The Country from Hell
"Yes?" you say unenthusiastically into the crackling receiver.
"Hey slut."
"Oh good God, what do you want?" As you speak, the corners of your mouth lift up into a slight smile. This is the habitual greeting you get from your best friend Maria, alias Green Bandit.
"Look outside, sweetie."
"I see Block F-6. There is a cat in the window opposite."
"No, stupid, look down!"
"Oh look, there you are. Isn't that the same headscarf you were wearing last week? I can smell you from up here."
"No, dear, that's your father you smell," she drawls, dragging on her cigarette. "I have some news for you."
"What?"
"We have to be at the train station in twenty minutes."
"No, I don't want to go."
"You don't want to go, but you don't even know where you're going. You're not really going anywhere anyway. You've been so depressing this summer! Here is a little persuasion. If you don't move those long legs, and I really do wish I had your legs, down the stairs in the next ten minutes, then I will shout the details of what you did last Friday night at the student pub at the top of my lungs so your whole block and maybe even your deaf little grandma will hear."
"I'll be right down."
You quickly throw on the short skirt you wore for most of last week and a new tanktop that you actually found at the flea market. The real boon to your outfit is the expensive pair of foreign sandals that your cousin bought for you. At least she's good for something. You throw on a little makeup but don't really try too hard because Green Bandit never does and she's mean when she's jealous. Not bothering to make any explanations to your slumbering grandmother, you slip out of the apartment and walk down the long gray hall with the single flickering bulb, down the stairs and out the door. Your friend is talking to Paganini, a vagabond gypsy who frequents your neighborhood, playing for handouts. He's not bad looking for a gypsy, but all the same it makes you uncomfortable to find yourself in conversation with him. He bows his head charmingly to you.
Blowing smoke in your face, Green Bandit kisses your left cheek, then your right.
"You look beautiful, slut. I wish I could look like you. But I am just a Green Bandit hoping to die soon from cancer."
"A what?" asks Paganini.
"All right, I have two minutes to tell you my story. Once, slut here and I were taking a school trip through the countryside. I fell down a hill and ripped my arm open. Blood everywhere, really disgusting. Then a beautiful boy came to my rescue and burned me with rubbing alcohol till I praised Jesus and he put a big green bandage on my arm. So slut here started calling me Green Bandage. But I like the old stories of the highway robbers and anyway, I'm a tough sort of girl. So from now on, I am Green Bandit. You better be careful, little man. Now we're going."
Without any further ceremony, she pulls you arm-in-arm down the sidewalk.
"Hey slut."
"Oh good God, what do you want?" As you speak, the corners of your mouth lift up into a slight smile. This is the habitual greeting you get from your best friend Maria, alias Green Bandit.
"Look outside, sweetie."
"I see Block F-6. There is a cat in the window opposite."
"No, stupid, look down!"
"Oh look, there you are. Isn't that the same headscarf you were wearing last week? I can smell you from up here."
"No, dear, that's your father you smell," she drawls, dragging on her cigarette. "I have some news for you."
"What?"
"We have to be at the train station in twenty minutes."
"No, I don't want to go."
"You don't want to go, but you don't even know where you're going. You're not really going anywhere anyway. You've been so depressing this summer! Here is a little persuasion. If you don't move those long legs, and I really do wish I had your legs, down the stairs in the next ten minutes, then I will shout the details of what you did last Friday night at the student pub at the top of my lungs so your whole block and maybe even your deaf little grandma will hear."
"I'll be right down."
You quickly throw on the short skirt you wore for most of last week and a new tanktop that you actually found at the flea market. The real boon to your outfit is the expensive pair of foreign sandals that your cousin bought for you. At least she's good for something. You throw on a little makeup but don't really try too hard because Green Bandit never does and she's mean when she's jealous. Not bothering to make any explanations to your slumbering grandmother, you slip out of the apartment and walk down the long gray hall with the single flickering bulb, down the stairs and out the door. Your friend is talking to Paganini, a vagabond gypsy who frequents your neighborhood, playing for handouts. He's not bad looking for a gypsy, but all the same it makes you uncomfortable to find yourself in conversation with him. He bows his head charmingly to you.
Blowing smoke in your face, Green Bandit kisses your left cheek, then your right.
"You look beautiful, slut. I wish I could look like you. But I am just a Green Bandit hoping to die soon from cancer."
"A what?" asks Paganini.
"All right, I have two minutes to tell you my story. Once, slut here and I were taking a school trip through the countryside. I fell down a hill and ripped my arm open. Blood everywhere, really disgusting. Then a beautiful boy came to my rescue and burned me with rubbing alcohol till I praised Jesus and he put a big green bandage on my arm. So slut here started calling me Green Bandage. But I like the old stories of the highway robbers and anyway, I'm a tough sort of girl. So from now on, I am Green Bandit. You better be careful, little man. Now we're going."
Without any further ceremony, she pulls you arm-in-arm down the sidewalk.