“Year to date”, Tolo explains their moral justifications for why they should do what they’ve done today, “Well, see, you know, like, Sister Sun promised to serve you Blue Lotus tea only served in CIS gender Girlie Girl red tent festivals and to read our creation story, on your square, at the Apex of Sun’s Labyrinth. Nahmean Baba.”
When we get to the neighborhood children’s lab, the regular courier from Post Haste Angel Logistics is calmly, logically and clearly explaining to the children’s parents and Colonel Lapis Bragg’s small unit of armed officers of the government authorities, exactly what, and why and how the children are doing the thing they’re doing.
Sun who up to now has been completely silent, growls, “Dear Brother in Love…” in that almost irresistible voice, “If Only you would make my fuk parade flutterbye wings that Day-glo blue weave color real for me to wear next year…”
Over her shoulder I’m watching the courier, explaining, “So, the children are shifting harmonic dimensions.” Sorting through the data on a tablet. “See. To conserve certain resources they’re DIPping Out. All at once and all on purpose. They’ve come to a consensus with goo gobs of kids all over the place to make their DIP points something spectacular.”
Sun is singing through that bubblegum diastima smile and a 1.4 mb hit of PS 82.6, “…Make it so! Then we can remind you of one of the happiest moments in our lives.”
Now in chorus with Pookie and Ray Ray and the rest of them L’il NIGS, Sun sings,“Com’ on Love Bug. It’ll be fun!”
A Tolo says, “One year today! Baba. So! Oui just flipping everybody bird and dIpping into Aether, Tolo dip us into Holiday Shopping season December 1987 Bring back hair back for party. Sun and anybody gets to be Flutterbye in the Funk Fuk parade. Tolo and Dem say Peace! Oui out. And you know DIP. Cause we can. Si Imsayin.”
So, this morning I’m saying to Tolo, “I know you can. That’s not really the point. We love you and we’ll miss you and a bunch of emo shit…”
”…Yeah, well if you do it right, won’t nobody fuck with us or try to follow y’all.
And, If you ever change your mind. Dude gave me this dope pocket watch. Plays porn. Oh yeah, right, Umma Heyboo. Oh yeah. Right. You were conceived inside a tesseract’s vortex. You know what it does. Cool, but so unfair. Damn. Yeah, well.
Anyway, we got snacks. It’ll be the perfect end to a Great Bubble Day.”
The Iron Pimp arrives here, on my square and Tolo takes us all to get all the synthetic colored fake hair for this year’s fuk parade costumes.
Northland Center Winter 1987
Everything is the way I remember it. Glowing white marquee on the red brick facade, next to the department store balcony above the crowds in the central mall, where I sat sketching and snacking on finger sandwiches and petit fours while my grandmother watched silent fashion shows for her employers’ wives.
Just as I realize I am lusting my cousin, Umma Heyboo, my girlfriend at that time is whispering in my right ear, “You know we fuckin’. Ri…”
Click! Cap pow.
Sigi!
“Merry Christmas. Get out. Good night! We closed for the holiday. Going to Kow Kow Inn for dinner.” Pushing all the customers, baskets, carts and all out the door and closing the shop. Umma, let’s go of my hand and says, “What the fuck you lookin’ at!” and leaves my side to join the gawkers.
I see myself, a scruffy old man, holding a pack of day-glo blue hair weave in my right hand.
being dragged out of the beauty supply shop across the hall by a woman yelling, “That’s it! Bubbles! That’s my name! It’s the same color as my hair. Ooh! Lapis 17-5034. And Ooh! Lapis 26619c! I got it! I got it! I got it All!. Thank you! Now let’s go!”
The store owners are explaining, “It’s all gone. Poof! No one stole it. Sold out. We watched it, but it just disappeared. Man walks in, gives gold coins to Manekineko on the register, there. It Looks like real gold, sounds like gold, tastes like gold. Waves this thing over the credit card machine. Money in the bank. I don’t know what happened. The whole section of candy colored synthetic hair, just gone. All the stock in the back too.”
Click! Cap pow.
Emme Ye.
