What I wrote about that night

It’s Monday. Weeds night at Chris and Kaylee’s. A cat sits on the pretty girl’s lap. She crochets with yellow yarn. I cannot tell what she is making, but in her saddle bag sits a clutch of salmon and crimson weave. She tells me she wants to put in lining and a tiny rhinestone button for the clasp. She also pulls out the pieces of another handbag – two sides and a strap. They are black and another color. Maybe turquoise. She says she wants to sell the bags on Craigslist. The cat has jumped to the floor. He begins to shudder and his eyes grow bulgy. Paul N pulls a long string of black yarn from the cat’s throat, thus saving it from choking.

Weeds has been over for awhile now. Grotesque cartoons occupy the screen. A policeman with a fro just got his face melted off. I think it was the methane. Paul F is horrified. I feel slightly dizzy. We get up to leave, careful not to step on the yarn. The pretty girl will cut it later, she says, after the saliva has dried. Paul N makes me put my sandals on. There is a meth lab in the house on the left, he says, and prostitutes live in the house on the right and in the one three doors down. You have to wear shoes in South Minneapolis, he says. I do not buckle my sandals because I am tired.

Anthony and Chris follow us outside. We leave them on the front porch steps smoking what could be Sweet Dreams. Or maybe just Parliaments. The rainbow flag that hangs on the front door is illuminated by the light in the entryway. Anthony had come late to Weeds night, two pizzas in tow. One meat, one cheese. He figured that hippies like us would appreciate a vegetarian pie. The stoned kid inside ate most of the cheese one. As well as half of the pineapple upside-down cake. He didn’t even use a fork.

In the car we don’t say much. Not like we did on the way to Weeds night. Paul N had a pretty fucked up dream when he was napping earlier. There was a gathering under a pavilion somewhere in Minneapolis. Everyone he knows was there waiting for something. Something amazing. Something they were so excited about. Paul N new what it was. He couldn’t get away. Every time he tried, the pavilion and the people were just around the next corner. His best friend Jenny was there. She taunted him. “Don’t you want to hear her scream,” she said. “Why do you want to run away Paul?” she sneered. Paul N ran because what was going to happen would make him sick. A woman was bragging; she was proud. The helicopter in the sky was going to chop off her head. Everyone was so excited to see. The chopper hung lower in the sky. It tilted downwards towards the woman, who had lay down in the middle of the pavilion. The people counted down from 10. At 4 Paul N woke up.

Jenny goes to bed when we get back to their place. She doesn’t feel well. She thinks it’s the mold in the apartment – the same mold that made the bathroom ceiling fall through a few weeks ago. Mushrooms have started growing where the ceiling used to be. Paul N calls them magical. We watch a movie about drag queens starring John Leguizamo, Patrick Swayze, and Wesley Snipes, who slays vampires in his other movies. Paul N knows so many lines. The movie is heartwarming, one of his favorites. I do not fall asleep. The movie makes me feel something I can not put my finger on. Jenny’s cat crawls under my dress. I lift her up and she protests. She won’t sit still. I want her to sit with me. She chews my hair instead. Paul N and Paul F smoke cigarettes and laugh at all the right places. The movie ends at 1:08 a.m. Paul N makes me put on my shoes again before he takes me home.

In the car Paul N says he will make me a mix. He can’t make a bad mix, he says. His best friend Suzie from high school still has one he made her in eighth grade. We listen to OK Computer. Paul sings along and I am mesmerized. Paul N smokes and drives and sings and I watch him. I listen and feel okay. He says he wants to wrap himself in OK Computer. Every song is his favorite. He makes me promise him something: that I will listen to OK Computer in London when it’s raining. Don’t let it depress you though, he says. We pull in front of my house and finish the song. Track number 5 or 6, I think. Paul N tells me of the time he and Suzie lay upon the floor of their Fargo apartment, a plate of lighted tea candles between them. They listened to OK Computer and were emotionally drained. He tells me to call him the next afternoon. We are shopping for yarn on West Bank so he can make me a scarf for London. I am not allowed to be terrified. I am going to have the trip of a lifetime, he says. My mind is eating itself, just like Paul N said once. But everyone I love will be here when I get back – at least that’s what he tells me. I still have two weeks. We say goodbye and I slam the car door tightly. I climb the stairs to my attic apartment and Twitter his words, probably so I won’t forget. I don’t watch as he drives away.