It is Thursday afternoon and she is driving down the highway and the Spotify DJ announces the next recommended song. It’s like a gut-punch; she hasn’t heard it since that night with him. 25 years and my life is still / Tryin' to get up that great big hill of hope / For a destination. It was almost 15 years ago, on the wicker furniture on the balcony at the old place, and he said Eh, it’s a little crumbly, did you bake it too long? Cake crumbs brush her feet. She’ll clean that up later. And suddenly the sun has set and the cat’s ready to go back inside because it’s cold out and her chair is uncomfy and, well, that was fucking rude.
Maybe he treats her this way because he is disappointed in himself and his failure of a creation who couldn’t even graduate high school because all she wants is to experience that ecstasy of soul again. How can he call himself a Creator when the 6’2” Golden imitation of a Woman he has created is oh so beautiful but oh such a let-down?
Sometimes she wonders why he chose to be a scientist — I mean, Creator.
Strangers tell her she’s beautiful 6 times a day on average but when she says thank you he says thank you. When they ask are you hungry? he says no, we just ate when god Creator almighty she is nothing but hungry. She has no stomach and no intestines because what kind of scientist would create a woman who wants to eat? But she is hungry.
She bites her fingernails. He says I didn’t give you Ruby nails just for you to bite them off. Typical. I guess that’s what I get for giving you Diamond teeth. They are nubby and flaking but the polish she found under the bed hides it well. It will never look right, though, because the shade is called Pea Pod so of course it clashes with her 24K Gold skin. But if she buys a new bottle he will see the receipt in her bank account app and ask Why do you love wasting our money? If he is a failure of a Creator, he can at least be a good Provider but there is not enough money in the piggy bank to be buying such frivolous things.
Sometimes she wonders why he chose to be a scientist — I mean, Creator. There’s not much of a market for that sort of thing and he cares more about his so-called genius than the lousy job that earns him at least half a living. He barely provides for her and sure as hell didn’t create her patience, considering his lack thereof. She is a housekeeper but still doesn’t know what she wants to be when… It’s okay, she tells herself, it’s only Thursday.
She has never desired labor. Design flaw. Call her Barbie, she’s still done it all: assistant, model, babysitter, actor, you name it. She wanted to be a lifeguard once but the sun and the chlorine will ruin her hair—what a waste! Besides, ever since she nearly drowned that one time, it’s not really for her. The waves picked up and up and up and up where is up where is down arms flailing this is it feet kicking pull me out braids coming undone.
She doesn’t even know who what she is. Never a child, never an infant. Never young, ever old? Always a Woman. Never a girl.
She doesn’t braid her hair anymore. Too girlish. She straightens it daily which isn’t good for it either but that’s different. It was different back then. She thought she was in love and it was the beginning of the New Year or at least the end of the Old Year and they were the only ones on the train. He picked her up and spun her around in circles like in the movies and then they were gone.
But she has always desired Something. One time she cut her own hair. I didn’t give you Silk hair just for you to chop it up with my kitchen scissors. Right, she should’ve known better. Perhaps it does look better when the stylist does it the way they both like. …don’t cry, it’ll tarnish your skin. it’s okay, I get it. [does he?] We’ll get you a wig. Oh.
the sky was yellow and the Sun was blue and the Creator will surely be home soon. This was their favorite song: “Scarlet Begonias” by the Grateful Dead. She didn’t get it then but now she thinks she does and everything is everything and that’s all she’ll ever truly know. She doesn’t even know who what she is. Never a child, never an infant. Never young, ever old? Always a Woman. Never a girl.
Her ring is soldered to her finger but his sits on the nightstand because it no longer fits.
And so I wake in the morning and I step outside / And I take a deep breath and I get real high / And I scream from the top of my lungs / "What's going on?"
Cars zoom past as she flicks ash out the open window. The DJ seems to like the 4 Non Blondes a little too much. It’s been on for a while.
Will they grow old together, or will he grow old and she stay forever the same? He says 24K Gold doesn’t wrinkle and of course that’s meant to be reassuring but what if she could tell you her life story just by smiling? Some collect photographs or movie tickets or souvenirs and others collect tattoos or shoes but what if all she wants is crow’s feet? Yet she paces across the kitchen wondering if Diamond teeth rot and if Cabernet blood loses oxygen and if Pearl eyes get cataracts. He says no but when the sun sets and she asks about the ending he says don’t worry about it, darling.
Her ring is soldered to her finger but his sits on the nightstand because it no longer fits. She always knew she would marry the Creator. He knows her better than anyone else ever could.