“Mariposa…”
When I snap out of it Zambia is strutting in her blue and black Izzey Miyake Maxi Dress, men’s stank pank stacked heel Foti gators, dragging her Marc Buchannan duster and pointing at the beauty supply store across the hall. barking, “Mariposa…
…Butterfly! Yo ass was just over there. Looking old as fuck with some chick with hair that day-glo blue hair weave you was touchin a few minutes ago.
Are we in the game right now? Punk!
Are you Styng at this very moment? Nigga. Don’t shine me man.
I will clobber your little rail ass, right here in front of your girlfriend, yo cuzzin, her gurlfrin and all these motherfuckers in this mall.
Talk nigga. Whatupdoh!”
“No, Truly, I’m Periwinkle. Okay! Nice to see you too. You comin’ out the chrysalis when they come back in here?”
Miriam, The Berber woman drawing a hash mark over herself with the smoldering piercing gun while saying, “Mariposa…
… I thought I was seeing things…
…You are a very interesting young man. You remind me of the people from my other country. Please take my card.”
I am sitting in the window of some small chain jewelry store, across the courtyard from Hudson’s, across the hall that leads downstairs to Olga’s Kitchen, the Post Office, watchshop and the old Cobbler’s Shop where Peanut alway got them old Wing Tips revived. Across the hall from the beauty supply and the Toy store. Kitty corner to the sunglass shop.
Monroe is coming back from Mrs. Fields with her new friend.
My eyes are stuck on Monroe’s severe hourglass shape, wide hips swaying like a shark, moving through the holiday crowds of people in various poses, lining the wall of Hudson’s. In tow, dressed just like Monroe, but pink instead of yellow Buffalo check shirts and matching bandanas, Kimberly, this cute little golden haired, hazel eyed, taupe hued, petite girl from my art class are walking towards me, around the terrazzo turtle, deer skin boots, tight black velvet jeans, short waist denim jackets covered in punk and new wave buttons, bone chokers and big magenta Sally Jessy Raphael glasses, smiling wide and holding up a bag of cookies.
Zambia catches Monroe and the other girl at the jewelry store entrance, shouting, “Peanut butter chocolate chunks, oatmeal raisin walnut, and cinnamon sugar.”
My left earlobe is buzzing, but numb. The technician moves around to my right. I’m watching the women talk, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.
Zambia just comes out with it, “Okay Butterfly Boy. What the fuck just happened and is your little witchy ass in any way responsible for it?
I mean, it’s two days before Christmas, it’s all sunshine and fifty something degrees out there.
You said you caught the bus…”
I look her in the eye and mumble, “I said Da Iron Pimp.”
Zambia continues, “…but when we saw you, yo ass was coming out from the food court eating Goody’s Fried Chicken and them damn good ass waffles. This big butt white chick at the bus stop door smoking, said that she’d been waiting over an hour. Marc didn’t say anything about you taking this jacket.” Tugging at the blue crop waisted jacket hanging on the back of my chair.
“They made me wear it. I traded for the hand painted denim jacket Dana made for me.”
She easing up, “And that boy that I was going to cut in Donna Sacs’ dressing room. The one that called me Black fuck goddess in Esperanto. He gave his sister permission to call you. And Here her numba, Niggah. Two Peanut butter chocolate chunks, one oatmeal raisin walnut, and one cinnamon sugar.” Throwing another bag of cookies in my lap. “They had your order ready like they knew me. There are thousands of people in here and you’re all Cool and the Gang. And…”
Thinking I was tripping from the shock of the piercing gun driving the first of three gold star starter studs. One for each major star in the Sirius system. I thought the noise and pain were causing me to hallucinate.
I’m realizing that this is really happening and why I got my ears pierced in the first place. I always thought it was to impress my date, Umma Heyboo. Who, thinking I’m being a smartass, snatches the business card out of our hands, saying, “Ahh yeah. Thanks.”
“Bubbles. For real.” I smirk and say, “Ah, yeah right Z. I just took a trip into the future.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Zambia pokes me in the chest. She didn’t laugh. I shake it off and I shut the fuck up regarding the last three minutes until this very moment.
Click kah pow!
