Pals

Adrianne doesn’t need to ask herself anymore why she’s always lost for words when she deals with HER problems. What SHE calls problems in the first place don’t need dealing with. Adrianne sincerely thinks that the best way out of it is to simply ignore these problems. They probably are not what most can consider problems anyway and who knows, these problems may vanish altogether after that, vanish like they never were, which in all senses was quite the case. But SHE just doesn’t get it. SHE keeps on neglecting HER friendship with Adrianne as much as she can help it. Adrianne doesn’t ask for too much. She just wants HER to stop bullshitting her. Adrianne doesn’t care for much if they don’t talk at all for a period of one year so long as SHE doesn’t lie to her. That’s basically all she asks for. But as is the frequent circumstance, Adrianne is perpetually the victim of HER pointless raves, less-than-interesting worries and the like. Adrianne often catches herself asking: Is she a moron or what? Why is she being pathetic? Adrianne would run these things over head as though the longer she ponders on them, the closer she gets to the real answer.

In truth, there is no real answer. There is no real answer to the un-precipitated scenes of reddish blow-outs. You strip down HER words to the bare, make it sound like some track from the next galaxy, make HER say it in another mode of vocals; it’s still the same. Lies. Lies that never change color. Lies that know no variety. Lies that are weak and lame and preposterous to the ear. Lies that produce just this one feedback: Ignore. More importantly, it isn’t up to Adrianne to decide whether or not SHE deserves the help she gets. As far as things go, SHE’s become too far removed from the world that they’d have to rent some space shuttle from NASA to get HER feet back on planet Earth again. But that’s about as much as anyone can do for HER. For all the world knows, she’s quite gone. Vapor. Fart. Monsoon. Like the things that never leave a single small trail behind.

Adrianne has stopped calling her back. She now thinks of HER as though she’s someone who’s been murdered and as though she learned about HER death through the TV news. In fact, as Adrianne watches the newest hit soap on Channel 2, she realizes, bit by bit, that she’s watching HER life. HER life would restart tomorrow at the same time, would continue that day after that, and after that and so forth. God knows when it’s going to end. Depending on Adrianne’s preference, she’s going to see it and HER life would go on, as tumultuous as before, as bland and retarded as ever.