Milked

Skylar | interning.

A few weeks after Phil offered me my internship, I opened up my closet, amazed to find so many new clothes. I took out a black blouse, tight black leather pants, and black combat boots with laces, and started getting dressed ready for my work, not as a barista, but as an intern at Lancaster Records.

There used to be this thing that happened to me whenever I bought new clothes. I called it the disappearing clothes phenomenon. I would own five shirts, then buy three new shirts, and afterwards instead of having eight shirts to wear I would only have three. Only lower-middle class people like me would understand this. Others would have no idea what the hell I was saying and would tell me I'm bad at math. I'd tell them the phenomenon worked something like this: when you're kind of poor, you wear your best clothes to look not as poor. But your best clothes get worn down pretty fast when they're already cheap and you wear and wash and dry them all the time. So when you buy new clothes, suddenly those are the only best clothes you have, and thus the only options you have to choose from. Your old blouse with the growing hole in it? Not an option anymore. Get it?

Right then, I realized I was no longer experiencing this. After letting Phil take me shopping, instead of experiencing a disappearance of clothing, I experienced an accumulation. And clothes weren't all I was accumulating: my collections of concert ticket stubs, CDs, and jewelry were also growing. Pretty soon, I was going to fail to remember how the disappearing clothes phenomenon made sense. And that would be fine with me.

Once dressed, I began to do my makeup, making sure not to look too feminine but also not too much like a boy. Being a successful woman these days meant walking a fine line between femininity and masculinity. You know: femanism. Adopt some traits of men so you can be the one on top, but maintain some traits of women so you can look good while doing it (but just not good enough to be considered girly, a synonym for "weak").

As I walked out of my room, I found Meg in our living room, watching Aladdin, which surprised me, because whenever I got high and watched cartoons, Meg would say, "Don't you have a better way to spend your time? Cartoons are for children." Then I would flip her off and she would say, "Oh, wait: high Skylar is a child."

So right then, I said, "Aren't cartoons for children?"

"I wanted something that would make me feel happy. It's not really working."

"What's wrong with you?"

"I had a bad night."

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Okay, fine. Don't tell me. I don't care anyway." But really, I was curious as fuck.

I went to the kitchen to grab a snack for my drive, and I noticed three of my bowls still in the sink. Meg couldn't stand dishes in the sink and would always wash them for me. I didn't say anything, because I couldn't really get mad at her for not washing my dishes; that was something she should, and usually did, get mad at me for. But I didn't have time to wash them, so I left without saying anything.

When I finally reached Lancaster records, Twisted and Inverted stood in Phil's office, all four of them with grins on their faces.

Chris told me, "Your boyfriend, or boss, or whatever he is, says we're ready to record our first album."

"Yep," Phil agreed. "They took all of the criticism I gave them and turned their album into something special. Recording starts next week. Congratulations, kids. I would offer you champagne, but you're all underage."

"Right on, guys," I said, and I offered my hand for high fives all around.

When Twisted and Inverted left the room, Phil asked, "How many marketing courses have you taken?"