"man, what do you use in your hair? it's perfect; not a single one out of place!" mark's appreciation of the stranger's hair didn't seem to impress the kid much. as the only two rockabilly kids left at a dying indie rock house party, mark's attempt at conversation might have been welcomed by someone more eager to meet people, or just less fucked-up.
"i don't know, murray's or something." the stranger answered as he turned to me. "jesus," he breathed, "your hair is fucking stupid."
ha ha! great! and here i thought this evening was going to go off without a hitch. now i have to figure out what's up with this kid. is he kidding? shit, i wish i wasn't so drunk.
"-no, i mean it- why don't you shave that shit off? it's not going to get any better, dude."
oh fucking hell no! what is with the vitriol? i have not asked for this. if epicenity is a crime than guilty i may be, but having a nice (though admittedly foppish) haircut is no invitation to effrontery! i'm pissed about this!
***breathe***
no i'm not. i am not pissed. i am trashed, and i am really uncomfortable. not going to make a scene. after all, i don't fight. do i? shit, maybe i do! mark steps in, all, "hold on, hold on..." as i begin to speak. i'm not sure what i'm saying.
"hey," i say, shaking my hands broadly in a gesture of dismissal. "whatever, dude. i don't have perfectly straight hair like yours. my dad's black and my mom is white, this shit doesn't come easy."
AARRGHHH what the fuck am i saying?! am i making jokes? excuses? i'm making joking excuses? this is not what i intended to say (fuck you, asshole. who the fuck do you know here, anyway? the frat rats down the street just called; they want their collective mindset back) at all.
"you wouldn't understand," i add concedingly. this whips the stranger into a fit of rage which can only be dealt with, apparently, by removing a cell phone from his pocket and angrily punching numbers into it's tiny face. in a bizarre gesture of trust, he slaps the phone into my hand.
"oh i wouldn't understand? my girlfriend's half black, asshole. you fucking talk to her!"
ring* ring*me: hello?
her:unnhhgg, herlo?
me: you sleeping?
her: yeah-uhngggg
me: sorry for bothering you, but your boyfriend's being a total asshole
her: oh, that's, um...that's okay--
the stranger grabs the phone and starts yelling into it angrily. i miss what is said, i am still very drunk and now completely and utterly dumbstruck by whatever is transpiring around me. i am later told that i am at this point called a homo or a fag or something. i don't remember. cooper interjects and kicks mark and the stranger out of the house, i accompany mark who watches the stranger as he recedes into the distance, still barking fiercely into the phone (his ex-girlfriend now?). I am left as i have been most of the evening, most of the year; drunk, confused...
well-dressed.