Dear Frankie...
letter 23
Dear Frankie,
It didn’t happen like I told you it would. Nothing ever does. Finn had to come and Shawnie had to get pretty angry. Different psychological approaches were tried and failed so they just left me here. Shawnie said if I didn’t get I job, I could at least clean a little and go to get some fuckin’ groceries.
So started doing that, cleaning the bathroom, walking to the store. And then when I felt I was going to fucking go mad I would play the play the cello or go back to bed.
The cello drove the neighbors crazy so I was forced to stop and just walked around doing nothing. But I mostly slept, I could sleep for 15, 20 hours every day.
Numb and lost in oblivion. I was just so tired of thinking of shit and how badly I had fucked this fucked up mess already. I was tired of thinking about you, about me, about the baby.
Then I started taking pictures again. The first one was of this kid I saw in the store. He was just sitting in the cart looking at everything and at nothing. It was like everything was very far away for him.
His name was Perry. His father was in the army and his mother is a house wife so she can look after him. He has autism. He’s four years old.
Then I met this woman in the subway. Her name is Yvette. Her skin is perfect and warps around her humongous figure like a suit made to measure, containing her shapeless insides. She is 322 lbs and 43 years old.
I took her portrait against the dirty tile.
I couldn’t stop afterward. Their strange beauty captivated me. Like the brides faking happiness. Transvestites, beaten up teenagers, people sleeping under benches. All beautiful, all had stories to tell.
I reckon if I saw you walk around in the street, I’d want to get your picture. You crazy knuckles and your crazy greens.
Repulsive ones also charmed me: old ladies who refused to age, anorexic girls, drunken football players. All fucked up equally, all equally charming. Like me, like Finn and maybe even like you. We all hide dirt under the rug.
Anyways one morning I needed to get a job so I could get more film. And then one morning it wasn’t so hard to get off bed, and then one night I didn’t feel like going to bed and then one day I caught myself buying baby converse at the Journey’s sale and signing The Beatles.
And that weekend I took my cello to the park and sat there playing. I just wanted somewhere where I could play with no fucked up neighbors banging the walls with their brooms and screaming in crazy tongues. Strange thing happen when you do shit like that that, people are pretty odd. I should have stopped them but frankly I didn’t care. People could throw their quarters to the empty case all they wanted. Hey if they want to provide your kid with nappies, who am I to complain?
But you had to come and fuck me up, shit floats right? It’s not like I hate you or blame but you keep appearing everywhere.
Like a Cheshire cat, a smile here, a tail there. Maybe if I got you out of my life I could get you out of my head.
It was about eleven am on Sunday when I saw your friend. I know it was that guy that scored with Alice that night we drove to the woods. I just know. His raven black hair, his strange amber eyes, the look he gave me when he threw a dollar in. I was playing one of Bach’s solo suites and he walked by and stared momentarily, chain smoking, starring. I guess he knew who I was too.
I couldn’t sleep that night.
It’s just fucked up.
What am I gonna do if I run into you? What are YOU gonna do?
I guess I’ll take your picture and we’ll see from there.
Running in circles,
Ava.
It didn’t happen like I told you it would. Nothing ever does. Finn had to come and Shawnie had to get pretty angry. Different psychological approaches were tried and failed so they just left me here. Shawnie said if I didn’t get I job, I could at least clean a little and go to get some fuckin’ groceries.
So started doing that, cleaning the bathroom, walking to the store. And then when I felt I was going to fucking go mad I would play the play the cello or go back to bed.
The cello drove the neighbors crazy so I was forced to stop and just walked around doing nothing. But I mostly slept, I could sleep for 15, 20 hours every day.
Numb and lost in oblivion. I was just so tired of thinking of shit and how badly I had fucked this fucked up mess already. I was tired of thinking about you, about me, about the baby.
Then I started taking pictures again. The first one was of this kid I saw in the store. He was just sitting in the cart looking at everything and at nothing. It was like everything was very far away for him.
His name was Perry. His father was in the army and his mother is a house wife so she can look after him. He has autism. He’s four years old.
Then I met this woman in the subway. Her name is Yvette. Her skin is perfect and warps around her humongous figure like a suit made to measure, containing her shapeless insides. She is 322 lbs and 43 years old.
I took her portrait against the dirty tile.
I couldn’t stop afterward. Their strange beauty captivated me. Like the brides faking happiness. Transvestites, beaten up teenagers, people sleeping under benches. All beautiful, all had stories to tell.
I reckon if I saw you walk around in the street, I’d want to get your picture. You crazy knuckles and your crazy greens.
Repulsive ones also charmed me: old ladies who refused to age, anorexic girls, drunken football players. All fucked up equally, all equally charming. Like me, like Finn and maybe even like you. We all hide dirt under the rug.
Anyways one morning I needed to get a job so I could get more film. And then one morning it wasn’t so hard to get off bed, and then one night I didn’t feel like going to bed and then one day I caught myself buying baby converse at the Journey’s sale and signing The Beatles.
And that weekend I took my cello to the park and sat there playing. I just wanted somewhere where I could play with no fucked up neighbors banging the walls with their brooms and screaming in crazy tongues. Strange thing happen when you do shit like that that, people are pretty odd. I should have stopped them but frankly I didn’t care. People could throw their quarters to the empty case all they wanted. Hey if they want to provide your kid with nappies, who am I to complain?
But you had to come and fuck me up, shit floats right? It’s not like I hate you or blame but you keep appearing everywhere.
Like a Cheshire cat, a smile here, a tail there. Maybe if I got you out of my life I could get you out of my head.
It was about eleven am on Sunday when I saw your friend. I know it was that guy that scored with Alice that night we drove to the woods. I just know. His raven black hair, his strange amber eyes, the look he gave me when he threw a dollar in. I was playing one of Bach’s solo suites and he walked by and stared momentarily, chain smoking, starring. I guess he knew who I was too.
I couldn’t sleep that night.
It’s just fucked up.
What am I gonna do if I run into you? What are YOU gonna do?
I guess I’ll take your picture and we’ll see from there.
Running in circles,
Ava.