265 lines
14 KiB
Plaintext
265 lines
14 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #849
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "Pixie Dust"
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
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888 888 888 888 888 " by Ugliness Man
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 9/24/99
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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Every time I leave Pixie's apartment, I feel warm and happy. Kinda
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like visiting a Grandmother, or a Kindergarten teacher. She's not old,
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she's only in her late 20's like me, but she has that big, loving way about
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her. Just like you can always smell cookies baking at Grandma's house,
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there's always incense burning at Pixie's. And just like a Kindergarten
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teacher disciplines the little ones only when necessary, Pixie never
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criticizes, she only points out mistakes and sets you straight.
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I'll never forget the day Sam introduced me to Pixie. The two of us
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were sitting at the E-Café, and Sam was talking about some bizarre movie she
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just got at a flea market, when her watch started beeping.
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"Damn it, I didn't realize it was getting so late"
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"Ya gotta be somewhere?"
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"Yeah, I'm meeting Pixie at her place."
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"Pixie?"
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"Shit, that's right, you haven't met her yet. Hey, come with me, I
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want her to meet ya"
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"Uh... okay"
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On the way, she explained to me that she couldn't tell me Pixie's
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real name because she didn't know it herself. When they had met 2 months
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before, she had only said "Call me Pixie", and since then, the subject of
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her real name just never came up. I was slightly intrigued, but still
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apprehensive. It was in the part of the city where many of the buildings
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are "balding" (missing shingles), and about every third or fourth street
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light is either flickering or out completely.
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As we walked up the stairs, I could immediately smell the incense.
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Sam opened the door without knocking, and inside the warm, candle-lit
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apartment, was Pixie. I sort of noticed all the objects that decorated the
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apartment, but I first noticed Pixie, and it was hard to notice anything
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else. She looked just like someone named Pixie should look. Pinkish
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glitter makeup above her eyes and on her cheeks, a tiara made of flowers
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adorning her long, curly blond hair, and a green dress made of many thin
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layers of silk, her slip just barely visible underneath. My first thoughts
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ranged from amusement to cynicism to disbelief. But after the introductions
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and a very intelligent, stimulating conversation, I was sure Pixie was not a
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flake, but simply a lovely, slightly mysterious woman. I felt like I could
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be her friend for life, but, as lovely as she was, there were initially no
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thoughts of becoming romantically involved. Even when she gave me the kiss
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and hug that she gives everyone for hello and goodbye, there were no sexual
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thoughts in my head. And being introduced to her was like suddenly becoming
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a part of a new family. Now Sam was my sister, not just an ex-girlfriend
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turned best friend. I was finally able to admit to Don that I was mad at
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him for breaking my grandfather's antique musket, and then I could forgive
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him. And I can hang around with Steph without thinking all those negative
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thoughts about her voice and hair; instead, I can hear what she's saying,
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and see the person she is. All thanks to Pixie.
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Now, as I'm leaving Pixie's apartment, I'm starting to lose my grip
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on whatever it was that prevented the romantic thoughts at first. She
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called me up this morning just as I was getting out of bed. She had just
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read a great chicken recipe, and needed a taste tester, so she wanted me to
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join her for supper. Of course I agreed, the only alternative being
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microwaved lasagna. As we ate and talked, nothing about her or the
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apartment seemed different, but as the fragrance of the incense combined
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with the chicken, I started to look at her differently. Her perfect smile
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and imperfect hair suddenly held a new meaning for me, and I had an image in
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my head of me reaching out and gently touching her cheek, inviting a kiss.
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Right now, I can't even remember what the conversation was about, all I can
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think of is that face, and how much more loving the goodbye kiss felt to me.
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I wish she was psychic, like a lot of people as mysterious as her
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claim to be. Then she might understand how I feel, and she could help me
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resolve it. Who knows? Most women seem to have an ability to see feelings
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others are trying to hide, maybe she can tell, but isn't letting on. I
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don't want to tell her outright. She might be embarrassed. She might be
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afraid to reject me and hurt my feelings. I don't want to back her into a
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corner like that. I don't want to risk losing her as a friend. But I'm
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almost thinking of avoiding contact with her, try to let my feelings cool
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off before they start to heat up.
