Raised in the Era of Heroes and Cons
BEFORE THE LOBOTOMY
As soon as Chris hung up I completely broke down.
I felt stupid and useless and sixteen again, crying like this over the one person I hadn't seen in years.
I was at work. Crying at work. How lame was I? I was due to go on stage in a few minutes to perform fucking Swan Lake. My costume felt ridiculous on me, white and flouncy and stupid. I didn't want to be Odette right now, I just wanted to be Gloria. Stupid, crying Gloria, with her heart breaking for the million and fifth time over the boy from 21 years ago even though I thought I had moved on years ago.
All the dancers were flitting around me like stupid French fairies, whispering to each other, coming up and asking "What's wrong?" in their stupid language. I wish for once that someone could just talk to me in God damn English and accommodate me for once. I didn't want to have to choke out French while I was sobbing over someone they had never heard about.
They probably all thought that Chris broke up with me even though I insisted that we were only friends about a billion times. I just liked calling him before performances so I could keep my head level and remember where I was coming from.
I wanted to go home. I wanted to go home and eat some of Chris' amazing matzo ball soup (he cooks and has an amazing band? How great is he?) and sob out all my problems to him then fall asleep on his couch watching RENT for the million and fifth time because I liked to make fun of him for not accepting the role of Roger for the last Broadway cast and whenever he picked the movie it was something that scared the shit out of me so I wouldn't be able to sleep for days. And I need my sleep, because when I don't get sleep my dancing gets sloppy and then I'm in trouble.
The director was coming now, waving his arms and his stupid clip board, demanding what the fuss is about and almost having a heart attack when he saw all my makeup running down my face. He immediately sent me back to one of the makeup artists and I was forced to sit in a chair and calm down while he took all my makeup off and put it back on while not messing up my hair because that couldn't be redone with only two minutes until the show started.
As soon as I was all fixed up like a porcelain doll I was shoved out onstage, leaping and twirling, the glowing spark amongst all these blond bitches. I loved them all to death, but I honestly couldn't stand their attitudes sometimes. Especially how they hated me for not even having to think about the steps half the time. That and I was an American barging in on their ballet, snagging all the lead female rolls because none of them could perform all the leaps and spins as flawlessly as I could. But honestly, how hard could it be for them? I mean, all it is is just spin, spin, fifth position, leap, en point, spin, arms out, jump, spin again. But then again, I couldn't blame them. Sometimes even I didn't want to be in this ballet, dancing the old shows and never being able to dance in the modern style that I loved.
I missed dancing to The Misfits and The Who and Duran Duran. If I even admitted that to one of these prissy French girls they would have a fit. I could just see it now.
But you are the prima ballerina, you are the star!
Why would you want to go back to dancing to such horrible music?
If you don't like our dances, why don't you just go back to America?
Would if I could, darling. I would take my American rock and roll and songs of the British Invasion over your French crap any day. But then again, if they found out that I was singing Teenage Wasteland and Behind Blue Eyes in my head while dancing to Swan Lake they would cut off my toes.
As I flew across the stage I couldn't help but think about Jimmy.
Think about his laugh, his grin, that stupid look he gets when he's frustrated with something.
Think about the way his hands used to shake when I kissed his neck. The way he would hold me close in the middle of the night when he thought I was sleeping. The way he would hide his face on my shoulder and grip my hands when the Saint was torturing him and he felt utterly helpless.
Think about the days when I showed him my routines, the routines that seemed like absolute shit to me now. I had redone them all, spinning faster, throwing my weight around more, landing harder, jumping higher. It was as if I could rewrite my past if I changed all the steps. Maybe if I pushed myself harder, he would love me. Maybe if I leaped higher I could gain myself a few more days with him. Maybe if I spun faster I could turn back time and change everything.
God, I would do anything for a few more days. One more smoke. One more fuck. One more glance at the ink traced on his skin. Anything.
I was finally off stage, breathing deeply, brushing my bangs out of my face.
The director had a fit when he first saw I cut my hair.
What will we do about your hair now!? It shall be in your face, there is no way to pull it up!
