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Most of my youth consisted of me running. I have more 'Have you seen me?" posters on the streets than Tiger beat magazines in my room. All to go find the one thing I 'needed' in Motel bedrooms and mosh pits. Yet...besides me, something else still remains missing.
Mahogany doors slam like dungeon gates yet what lies beyond them was all the more enjoyable. The lonesome streets of Hidden Hill's, cramped into a gated neighborhood, takes its course as an endless suburbia makes me feel emptier than the lawns and driveways. It's September, so the mid day rain that just barely subsided from the asphalt, comes back in misty screens.
The streets are powdered with disfigured, wet stars that leave a trail of broken skies on black roads. The path of pale-ish pearls glow beneath our walk back home. Two story houses tell a tale of riches and galore along this neighborhood. Tiered stories about cocky men who got butt fucked to the top and silent women who know how to. Are the owners of these craftsman style homes.
The entire city is usually filled with generations of business and media tycoons. Parents who spoil their children rotten instead of spending family time, Women who left love for money, sons who weren't trained better than the family labradoodle and daughters who peak in highschool. This is the upper class, Hidden Hills, the complete opposite side to where I once came from. Yet Violet is right at home.
Our voices echo in the silence of everybody else's slumber. Bodies move in drunken dances. We slosh around any remaining liquor that we have stored in the base of our stomachs. The ends of our dresses riding up our asses as the palms of hands smear makeup, sweat, and tears of laughter along cold cheeks.
The autumn current feels better on my raw skin and It's like my pores can actually breathe. I mean they honestly can't with how much smash box primer I got on but the sour humidity that was just boiling over from the house party had me suffocating in Bottega perfume and Dolce cologne.
Yet these are our neighbors. We live just a couple blocks down from the party. This isn't our first time walking home after a party, nor would it be the last, because I doubt my drunken mind would be able to call us a Uber x back home tonight. But Hidden Hills, it's a shit ton safer than the places I've been to, and with a gun too at that.
Sure we get offers from guys to be driven home but honestly Violet and I would rather take the risk of being groped out in the open than in the backseat of someone's Range Rover. At Least we'd be given a chance to run away, and not be so scared of the person's reputation that screaming for help would be social suicide.
"Ximena!! It's snowing" Violet says. Her body twirls under the rays of fluorescent lights with her arms spread widely. She dances under the 'snow' which in fact is just water. The dark sky begins to sprinkle upon us and Violet's drunken nativity leads her to think the clouds fall with powder.
