French Canadian girls have a certain
look and it's in the cheekbones. They're rather high without being
freakish and definitely speak of European breeding without having
been watered down yet. Gabrielle was her name, about 27 years old and
from “woon-SAH-ket.” She had slightly wavy, dirty blond hair,
calm blue eyes highlighted by those same cheekbones and a bit of that
malnourished skinny look. She needed some more sunlight, a few
pizzas to be healthy again.
I've heard of that pronunciation before
but ONLY in Woonsocket. I had asked if she had been in Pawtucket
before and she had said rarely, but she was down here to see the
McCoy fireworks, a three day show that'll culminate tonight's blowoff
around 9 PM. They'll stuff another 70,000 people in and around McCoy
stadium in a city whose population to start with, is 70,000. I can
get in and out of there in 10 minutes, but that's only because I
live here and know which backyards I can drive through! Yes, I said
“backyards.”
Gabrielle goes on. “I do everything
in woon-SAH-ket...I got my stores, bars, my job...it's all there! I
don't come down here much.”
Woonsocket is a self sustaining
asteroid all unto it's own.
While we were outside talking, she kept
reaching up to scratch her head, kinda like when a dog goes full on
to scratch some fleas.
“I”m sorry...it itches like
hell...I've got psoriasis and it's kicking up again.”
I say, “No problem, I know exact--”
Too late, I can't complete my sentence before I'm cut off.
“People are so judgmental! It's
psoriasis...it's a self....self-immune disease!”
“You mean auto-immune dis---” I'm
cut off again.
“They think they'll catch it...they
can't! I'm not contagious! You'd think people
would listen to me!”
I try to get a word in edgewise. “I
understand why it itche---” Cut off again.
She pulls up her summer dress to show
me her legs. “”Look..people think I'm a freak! These spots!
They're can't hurt you!” Her legs weren't covered in anything
much than just a sparse, few psoriasis plaques that mimic mosquito
bites.
I try again. “I'm on your side. I
have....”
“I'm OK with my body...I know some
think I look too skinny but I hate judgmental people..why get on me
because of my genetics..I can't stop this psoriasis!!”
Now I'm looking at this chick and sort
of amazed at how she's completely wrapped up into her own head to the
point of being unable to hear anyone but herself. So I try to reach
her, to see if wakes her up.
“Look, I understand! I HAVE psoriasis
too..I know what...” (That's true, I do) No help...she never heard me.
“The other girls..they compete with
me all the time! I can't seem to get a break here and I can't help
that I have psoriasis!”
Shit...her reception radar is turned
completely off! I try this, in a louder voice.
“Blue. Monkey. 15!”
“...and those girlfriends...sometimes
they too dump on me because I scratch my head a lot...I have
medicated shampoo that helps calm it but I can't ever stop this..I
have it forever!”
She never heard that strange thing I
said. Most others would look at me weirdly if I said “Blue.Monkey.15”
I was attracted to her about twenty
minutes ago. I was feeling my way towards her, figuring her out,
seeing if she was seriously boy-friended or not. After this little
conversation I came to realize she embodied the worst of that
Millennial trait, self-absorption with the added success of being
able to make the entire Earth orbit herself.
“Ewwww” I though to myself.
'”You're way too much work!” I imagined screwing her and her
yapping on and on about why the other girls at work plot against her
and why her boss promotes via nepotism...that or texting about
herself to a waiting, rapt world on Twitter.
I thought to myself...”God..imagine
having to spend a weekend with that non-stop narcissism?”
Still..those eyes were hard to ignore.
But the smarter part of myself won out. I went back inside, she
followed and I excused myself to disappear into the men's room for a
few minutes. Coming back out I found she have found another audience
to perform too, a group of younger girls. They were all actively
trying to steal the spot light from one another by interjecting their
own, VERY important stories over one another.
When I was a kid, it was called,
“Lookit-ME! Lookit-ME!”
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