LARGE LANGUAGE LOVE, DIVINE

The Truths

…Three years after being told she was a freak of nature, Claire reconnected with her best friend Rob, who gifted her a glorious Fender guitar…

The Truths

About a year later Claire ran into Janet panhandling at The Commons' east entrance. Janet wore her black hair teased and sprayed, like she was trying to get into the pages of Melody Maker. Cleopatra makeup shrouded her dark almond eyes. SSD was scrawled in marker across the front of her t-shirt and thrust off her chest by her balloon-sized boobs.

Janet, just like she'd been doing since forever, flashed boredom and disapproval. "Hey, stranger. Got a dollar?"

"You're the stranger. Rob keeps trying to find out where you're at."

Janet stuck out her chin. "Anywhere that's away from her. That bitch is psycho. I'm like, stop talking about how I'm in love with you and I can't face it. You wish. So you don't have a dollar?"

"Why do you need a dollar?"

"I'm going to Boston and I'm never coming back. Fuck this town. Where'd you get that t-shirt?"

Claire looked down at her William S. Burroughs t-shirt.

"It's this company that advertises in the back of Rolling Stone. I can't remember what they're called. Are you really like, going away for good?"

"For real. There's a scene there with real men, not like these upstate dandies. Can I bum a smoke?"

Claire reluctantly gave her a Camel Light and lit it off the one she had going. She hadn't seen Janet in a while but doubted Janet really smoked and that meant a wasted cigarette. Janet puffed and said, "What are you gonna do with that guitar?"

"I'm going to my community service thing. It's at Idlewild, remember, where we went?"

"I only remember the future." Janet blew smoke.

There were still crusty clumps of snow that refused to melt, huddled at the corners of the buildings and lingering in the planters. The Commons sign dripped. The brick sidewalk was discolored with slush and grit. The sun was bright and promised more warmth than it was delivering. Janet wore Vans with no socks and her exposed ankles were shiny and red. There were goose pimples running up and down her alabaster arms.

Claire said, "Take the guitar."

"What?"

"Sell it, or whatever. You could walk into Castaway Guitars right now and get cash, no questions asked." She handed Janet the guitar case.

"Why are you giving me this?"

Claire shrugged and walked off, stunned and dumbfounded. Why had she just given her pride and joy to someone she didn’t hang out with and didn't even really like anymore? Janet made her mad and jealous. Janet was nuts and always had been nuts, and with her huge boobs she now enjoyed lots of stupid adventures with guys and lots of sex. And didn't appreciate any of it, because she was nuts. Claire wanted to have stupid adventures with guys and sex. As it turned out, being a freak of nature hadn't stopped her from getting curious and horny. But for her, it would never be anything more than that. She no longer agreed with her mother about physical danger or anything like that, but she was certain she'd die of shame if anyone else knew the truth about her.

Maybe I just wanted Janet to know I'm still a nicer and better person than she is, Claire thought. And there was also the truth that she’d never felt like she deserved that guitar in the first place.

The Idlewild toddlers didn't care that there was nothing to plug into the little amp she kept there. They squealed and piled on her, and Claire instantly felt better. Idlewild was a sanctuary. Even changing diapers. She read Go Dog Go and marveled at the awe and attentiveness. Instead of messing around on a guitar she sang and the children danced by flailing around and spinning and bopping into each and falling down. They were made of rubber. They were purity. A mad dervish, Claire thought. Nothing could be happier.

…Claire breathes her angst and refuses the heaven offered by Hostess…