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Arrgh!! I gotta get to bed, try to get her out of my head. First,
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I'll turn on the computer to check my email. 35 seconds for the computer to
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boot up, 20 seconds to log on, 40 seconds to retrieve my email... over a
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minute and a half of trying to get her out of my mind. Let's see... huh?
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E-mail from Pixie? She doesn't even have a computer. The return address is
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sbarlow@chblock.org... Sam!! The send time is 10 minutes after I left
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Pixie's. She must've went over to Sam's right after I left.
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> Robert, please call me when you get this message. I
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know you've got something on your mind, and I think I
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figured it out after you left. Huggles... Pixie :)
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Well, I guess she's a little psychic after all. Should I call her
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right now? In the message she wasn't evasive or too serious, she was just
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as light-hearted and slightly silly as she usually is, so maybe she doesn't
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know what I'm thinking. If she did, wouldn't she be a little more serious?
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Then again, she rarely talks about romance, so I don't really know what her
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style would be.
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I quit smoking months ago, but all this is almost making me crave a
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cigarette. Or a drink. No, I'm not gonna do that. I'm just going to call
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her. My natural guy instinct is to put it off until tomorrow, pretend I
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didn't check my messages, but being Pixie's friend for so long has given me
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a certain level of honesty and integrity, as well as courage and respect,
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that go against the nature of being a 'guy'.
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I pick up the phone, not knowing at all what to say or what to
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expect. I dial, hoping I don't suddenly become short of breath and start
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stammering like a junior high kid asking for a date to the prom.
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*click* 'hello?'
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'hi, Pixie, it's Robert'
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'hi, Robert, I was hoping you'd check your messages before going to
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bed.'
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'yeah, well, I wanted a distraction'
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'so, was I right? is there something on your mind?'
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'yeah, you could say that'
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'and is is about me specifically?'
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'yeah...'
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'okay, you don't have to say any more. do you wanna go down to the
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E and talk?'
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'okay, I guess' She's being really frank and easy-going about
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this... I hope we are talking about the same thing.
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'okay, see you there'
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'bye, Pixie' *click*
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I'm kinda relieved, but I also feel like I have a whole new anxiety.
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Am I about to engage in a conversation that'll change my life in one night?
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Is she going to try to let me down easy? Is there something preventing her
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from being with someone? No use in overthinking it, though; all my
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questions will hopefully be answered soon I just gotta get down to the café
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and take it from there.
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As I walk there, I'm humming a song I just wrote, trying to prevent
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myself from rehearsing what I want to say. That never works out, rehearsing
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like that. Usually I end up anticipating something that's different from
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how things really happen, and all the things that sounded great in my head
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end up being inappropriate or counterproductive.
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I walk in, and she's sitting there, sipping her soda, my usual latte
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waiting for me in the seat across from her. She smiles when she sees me. I
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attempt to make a little joke to break the tension, although I'm sure I'm
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the only one who needs it.
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"I see you've already ordered for me. Isn't that the guy's job?"
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A little laugh. Not condescending, or insincere. Just a giggle. I
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sit down, and I see a kind of smile that I don't think I've ever seen on
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Pixie's face before. It's almost a shy smile. She's always modest, but
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never shy. Probably sensing I don't have a clue what to say, she starts.
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"Sam never told you why I don't date or anything, did she?"
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"No"
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"Yeah, I didn't think she would, she's good that way." She's still
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smiling, and I'm wondering what the big secret could possibly be. She
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continues. "Y'see, I always hated my father. He didn't hit me or anything,
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he was just a jerk, and a bit of a drunk. And all the guys at my high
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school were jerks, too. I never met someone I could imagine wanting to be
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with in a relationship. I started to hate guys. Then I met Susan. She was
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gay, and I had a few gay friends, but mostly she was just a pal. She seemed
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to know things about me that I didn't know myself, and I enjoyed spending
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time with her. I was able to go out and do things with friends, without any
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pressure of any kind."
