Metallic K.O.

November 29, 2011
I felt the pop before I felt anything else, and then I felt the relief. It came in a few short bursts of warmth. My body tingled and my limbs were itchy, I felt the sun warm my soul as I rolled across the tar roof on top of my beach towel covered in flowers. My legs stood out against the black as two long and lean stems, flowering up into the day glow paint that covered my nearly bare body. My hair had bloomed as well, expanding into a dense, overgrown, sunny mass that curled across my shoulders and floated in the breeze. While it took all my strength, I stood up. My dress was to short and to flowing, the leather belt with the cowboy buckle that I stole from my friend couldn’t keep it still, and the hemline would flow up occasionally, and the sleeves would fall down on my sharp shoulders. I didn’t mind. “You like a feckin’ tinker.” Rusty told me as I stumbled to the edge of the building. “I know.” I said. “And I’m proud.” My fingers drifted down, outlining the city scene below. “You’re gonna fall.” Rusty said, pulling me away from the edge and placing me on the towel before he felt the relief as well. We let the sun burn a hole in our souls. We let the air numb our aching bodies. “Help.” Rusty said.

“With what?” I asked him absentmindedly.

“Everything.” He said, trying to stand. I pulled him back down because I didn’t want to see him fall down the stairs like I did sometimes when I shot up. Not a moment to soon as well, a bullet gracefully flew by and lodged itself in the tar, we arched our heads to see its winged path. Another one came, and it went over the side of the building, I pictured it flying until it ran out of momentum from being fired, and it fell down to earth. I wondered if anyone would see it fall. Me and Rusty were still, there wasn’t much more we could do. We waited until the shots were done, a few more were heard, and we continued to doze off. I was sleeping, Rusty grabbed my hand tightly and started to mumble.

“What?” I asked him dazed. The police officer helped us to our feet.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“Who are you?” We asked him. He showed us a badge and he said his name was Inspector Cassidy.

“Nice to meet you.” Rusty stuttered, gripping my shoulder for support. The events played out in my mind slowly, the criminal running up the stairs, dreaming of the open air where he would be free. But instead he was trapped and he ran out of bullets, but he didn’t give up. He was gunned down. I felt the blood at my feet.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded.

“Ya’ know, hangin’ out.” I told him. And he said we would need to go to the station with him, for our statements, and to call our parents. We said no, but there was no way we could’ve ran. This was the first time I had actually talked to a cop. I saw them often, and I ran from them often, but I never thought to talk to one. We had trouble going down the stairs. The cop tried to search my bag, but as Rusty said it was no use. Our s*** was long gone. We held onto each other, but in the long run only ended up making each other fall. The cop was impatient, but he didn’t want to touch us, so he let us struggle.

“I’m sorry! I’m fucked up!” Rusty exclaimed as our legs tangled together at the bottom. He had a tendency to get violent, so I slid against the wall.

“Let’s go.” We were urged.
They let us take the elevator, which was good. We whispered to each other in Irish, hoping the cop couldn’t understand. I giggled uncontrollably and felt another spasm of relief in my core. I held fast to Rusty’s arm. We were told to get in the car, but I didn’t know how I felt about that. I had lived this long, why would I start getting into a car with strangers? Rusty said he was a cop so it didn’t matter, but I was still nervous. Then we heard music blaring from one of the open windows. Iggy Pop, who even listened to him anymore? Rusty lost control and laughed and shook his head and fell to the ground, rolling and having a good time. I was able to control myself when music filled the air, I didn’t need to dance. Somehow, we were in the car now, jamming out to Metallic K.O. The cops ignored us and let us roll around in the back seat and laugh. I wasn’t having a bad time. It’s hard to have a bad time when relief flows through your veins. The music faded as we drove away, and I sat in the seat against the window like a good girl. Rusty realized we were in a moving car. If there wasn’t that screen thing up in all police cars, Rusty would’ve killed them. He hates forgetting where he is, to bad it happens so often. We were in the station now, tripping over our own feet. I realized I was bare foot and my clothes were falling off. Rusty lost his shoes as well a few hours back, and his belt, his shirt, and the most aggravating, the bag of white china that he bought yesterday morning. But I was wearing his belt, I offered to give it back to him, but he said I needed it more then him. We were put in an interrogation room, the cops not wanting to place us in a holding cell with the bigger, scarier folk in our vulnerable state. Rusty prayed quietly in the corner and I sat in the chair with my feet up on the table, staring into the lights. I ignored Rusty as he explored the room, crawling on his hands and knees at a painfully slow pace.

“Hey lookit this.” He said, his words slurred. He held out a roach and I laughed. The best places to find substances was in a police station. He put it in his pocket, we could smoke it out of my corn cob pipe later. A lady appeared out of nowhere, and Rusty fell over backwards, I leaned back to, only my chair fell.

“Hasn’t yer ma ever told you it’s not polite to sneak up like that…” Rusty slurred. She said her name was Carla and she needed to know our names so our parents could be contacted.

“I don’t got none and hers don’t give a s***.” Rusty informed her. “We might as well just go and find another bag.” He said in Irish, turning to me. We got up to leave.

“What language is that?” She asked us sweetly. “It’s beautiful.”

“Mandarin.” Rusty said. He took my wrist and opened the door of the interrogation room.

“At least tell us what happened on the roof.” She said. “Do you remember who fired the first shot?”

“I don’t remember waking up this morning.” I told her, and we left. No one stopped us, I didn’t think anyone would in the first place. Maybe they’re supposed to, but they don’t care enough. We stumbled, walked , and ran in intervals, half dressed and stoned out of our minds back to our building, but the roof was locked. There must’ve been some shoot out up there. So we sat in the park instead, perched in a tree above the path where no one could see us unless they looked straight up and knew what to look for. With our odd painted skin, wild hair, and bloody feet, I knew we looked scary. Like a couple of banshees or cannibals.

“What did we learn today?” He asked me.

“I don’t know, but I’m glad we ducked.”

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