I’m the plastic hot wheel blazing past the sea foam of time and into the machinery trapjaw of oblivion. A hot, young thing in a hot pink thong and glittering with ocean sweat. I tease the men. I fight their war and win. I was brought out by Gio, a large man with many tattoos and even more guns in his arsenal. Miami is as described, a place built on jungle and turned into a slutty metropolis where the geezers get drunk and the lawyers high. I sit in the hotel lobby and read a porno mag while waiting for the waiter to bring me a glass of caramel tea. I’m always waiting for something to come, someone to come on. I’m as young as it gets. Bsck home in Newark, mommy knows nothing about the shit I’ve seen. Not about the black balls, the twist of women against a flashlight. It’s hot out. It’s so hot I can’t breathe. I hear rumors of apocalypse. Ah, I wish. Gio invites me to his room before the tea can arrive. I apologize to the wait staff with a five and a pretty grin. Gio is sitting in his armchair in front of the television as another girl smokes on the bed, half-naked and half-asleep, the smoke spinning in haunted swipes.
Lauren, he says in his famous accent. Have a drink. Wanna go swimming?
I grab a sprite and sit on the bench at the end of the bed and fold my bronzed legs. I’m wearing a green dress with filthy beads, chunky heels. I’ve been awake since four in the morning, All the days pass like trains to nowherelands. Tuesday? Have no idea. I consider his words. I want to watch television. But this is what it takes. I nod.
He nods, flicking his huge cigar with his equally large fingers.
Swimming means a party boat in the middle of the ocean with the crowd that sorta thing attracts. Jocks on steroids and ass. Rich, plastic men. Girls like me to take care of anyone offering beer and pills. Gio tells me to lock the door on my way out. In my own room, clothes strewn across every piece of furniture, rings of coke on every surface, I figure out my outfit. A short brown dress and thin black heels. I clink my heels together and hold my breath. I’d been on the run for eight months. A call to mommy every now and then, assuring her I’d be home by Christmas. And mommy assuring me she was clean. I couldn’t seem to make friends with any of the other girls. All of them were preoccupied with their own shit, own naked bodies and lipsticks.
The yacht was huge and fast. I tried not to get sea sick, slipped an antacid in my mouth as we left the dock behind and into the velvet of night. I sat at the bar drinking a yummy margarita the size of my head and waited for a man to tap my bare shoulder and wink. An hour passed like this. As I was about to walk the perimeter for some air a young chiseled empty man approached me, told me how beautiful I was, how perfect. Did I want to dance? I smiled big and agreed, followed him to the bow of the boat where trap music played on loudspeakers, other couples grabbing ass and disappearing into the sound. I let him touch me where I shouldn’t have and twisted into him, wanting to be gone. Perhaps if I got close to him, he’d open a vortex I could fall into. I tried. And he brought me a drink instead. Dreams were dead promises. Dreams were children’s playtime. I drank and asked if he had any white lace. He grinned and brought me to the dirty bathroom where I did a line off his heavy palm. I sniffed and fixed my lipstick while he grabbed my legs.
Where you from? He asked, the first question he’d asked in the last couple hours. I was ready to lie.
Shit, he said. You here on springbreak?
It was early September but sure, I said.
What are you studying? He asked.
Agriculture, I said. I like plants.
Cool, he said and brought me to the upper section of the boat where there were leather couches and another bar being used by young people like bees to smellgood flowers. I stretched and laid on his arm, tired. He asked all the questions boring men asked when they thought they were being insightful and new. Where did I grow up? What did I want to be when I grew up as a child? What’s my favorite color? The coke made the colors wobble around the edges and my words felt like fairies leaving my mouth. I tried my best to be flirtatious and cool, what Gio instructed, but I could hardly think. I got another drink and my man was dying to fuck me.
I led him to a cabin I knew would be vacant, one with a large white bed and a window to the waters crashing. He undressed me and I stared at the ceiling as he fucked me, but didn’t fuck me hard enough. I wanted to hurt in the morning. I wanted to feel something other than what I felt. I told him as such and he grinned as though he’d won something. He fucked me so hard I lost my breath, closed my eyes and saw colors. When he finished, he kissed my legs and shoulder blades and neck. I kissed his gigantic, pink neck and tried to pretend he was someone I wanted to kiss. An imaginary man. Could he exist? I had my doubts.
Want more candies? He asked in a shush.
He fed me some acid mixed with speed, something he called rainbows buzz. He didn’t take any though. I was alone in this trip. As it set in, I gave him some conversation about God so he’d feel like he made me high enough to get philosophical, a certain form of control. I told him I was an atheist, had been since I was seven when my father died. An emotional turn. A chance to be vulnerable. He craved this. He gave me his sob story-something about his mother running into a river in California and never coming back out. This peaked my interest. I wanted to meet his mother and ask how she did it. The why is obvious. But to take the cold until the cold took you. Soon, the sun bled through the windows, colored the waters in orange stripes. He walked me to the deck and kissed me, handed me his number on cardstock. I told him I’d call and walked off the boat onto the bridge that led to land. I took a cab back to the hotel and asked for the same caramel tea. I was going to do what I wanted. I hadn’t slept. The tea tasted phenomenal. I brought it to my room where I stripped into my panties and laid on bed. I tried to sleep but there’s a threshold for tiredness where you’re so exhausted you can’t bring yourself to dream. I got frustrated, threw a pillow at the television. I called mommy on the payphone in the hallway; three rings and voicemail. I called again and again. I left her a voicemail. How fucking dare she born me. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stand to be awake. If she was using I was going to throw myself into the surf. Call me back, asshole bitch. I asked a girl nextdoor for some benzos and took a couple and laid back down. I needed to sleep. That was all. If I slept, all would be well. I could focus. I could be happy girl. I could be good girl if I slept. I could do what Gio wanted without upset. I went onto the terrace and leaned over the rail, watching the motherfuckers move around like ants. I fell asleep in a chair and a man touched me while I was asleep, When I realized this, I took a bottle of benzos and ran to the ocean. I needed to be gone. I needed, I needed, I needed. I felt myself lose grasp as the water carried me. As I closed my eyes and leaned back, I hoped I’d awake on a deserted island where the plants grew huge and I could drink coconut milk. The red ambulance was a bad surprise.