Exactly why I did it. I wanted to it to fly, I wanted it to be part of the show. I didn't need to have it pulled up into the painful bun practically every day, I didn't need to see what part of the stage I was on or what position I was in next. It all flowed. If I did the moves correctly, which I always did, then I would be in the right place at the right time. Fuck looking professional.
I glanced at myself in one of the mirrors. I looked different from when I was sixteen. Hair short, figure much slimmer from dancing every day and barely having time to eat between rehearsals and the work outs that kept my legs strong. But I could still see her there. Whatsername. Wanting to come out, wanting to be free, fucking up and taking names, running away from everything and everyone that really knew her.
That was really what got me into bed with Christian. He was the singer in a big band, a band I happened to enjoy even though I only had heard them once. I had waited for hours to see him walking down the street, to feel my pulse quicken at his touch. I was mystified with the large dragon looping around his body, really personifying the person I thought I knew from one night of seeing him on stage.
I never realized that I was fucking the one person I hated more than my father. At least not until after it was over and done with.
I never wanted to see him again after that. I ran. Went to a friend's, stayed there for a few days and tried to figure out what to do. Each day was getting closer to the point there I would really have to start eating for two and stop being a fuck up. That day terrified me, and I had no money for anything but smokes. Neither did any of my friends.
I finally went back to his apartment. I didn't want to. I really didn't want to, but I had to. I had nowhere else to turn, and he had money.
The director started yelling at us again, pushing us out onstage. Leap, twirl, fourth position, third position.
I sat outside Chris' building four hours before he finally came home. He looked shocked, even angry to see me again.
"What're you doing here?"
"I'm pregnant."
I had to hold in the laughter that always came with the image of his blatantly shocked face. I was on stage, no time for laughing, no time for messing up.
"But I used protection-"
"It's not yours, dip shit."
"Then who's-"
"It's Jimmy's."
His face darkened. I remembered exactly how his blue eyes lost their sparkle at those words.
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"I want you to pay for the abortion."
"No way in hell."
I stood up and stared him down. Jesus he was tall. I could've probably reached his eye level en point but at that time I didn't wan to. My legs were stiff from sitting on the sidewalk all day.
"If you won't do it for me, do it for Jimmy. For the love of God, I can't pay for this bby, and I don't want to make him pay for it."
"So you're making me pay for the abortion?"
"I can black mail you. You've got that pretty little girlfriend right now, yes?"
"Yeah-"
She knows about your past, right?"
"Yeah, but-"
"Then I'm pretty sure she'll take my word over yours. And if I say this baby is yours, she'll be dropping your ass like a hot potato."
His face went blank and finally he grumbled out an angry, "Fine."
Off stage I massaged my calves. They were starting to burn, but I couldn't have that. I needed them to hold through, I didn't need to be freaking out about how it felt like my legs were going to snap in half while dancing.
Any other day I would've loved that burn, reminding me that I was really working everything I had. Not today. Not when I was so close to having a complete breakdown, making it impossible for me to even think about moving like I was supposed to.
On stage. I wished that I was on a plane home, waiting for Chris to pick me up at the air port so we could go out and do something crazy.
The day after I blackmailed Chris isn't pay for the abortion we went to the clinic on East 12th St. I was terrified, honestly. The building tried to give off the feeling of comfort, but it still felt tense, like the people who worked there didn't really approve. As I went to one of the back rooms to take the pill that would terminate the kid in my stomach, Chris went out to have a smoke.
Even only knowing him for a day or so I could tell that he was uncomfortable, even on the point of having a total panic attack.
So I took him out for coffee afterwords, my way of apologizing for making him do that. We started talking. About Jimmy, about life, about families, about kids. I guess that's what started off our friendship. I was still weary of him, but I was starting to see how Jimmy could've called him his best friend.
Hell, only weeks later I was calling him my best friend. I got free passes to shows, he would drive me to dance auditions, I even lived with him for a while until I got a steady job and got my own place, and once he dedicated a song to me at a show. What kind of trite crap was that, dedicating a song? But it was sweet of him. I even tease him about it now and he just denies it ever happened even though there are three other people who can vouch for me on the occasion.
The curtain falls. I'm breathing hard, but then we're standing for bows as the curtain raises, smiling those forced smiles even though we all just want to collapse. We applaud our director, our stage manager, and the conductor. Then I'm being handed a bouquet of who-the-fuck-cares and we're leaving the stage to get back into our street clothes and going home.
