\u201cI will scalp a bitch. That\u2019s my bloodline\u2026\u201d she said. The presence of a protective angel with a side of creeping death. Here, we\u2019ll simply call her 11. Not that there was some sort of grand meaning to it all\u2014finding meaning was like Where\u2019s Waldo?\u2014but the Gypsy off Decatur had told us we were both 11s, and that together we were 22 and unfuckwittable. We were making our own meaning and ignored the Gypsy\u2019s consternation as we departed. I didn\u2019t need external justification, because the week prior I\u2019d danced for 11.<\/p>\n
Before we\u2019d lit outta Talibama, I\u2019d given 11 a key to my Nana\u2019s house, and she\u2019d crept in at 3 a.m. We\u2019d overslept and my mama was non-plussed that I was sleeping with an Indian chick, even though I\u2019m part Cherokee. Florrie had slapped me in the face\u2014HARD\u2014and said, \u201cGet the fuck out.\u201d I complied, stole her car, then headed for South Dakota with 11 riding shotgun.<\/p>\n
Any illusions that our visit to her family in South Dakota was meaningless were bitch-slapped outta me when I was standing belly-to-belly with her daddy, the Chief, staring straight thru me over sips of coffee blacker than Pazuzu\u2019s soul, and he\u2019d asked, \u201cAre you sure this is what you want?\u201d and I\u2019d responded, \u201cAnything for 11.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay,\u201d he said, side-eyeing 11\u2019s brothers, \u201cWe start tomorrow. Buckle up.\u201d<\/p>\n
I ain\u2019t gonna be accused of cultural appropriation and get my ass kicked by 11\u2019s daddy. He vouched for me. He sponsored me. You ain\u2019t getting the tea. So I\u2019ll tell you what the ritual wasn\u2019t:<\/p>\n
No wellness retreat with yuppies puking and shitting in buckets on ayahuasca with a fucking babysitter in case the trip got too intense.<\/p>\n
No gore fetish with underground people thinking they\u2019re badasses hanging from hooks. No bravado. No jeering. Just you under the hot sun realizing God ain\u2019t doling out mercy that day. Only pain as currency for community. No revelatory Western delusions of grandeur that meaning was contrived bullshit and opting to be a hermit poet per Heidegger, a cock-sucking, snitch Nazi supporter\u2014the best we could do for 20th Century philosophers…<\/p>\n
No fucking \u201cme\u201d after I survived this shit. There\u2019s no ego death without blood and pain and suffering. Watching Lost Highway<\/em> on PE mushrooms ain\u2019t cutting it, brau.<\/p>\n I danced for 11\u2019s protection. I danced for her healing. I danced for her future. I danced for our bond. I danced for my ancestors watching. I danced for something bigger than myself. I danced for redemption. I danced for meaning. I danced for honor. I danced for the right to stand beside her. I didn\u2019t dance for me.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We drove straight thru the nite to NOLA listening to The Jesus and Mary Chain. 11 started cramping-up around Wichita and we stopped for gas and Midol. I was a hot mess, still wearing a blood-soaked Ramones tee-shirt. The clerk was an older Bible-thumping white lady and felt obligated to save my soul. Bless her heart. I was 17 and had heard this shit my entire life and only now understood\u2014spirituality is violent; spirituality costs blood; spirituality changes you; spirituality demands sacrifice; spirituality was an atavisitic insurgency, not a mega church in a parking lot.<\/p>\n Now, we were in NOLA for some real fuckery and hi-jinks and shenanigans, and I was leery of running into my ex in the Quarter. 11 was spiraling. Bad. About all the shit she\u2019d suffered under her step-daddy in Talibama, and something had to give.<\/p>\n We were down in a bar in the 9th Ward and my ex had run-up on us. 11 didn\u2019t scalp her. It actually went down to where they were chatty, other than my ex throwing a glass of red wine in my face. Alcohol equals veracity, and my ex sniffed out 11\u2019s trauma like a bloodhound and was raving about a ketamine clinic over in Metairie. Sounded like as good of an idea as any. And after 11\u2019d gotten black-out drunk I schlepped her back to our motel with the plan to go get an infusion in the a.m.<\/p>\n You can dress this shit up any way you like, but it was just cold florescence and glossy brochures with walls smelling of Lysol and resignation. I didn\u2019t wanna be there, but the seed had been planted by my ex, and here I was delivering up 11 to these doctors and their medical solutions for spiritual wounds.<\/p>\n 11 didn\u2019t respond well to the treatment and went comatose. After about two weeks in the ICU, the doc declared to me, like it was a weather report, that 11 was FUBAR and then there was talk of \u201ccompassionate release,\u201d in other words killing her, and it was down to me or a family member to decide on co-signing her death warrant, and we\u2019d need a witness. I wasn\u2019t about to call up her daddy and tell him I\u2019d played a part in killing his daughter, so I got my ex to witness the papers, and they pulled the cord. Compassionately.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" No bravado. No jeering. Just you under the hot sun realizing God ain\u2019t doling out mercy that day. Only pain as currency for community. There\u2019s no ego death without blood and suffering.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":23907,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3530],"tags":[4568],"class_list":["post-23768","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-flash-fiction","tag-dee_p_r_kay","writer-dee-p-r-kay"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23768","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=23768"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23768\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":23908,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23768\/revisions\/23908"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/23907"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=23768"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=23768"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=23768"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}