She wonders if she should talk to him. She has nothing to lose and plus, she doesn't know where she's going. The journey of a thousand miles starts with a step. This is no thousand mile journey, but then again, who knows?
'Excuse me.' She catches up to him and lightly prances next to his long, relaxed stride. Now he is the one who listens to his earphones. He removes one from his ear, though only slightly, so he can still hear the beat. He cocks his head towards hers.
'Do you know where we are supposed to go?' She smiles as she asks.
He glances over at her and points. 'You just go to that trailer over there and do your paperwork.' Earphone back in.
'Over there?' She clarifies, meeting his eyes.
He nods.
Her heart feels uncorked, all of the love leaking out, only for the loneliness to take it's place. As she walks up the steps of the trailer and enters through the swinging door labeled 'BACKGROUND', she is suddenly surrounded on all sides by babbling egos.
It sounds like a cage full of squawking birds with the costumes to boot. Pink and yellow and fake Gucci and fake Prada and sequins and rhinestones and quaffed hair and jelled hair and heels and perfume. Sickeningly sweet pop star perfume from the discount bin at the designer discount store.
At first she wants to cry, and then she wants to scream, and then she wants to fight. But it isn't that she wants to kill or hurt any of these caged birds. She wishes she could set them free. Just open the door and say 'Fly!'
But then she remembers that she is one of these birds. She too is standing in the line. And then she wonders how the rest of the flock views her.
Her eyes trace the back of the man in front of her. His tattoos cover his entire body and the contours of his muscular arms make her want to touch him, just for the sake of understanding what a human body in that condition feels like. Mountains, rivers and valleys exists on his body.
They say that background work is one of the only forms of work recently released inmates can get. 'Was he in jail?' She thinks to herself. 'Oh shit. I'm totally going to hell for stereotyping him like that aren't I?'
But she's been to jail too. It was a Juvenile Correctional Facility for erratic teenage behavior. She wonders if anyone in this trailer background cage would ever guess that about her. For a second she wishes they would. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so alone.
She turns in her papers, leaves the trailer and finds a cement stoop where she can watch the 'background' birds flit and flaunt and abandon themselves into the wind. She misses the man from the van. What was it that he had? It felt like he read her mind and they only exchanged one look and a few words. 'How is that possible?' She wonders to herself. She reaches into her beat up, leather purse and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. She lights one and feels the empowerment of consciously engaging such a deathly habit.
She spots Pleather Girl in the center of a circle of other faux animal skin clad 'background birds'. She is dancing and singing and showcasing her talents. She will not go unnoticed. High kicks, splits and squeals. Laughter and Obscene words. The other girls have bought into Pleather Girl, and if she's really going to the top like she says, they want to be the best friend on her shoulder. So now, they are competing to be her right hand woman.
But something strange happens. Instead of electing one of the dancing, cheering flock, Pleather girl smells the cigarette smoke of her analytical audience member like a hungry dog smells the savory scents of a homecooked meal, and she follows her nose to her van mate from this morning. The flock does not follow, instead they all magnetize to new found leaders and Pleather Girl keeps the spotlight as she struts over, her hips jutting triangularly from side to side, to the naive looking girl smoking on the stoop.
'Hey, you smoke?' Pleather Girl asks.
'Sometimes...' The girl replies.
'Can I bum one?'
She hands Pleather Girl a pack of Marlborough Lights and a red lighter.
'I like Marlborough Lights too, but I don't get to smoke anymore cuz of my daughter. And my husband doesn't like it either. '
She smiles at Pleather Girl. Nothing ever looks like what it is. Before she has a chance to engage any further, the man on the megaphone quiets the chirping and screeching and explains the seductive 'club scene' that is about to ensue.
The hoards of colors and feathers clop and flutter through the club doors and the thumping begins. She feels her heart in her feet and her spirit swirls upwards into the ceiling. Pleather Girl is once again front and center, kissing the leading man with her legs wrapped around him for a close-up.
She wonders if all you need in life is a plan. She saw Pleather Girl's plan that morning in the van, the second she saw her do her first stretch, and now here her desire was, coming to fruition, and none of it had ever even been verbalized. She wonders what her own plan is?
'What's your sign?' An Eastern European man appears and asks her. She turns to avoid him and focus on the way the beat feels within her.
'My friend Alex here is a Scorpio. You know what they say about Scorpios...' She turns back around and it's him. The man from the van. With the purple velvet jacket and the indigo jeans....
To be continued....
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