Back in my 8th floor apartment in the 3rd block of Paris I can see everything from my balcony. The Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, the Louvre. The lights of the city remind me of New York and Sacramento at the same time.
For the hundredth time I light a cigarette and wish Jimmy was here to see it with me.
.......................Dreaming
I am only dreaming
Of another place and time
Where my family's from
.......................Singing
I can hear them singing
When the rain had washed away
.......................All these scattered dreams
.......................Dying
Everyone's reminded
.......................Hearts are washed in misery
.......................Drenched in gasoline
Laughter
There is no more laughter
......................SONGS OF YESTERDAY
NOW LIVE IN THE UNDERGROUND
Life before the lobotomy
......................Christian sang the eulogy
......................Sign my love a lost memory
......................From the end of the century
Well it's enough to make you sick
.....................To cast a stone and throw a brick
WHEN THE SKY IS FALLING DOWN
IT BURNED YOUR DREAMS INTO THE GROUND
CHRISTIAN'S LESSON
Is what he's been sold
....................We are normal and self-controlled
Remember to learn to forget
....................Whiskey shots and cheap cigarettes
Well I'm not stoned
I'm just fucked up
I got so high I can't stand up
I'm not cursed 'cause
....................I've been BLESSED
I'M NOT IN LOVE 'CAUSE I'M A MESS
...................Like refugees
We're lost like refugees
Like refugees
...................We're lost like refugees
The brutality of reality
...................Is the freedom that keeps me from
...................DREAMING
I WAS DREAMING
OF ANOTHER PLACE AND TIME
WHERE MY FAMILY'S FROM
..................SINGING
I CAN HEAR THEM SINGING
WHEN THE RAIN HAD WASHED AWAY
ALL THESE SCATTERED DREAMS
...................DYING
...................EVERYONE'S REMINDED
HEARTS ARE WASHED IN MISERY
....................DRENCHED IN GASOLINE
...................LAUGHTER
THERE IS NO MORE LAUGHTER
SONGS OF YESTERDAY
NOW LIVE IN THE UNDERGROUND
I felt stupid and useless and sixteen again, crying like this over the one person I hadn't seen in years.
I was at work. Crying at work. How lame was I? I was due to go on stage in a few minutes to perform fucking Swan Lake. My costume felt ridiculous on me, white and flouncy and stupid. I didn't want to be Odette right now, I just wanted to be Gloria. Stupid, crying Gloria, with her heart breaking for the million and fifth time over the boy from 21 years ago even though I thought I had moved on years ago.
All the dancers were flitting around me like stupid French fairies, whispering to each other, coming up and asking "What's wrong?" in their stupid language. I wish for once that someone could just talk to me in God damn English and accommodate me for once. I didn't want to have to choke out French while I was sobbing over someone they had never heard about.
They probably all thought that Chris broke up with me even though I insisted that we were only friends about a billion times. I just liked calling him before performances so I could keep my head level and remember where I was coming from.
I wanted to go home. I wanted to go home and eat some of Chris' amazing matzo ball soup (he cooks and has an amazing band? How great is he?) and sob out all my problems to him then fall asleep on his couch watching RENT for the million and fifth time because I liked to make fun of him for not accepting the role of Roger for the last Broadway cast and whenever he picked the movie it was something that scared the shit out of me so I wouldn't be able to sleep for days. And I need my sleep, because when I don't get sleep my dancing gets sloppy and then I'm in trouble.
The director was coming now, waving his arms and his stupid clip board, demanding what the fuss is about and almost having a heart attack when he saw all my makeup running down my face. He immediately sent me back to one of the makeup artists and I was forced to sit in a chair and calm down while he took all my makeup off and put it back on while not messing up my hair because that couldn't be redone with only two minutes until the show started.
As soon as I was all fixed up like a porcelain doll I was shoved out onstage, leaping and twirling, the glowing spark amongst all these blond bitches. I loved them all to death, but I honestly couldn't stand their attitudes sometimes. Especially how they hated me for not even having to think about the steps half the time. That and I was an American barging in on their ballet, snagging all the lead female rolls because none of them could perform all the leaps and spins as flawlessly as I could. But honestly, how hard could it be for them? I mean, all it is is just spin, spin, fifth position, leap, en point, spin, arms out, jump, spin again. But then again, I couldn't blame them. Sometimes even I didn't want to be in this ballet, dancing the old shows and never being able to dance in the modern style that I loved.
