lili ledí

cefemérides del catorce de marzo:

• hace tres años y un día, al hospital fui a dar con un ataque de histeria y de dolor. las enfermeras me dejaron tendida en el lobby y vomitando en una papelera hasta que mi madre llegó con el dinero de la admisión; sólo entonces tuvieron la bondad de darme una habitación para vomitar en privado. al día siguiente, el catorce, me fui a cirugía de emergencia.


• hace dos años, asistí con mi ya ex-novio a la comida de cumpleaños de mi madre. hacía un mes que habíamos terminado, pero nadie lo sabía y seguíamos pretendiendo en público.


• hace un año, mi momichi dio a luz a sus tres gatitas, mi lily de cabeza y por delante.
  
  en fin, un único acontecimiento luminoso aunque yo no estuve ahí, me enteré hasta el día siguiente.
  
  


• el día de hoy --un día que se va haciendo noche mientras yo sigo garrapateando como Notitas Ledí; mi hermano y yo estamos estacionados frente a nada, viendo nada excepto del humeante automóvil el cofre levantado, con nada en el estómago y nada en la cabeza más que puras amarguras.

* * * * * *

part ii

hello. we're still in the car. the hood is still up. the smoke still rises. we're both so hungry we can see the last sunrays shine through our paper-thin bodies as if we were japanese lamps. this is the fourth or fifth time we've had to stop and let the car take a breather. he smokes one of his cheap cigarettes, and I light up my joint. hey, it's just one of those days. we're still practically closer to my place than my parents', but the idea of turning back has never crossed our minds; it's holy Mother's birthday and we've already ruined it. we're obviously responsible for all the transit in this blessed city and they're not waiting for us for dinner. it's blatantly our fault that the car has to go coolant potty every ten or twelve blocks and it's taking us four hours and counting to get there. hmmmph! just rude.

also, the stereo of the car was stolen some weeks ago and we've discovered that neither of us knows the complete lyrics to the postal service's 'such great heights'. we suck. I forgot my book, so all that's left is to open my brother's Norton Anthology of English Literature and render an impromptu teary reading of the love song of j. alfred prufrock.

what a shitty day.

we ended up taking a cab to my parents' place and leaving the car at the first place we found open. then on the drive back to my place --full blast Cash-- I realized I left what was left of my excellent joint in the car. if anything, I expect the mechanic who kept it is having a hell of a time right now.

bah, what a shitty day.

top 3 of happy birthday, lily
1. sinnerman -- nina simone
2. cocaine blues -- johnny cash
3. the hardest button to button -- the white stripes

p.s. anyone should wonder that my cat's birthday excites me more than my mother's...