TRIXIE'S DIARY - July 5, 1989

 

 

So I made a friend out here already, Miss Diary. I know. I’m just the kind of person everyone wants to be around, right? Yeah. On Mars…

Anyway, her name’s Gwen. I’m lucky I found her so quickly. I haven’t been able to find any work, even part-time. No one feels sorry enough for me, I guess. I don’t think I would’ve lasted another week alone on the street, and the last thing I’d ever want to do is go crawling back home. I felt an immediate magnetism toward my new companion, though. There was some sort of charismatic aura seeping from Gwen’s pores when I first ran into her, some impossible-to-fake coolness when I first met her and she tried to bum a smoke off me that I didn’t have. From far away, Gwen’s an averagely pretty girl about two years or so older than me. Amazonian height, nondescript facial features. Hispanic mix, I guess. A failed cheerleader’s body. Slight stubble on her jawline. Lets me know I’m not alone in Transition Hell. I guess Gwen more or less saw the same in me and was cool enough to take me under her wing.

Our relationship hasn’t really developed into what one would typically call friends, yet we still make it work. She can barely tolerate my relatively virgin naïveté. There’s that whole cooler-than-you thing popping up again. Well, so what? To be honest, I think she’s a bit impersonal. Of course, like I said, this is still a colossal step up from my home life. I’ll take it. Aside from a few slight clashes, we basically force ourselves to accept the other pea in the pod and act as each other’s protector. Strength in numbers.

Mom would’ve said Gwen’s a bad influence since she’s been encouraging me to go out palming with her. But it’s kind of a necessity. And it’s not like I’ve never done it before. My old discount wig was, as they say, “free 99.” Acrylic of questionable quality, not exactly capable of recreating a perfectly fashionable ‘do. But it was the best that next-to-no-money could buy. It was also kinda itchy. Thankfully I don’t really need that anymore since my hair’s finally getting close to shoulder length. Don’t even know why I bothered packing it. We’ve been heisting from Modyrn Gyrlz. Gwen taught me a great scam. I’ll arrive to the store in arguably androgynous apparel, sneak into the dressing room with two fierce little numbers, then put my favorite of the two on underneath my street clothes, return the other to the racks and hope that no one notices the extra bulk as I’m leaving the store. Thank God they don’t use those alarm tag thingies.

We’ve been wandering the streets together past dusk and beyond, congregating at the mildly popular trick spot of Fifth and Quail. Gwen’s an old pro at this point, which I suppose makes me a contradictorily eager and unwilling pupil.

I don’t think I’m ready to learn these particular ropes just yet, Miss Diary. Can you blame me?

Hooking up with Gwen also comes with the bonus of a rented studio-sized room at the Friendship Motel, all utilities paid and a barely operational kitchenette, with just enough room on the floor for me to squeeze into a sleeping bag. It can be kind of terrifying sharing space with the creepy crawlies that I never see, yet sometimes feel tickling and brushing across my cheek in the few moments between sleeping and waking.

I’ll eventually earn enough to rent my own room, probably in the same motel. I just wish I could find some sort of regular job soon. Baby steps. At least Gwen has a crappy boom box and some cool tapes she lifted from Tower. Stuff I’ve never heard of before, but I think I like it. Yeah, I really do like it. For some odd reason, all of her favorite bands seem to be from England or somewhere. The Smiths, Joy Division, Siouxsie & the Banshees, The Cure. It’s different, but different is kinda what I need right now. Dark music for dark times.

Gwen’s been explaining how things work on the street, so it’ll be easier to adjust when I’m ready—if I’m ever ready. Where to stash my cash and condom variety packs in case the cops show up. Which public restrooms are good for cleaning up quickly between tricks. How to receive return business by appearing grateful to the hungry older men after being barely compensated for my grand performance.

How to find solace in stoic nights. How to erase the events that have just transpired. How to forget.