I missed dancing to The Misfits and The Who and Duran Duran. If I even admitted that to one of these prissy French girls they would have a fit. I could just see it now.
But you are the prima ballerina, you are the star!
Why would you want to go back to dancing to such horrible music?
If you don't like our dances, why don't you just go back to America?
Would if I could, darling. I would take my American rock and roll and songs of the British Invasion over your French crap any day. But then again, if they found out that I was singing Teenage Wasteland and Behind Blue Eyes in my head while dancing to Swan Lake they would cut off my toes.
As I flew across the stage I couldn't help but think about Jimmy.
Think about his laugh, his grin, that stupid look he gets when he's frustrated with something.
Think about the way his hands used to shake when I kissed his neck. The way he would hold me close in the middle of the night when he thought I was sleeping. The way he would hide his face on my shoulder and grip my hands when the Saint was torturing him and he felt utterly helpless.
Think about the days when I showed him my routines, the routines that seemed like absolute shit to me now. I had redone them all, spinning faster, throwing my weight around more, landing harder, jumping higher. It was as if I could rewrite my past if I changed all the steps. Maybe if I pushed myself harder, he would love me. Maybe if I leaped higher I could gain myself a few more days with him. Maybe if I spun faster I could turn back time and change everything.
God, I would do anything for a few more days. One more smoke. One more fuck. One more glance at the ink traced on his skin. Anything.
I was finally off stage, breathing deeply, brushing my bangs out of my face.
The director had a fit when he first saw I cut my hair.
What will we do about your hair now!? It shall be in your face, there is no way to pull it up!
Exactly why I did it. I wanted to it to fly, I wanted it to be part of the show. I didn't need to have it pulled up into the painful bun practically every day, I didn't need to see what part of the stage I was on or what position I was in next. It all flowed. If I did the moves correctly, which I always did, then I would be in the right place at the right time. Fuck looking professional.
I glanced at myself in one of the mirrors. I looked different from when I was sixteen. Hair short, figure much slimmer from dancing every day and barely having time to eat between rehearsals and the work outs that kept my legs strong. But I could still see her there. Whatsername. Wanting to come out, wanting to be free, fucking up and taking names, running away from everything and everyone that really knew her.
That was really what got me into bed with Christian. He was the singer in a big band, a band I happened to enjoy even though I only had heard them once. I had waited for hours to see him walking down the street, to feel my pulse quicken at his touch. I was mystified with the large dragon looping around his body, really personifying the person I thought I knew from one night of seeing him on stage.
I never realized that I was fucking the one person I hated more than my father. At least not until after it was over and done with.
I never wanted to see him again after that. I ran. Went to a friend's, stayed there for a few days and tried to figure out what to do. Each day was getting closer to the point there I would really have to start eating for two and stop being a fuck up. That day terrified me, and I had no money for anything but smokes. Neither did any of my friends.
I finally went back to his apartment. I didn't want to. I really didn't want to, but I had to. I had nowhere else to turn, and he had money.
The director started yelling at us again, pushing us out onstage. Leap, twirl, fourth position, third position.
I sat outside Chris' building four hours before he finally came home. He looked shocked, even angry to see me again.
"What're you doing here?"
"I'm pregnant."
I had to hold in the laughter that always came with the image of his blatantly shocked face. I was on stage, no time for laughing, no time for messing up.
"But I used protection-"
"It's not yours, dip shit."
"Then who's-"
"It's Jimmy's."
His face darkened. I remembered exactly how his blue eyes lost their sparkle at those words.
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"I want you to pay for the abortion."
"No way in hell."
I stood up and stared him down. Jesus he was tall. I could've probably reached his eye level en point but at that time I didn't wan to. My legs were stiff from sitting on the sidewalk all day.
"If you won't do it for me, do it for Jimmy. For the love of God, I can't pay for this bby, and I don't want to make him pay for it."