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I'm starting to really relax. I never thought I'd know this much
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about her. I don't see her any differently. I always thought that I'd see
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her differently if she became less mysterious, but nothing's changed so far.
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She's still wonderful, and I'm amazed at how much I'm learning about her.
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"After a lot of soul searching, my affection towards her, and my
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distaste for guys, had me starting to believe I was gay, too, and I loved
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the idea. Soon, me and Susan were lovers, and I lived as a lesbian for 3
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years, sticking with Susan the whole time. Neither of us were sluts, we
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only had each other, and she taught me things I never thought were possible,
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and I'm not just talking about sex."
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I nod, as if to say 'I understand', even though I'm sure I never
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really could.
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"Well, me and Susan were walking home one night, and a car sped
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by..." her voice drops a bit... I think she's going to cry "... Someone
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shot Susan. There were three gunshots from the car. two just broke some
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windows, but the third hit Susan. She died instantly, and I screamed and
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cried. I ran away to Moosejaw for a month so I wouldn't have to face
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anything that reminded me of Susan. I didn't even stick around for her
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funeral."
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Suddenly, this conversation is going in a direction I never would've
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expected. I never thought I'd be hearing Pixie confide like this. I'm so
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used to her listening to this kind of stuff that it's easy to forget that
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she's a person, too, with problems just like everyone else. I don't know if
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I should say something, or at least put my hand on hers as a comforting
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gesture. I decide to just let her continue and hope I'll know when to do or
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say something.
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"That's why I burn incense all the time. Susan liked incense, and
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since I missed her funeral, I figure I'll burn the incense like the priest
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would've. It became a habit after awhile, it doesn't always make me think
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of Susan. But every once in awhile, I do. She always called the ashes
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'pixie dust'. That's why I started calling myself Pixie"
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"Anyway, after my 'getaway', and a lot more soul searching, I
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realized that I wasn't gay, I had just convinced myself that I was to try
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and fill in the gaps in my life, and because it just felt right at the time.
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But my feelings for Susan never changed, and they never will. She taught me
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what love really means. But I still found it hard to let myself love
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someone beyond the kind of love that a sister or mother gives. I tried
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once, but the guy was kind of a flake. He left me after 2 weeks."
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A long pause. She stares into her glass, turning it around slowly,
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as if silently saying "and that brings us to today". The she looks up at
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me, a tear or two almost falling from her cheek, but a warm smile in her
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eyes and lips.
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"Robert, I'd like to try again. I've grown to really love you as a
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person, and something tells me that it's time to rejoin the real world."
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I smile, finally putting my hand on hers. I can't think of any words
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to say, but somehow I don't have to.
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"I need to do something," she says, "and I want you to come with me."
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"Sure, anything you want."
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I pay for the drinks and we go back to her place for a moment. While
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there, she gathers up some incense ashes in a little bottle tied to one of
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her necklaces.
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Without any talking, we just walk a little out of town, near the
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church, and into the cemetery. It's calm, but not spooky. We slowly
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approach one of the headstones. I barely see the name. Susan DesCartes.
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I can't see Pixie's face, but I can somehow tell she has a bit of a sad
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smile. I hear her sniffle a bit, and I'm close to tears myself. Letting go
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of my hand, she approaches the grave and kneels on the ground. She takes
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the tiara of flowers off her head, and, almost ceremoniously, places it on
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the grave. She then opens the little bottle of ashes and sprinkles it on
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the grave, and the tiara. She stands again, and comes to me. She suddenly
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puts her arms around me, and bursts into tears. For the next half hour, I
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hold her, hearing her cry, and staring at Pixie Dust.
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[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #849 - BY: UGLINESS MAN - 9/24/99 ]
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