white hair and white clothes and clear spectacles on his eyes.

Are you okay? he asked her. Do you need anything? His voice was heavy with subtext but Michelle didn’t want to know what he was getting at. She hated how shifty she must’ve seemed, hungover, talking about a stolen van, wielding a bag of drug needles.

No, she said, her voice extra cheery like she was interviewing for a job. Just Happy To Have My Van Back! Never Had To Handle A Bag Of Needles Before, Didn’t Really Know What To Do With Them! She laughed a big laugh and shook her head at how crazy life was. She was an average citizen having a really weird day. She waved goodbye at the doctor, at the receptionist who still wasn’t convinced Michelle was not a drug fiend, that she hadn’t stolen her own van, if there even was a van at all. She left the hospital. The light was so bright it rammed into her eyes and shot up her brain. Michelle couldn’t wear sunglasses. She was so blind she’d have to get prescription sunglasses and those were really expensive, so in the sun she just squinted a lot and held her hand to her forehead.

The doctor’s kindness had left her shaken. Why couldn’t her mother work for a nice guy like that? Maybe Michelle should start to look for nursing positions on the Internet, print them out, and send them to her mother, maybe her mothers would have a better quality of life in San Francisco. Wasn’t San Francisco full of sick lesbians, too? They had art shows and gatherings, Kym could be part of a vibrant sick community rather than wasting away on the couch. Why did some people get excellent lives while other people’s lives were so shitty? She couldn’t bear the thought that her mothers’ lives sucked. It filled Michelle with heartbreak and panic. By the time she got back to Quinn she was in tears.

What happened? Quinn was alarmed.

The Doctor — Nothing. He Took Them. It Just Made Me Sad About My Mothers. Michelle burst into tears.

Oh! Quinn panicked at the sight of Michelle in tears. Partly she wanted to pet her new friend, but she was also aware that her new friend was sort of crazy. She didn’t want to get in too deep. She couldn’t tell if having a drug bond with someone was a light bond or a deep bond. It felt deep when they were high but so did everything. By the light of day, there by a bus stop in a random part of the city with this crying, trembling wreck of a girl, the sort of girl a person sees and says, Give her a cheeseburger! — scrawny and alive with wild emotion — Quinn wondered what the fuck she was doing. What, if anything, did she owe this person?

The bus came and the pair climbed aboard. At the back of the vehicle Michelle quietly wept. Her emotions were now almost 100 percent chemically regulated. She felt happy when high, nervous and tragic while crashing, peaceful as the intensity faded, optimistic as she planned her evening’s chemical intake — just alcohol tonight, just one beer, just a cocktail, maybe one line, the rest of the leftover nub of heroin and then no more until next week, no cocaine until the weekend, okay okay okay.

Quinn was not heartless. Her hand came to rest upon Michelle’s neck and stayed there, bouncing with the jumble of the bus. It felt nice. Michelle appreciated it. She didn’t think things were going anywhere with Quinn, but that was fine. Where was anywhere , anyway? All anyone had was this moment. Michelle was in the moment. She liked the way she was. People adopted lifelong courses of religious study to try to achieve a state that came naturally to her.

Quinn’s heart leaped when she realized this random bus skirted her neighborhood. Strangely, Quinn did not live in the Mission. She lived in some other neighborhood where, like the Mission, the streets were numbered, but they were not streets, they were avenues. People called that part of town the Avenues. It seemed sinister to Michelle, like the Mission’s evil twin. What did people do out there? Apparently, they watched The X-Files with their husbands. Michelle still could not understand that Quinn had such a thing.

What’s Your Husband Like? Michelle asked Quinn suddenly, realizing she had never inquired.

He’s really nice. He’s stable. I was having a lot of panic attacks when I married him. She paused. He takes glassblowing classes.

Is He Taller Than You? Michelle asked. Quinn nodded.

Is He Going To Let You Come To My Going-Away Party? Michelle asked. Quinn lifted her hand and bopped Michelle in the head.

It’s not the 1800s, Quinn laughed . I don’t have to ask him for permission to go to a party.

What About Sleep Over At My House? Michelle asked. Do You Have To Ask Him? Does He Care?

Quinn shrugged. He doesn’t love it.

What About Drugs, Does He Do Drugs?

No. I do drugs.

Michelle nodded. It didn’t actually sound like a bad arrangement. Sort of like a parent. Michelle would like someone to take care of her, too. But she’d had that with Andy. Something was always expected in return. It wasn’t worth it.

What About Driving Me To Los Angeles? Michelle asked. Is He Going To Be Okay With You Driving Me To Los Angeles Now That My Van Is Gone?

I’m not driving you to Los Angeles! Quinn laughed a nervous laugh and hit Michelle in the head once more.

You Have To, Michelle whined. How Else Will I Get There?

Can’t someone else drive you? Quinn asked.

No. You’re My Only Friend. She laid her head on Quinn’s shoulder and began to weep anew. She had meant it as a joke but it was too real. Stitch and Ziggy and Linda and Andy all felt variously betrayed by her, and she by them.

Oh, come on . Quinn shook Michelle from her shoulder.

You Kind Of Are. Michelle looked deeply, tearfully, into Quinn’s eyes, which meant into her eyeglasses, which reflected herself back to her. She looked like a wreck. It was not helping her situation. She would not be able to seduce Quinn, she was too grotesque. She would have to draw on the girl’s pity and her inability to say no.