"So you're making me pay for the abortion?"
"I can black mail you. You've got that pretty little girlfriend right now, yes?"
"Yeah-"
She knows about your past, right?"
"Yeah, but-"
"Then I'm pretty sure she'll take my word over yours. And if I say this baby is yours, she'll be dropping your ass like a hot potato."
His face went blank and finally he grumbled out an angry, "Fine."
Off stage I massaged my calves. They were starting to burn, but I couldn't have that. I needed them to hold through, I didn't need to be freaking out about how it felt like my legs were going to snap in half while dancing.
Any other day I would've loved that burn, reminding me that I was really working everything I had. Not today. Not when I was so close to having a complete breakdown, making it impossible for me to even think about moving like I was supposed to.
On stage. I wished that I was on a plane home, waiting for Chris to pick me up at the air port so we could go out and do something crazy.
The day after I blackmailed Chris isn't pay for the abortion we went to the clinic on East 12th St. I was terrified, honestly. The building tried to give off the feeling of comfort, but it still felt tense, like the people who worked there didn't really approve. As I went to one of the back rooms to take the pill that would terminate the kid in my stomach, Chris went out to have a smoke.
Even only knowing him for a day or so I could tell that he was uncomfortable, even on the point of having a total panic attack.
So I took him out for coffee afterwords, my way of apologizing for making him do that. We started talking. About Jimmy, about life, about families, about kids. I guess that's what started off our friendship. I was still weary of him, but I was starting to see how Jimmy could've called him his best friend.
Hell, only weeks later I was calling him my best friend. I got free passes to shows, he would drive me to dance auditions, I even lived with him for a while until I got a steady job and got my own place, and once he dedicated a song to me at a show. What kind of trite crap was that, dedicating a song? But it was sweet of him. I even tease him about it now and he just denies it ever happened even though there are three other people who can vouch for me on the occasion.
The curtain falls. I'm breathing hard, but then we're standing for bows as the curtain raises, smiling those forced smiles even though we all just want to collapse. We applaud our director, our stage manager, and the conductor. Then I'm being handed a bouquet of who-the-fuck-cares and we're leaving the stage to get back into our street clothes and going home.
Back in my 8th floor apartment in the 3rd block of Paris I can see everything from my balcony. The Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, the Louvre. The lights of the city remind me of New York and Sacramento at the same time.
For the hundredth time I light a cigarette and wish Jimmy was here to see it with me.
.......................Dreaming
I am only dreaming
Of another place and time
Where my family's from
.......................Singing
I can hear them singing
When the rain had washed away
.......................All these scattered dreams
.......................Dying
Everyone's reminded
.......................Hearts are washed in misery
.......................Drenched in gasoline
Laughter
There is no more laughter
......................SONGS OF YESTERDAY
NOW LIVE IN THE UNDERGROUND
Life before the lobotomy
......................Christian sang the eulogy
......................Sign my love a lost memory
......................From the end of the century
Well it's enough to make you sick
.....................To cast a stone and throw a brick
WHEN THE SKY IS FALLING DOWN
IT BURNED YOUR DREAMS INTO THE GROUND
CHRISTIAN'S LESSON
Is what he's been sold
....................We are normal and self-controlled
Remember to learn to forget
....................Whiskey shots and cheap cigarettes
Well I'm not stoned
I'm just fucked up
I got so high I can't stand up
I'm not cursed 'cause
....................I've been BLESSED
I'M NOT IN LOVE 'CAUSE I'M A MESS
...................Like refugees
We're lost like refugees
Like refugees
...................We're lost like refugees
The brutality of reality
...................Is the freedom that keeps me from
...................DREAMING
I WAS DREAMING
OF ANOTHER PLACE AND TIME
WHERE MY FAMILY'S FROM
..................SINGING
I CAN HEAR THEM SINGING
WHEN THE RAIN HAD WASHED AWAY
ALL THESE SCATTERED DREAMS
...................DYING
...................EVERYONE'S REMINDED
HEARTS ARE WASHED IN MISERY
....................DRENCHED IN GASOLINE
...................LAUGHTER
THERE IS NO MORE LAUGHTER
SONGS OF YESTERDAY
NOW LIVE IN THE UNDERGROUND