F L A U N T
It’s been a week since I made that Facebook post, and everyone seems to have gotten even angrier that I invited the new neighbors to dinner. I didn’t realize how contentious the issue would be given how NO ONE seemed to be scared a few years ago when the first round of “neighbors” rolled in. Back then it was, “well, your community needs to evolve” this and “just learn how to coexist” that.
Liars, am I right?
Andrew isn’t happy either—even though he and his father keep saying that isn’t the case. It’s a safety issue apparently; they’re just worried about my safety. I can’t imagine why, considering there are more cop cars than ice cream trucks circling the block now. I wanted to say: “We should fire off a few shots just to see if we could knock a couple $100 off property taxes,” at the city council meeting last February, but I held my tongue. I’m sick of doing that, by the way! I think I can protect MYSELF!
On the bright side, Lily told me there’s kids on the internet who think I’m cool. I’m an “anti-speciesism icon” now...I think that’s pretty neat.
My friends are telling the women at church all kinds of stories to make me seem more rational. I know for a fact one of them has quoted Matthew 25. They mean well, but it still stings. I meant what I said, and I’m happy I said it. I’d be happier if I was being heard.
Each day I look at that apartment building I’m reminded of the fact that it tore me limb from limb. The “me” that existed in the fogging glass of Dyar’s Diner, the echo pit beneath the bleachers on 37th, the bodies like sand gnats gathered outside of Phyllis Theater, and the “suicide step” leading up to the schezwan safety of Green Tea has been demolished, brick by brick, power washed from history.
But each morning, when the sun spills over the sky, I see them on the roof—out of their ship. Their skin is deep copper and their horns throw shadows across my fence. Each morning, like clockwork, they file out from their home and turn their gaze to the sky. I saw one eating a cinnamon roll from Bernadette’s bakery. If they’re ok with Bernadette, then they’re ok with me.
Speaking of, this is the first time in a year that I’ve heard signs of life from the creek. It’s been so quiet. Theo hears it too. I heard him crying a few nights ago. He was so afraid all the construction killed what remained. I made him grits and biscuits the next morning like his daddy did—because I AM a good wife!
You know who the real aliens are? The people who look through me like I’m a statue of the past. The people who call Tyrell’s sandwich shop a hole in the wall.The people who tell me how cute my house would be as an Airbnb. I would’ve invited them to dinner if they hadn’t eaten my city alive.
SO FUCK ‘EM!!!!!
TO DO:
Stay up-to-date with exclusive events and content.
