Vagablonde by Anna Dorn

Author:Anna Dorn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Unnamed Press
Published: 2020-08-18T16:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

I go to brunch with Nina the next morning. It’s the first day of what Jax called “Shiny Season.” I try to sleep in, but one of the cats wakes me at seven A.M. I don’t know where the other one is. I try to remember the last time I saw her. A few days ago? One time one of the cats left for around seven days, pretty soon after I got them, so I’m not super concerned. Cats are tough. I decide the one with me is Missy. “Ennui” was always hard to say.

We eat at this place called Winsome on the south end of Echo Park, toward downtown, under this weird apartment building I’ve always wanted to live in because it’s basically all glass. Nina’s wearing a loose white T-shirt and vintage black Levi’s.

We’re seated in the back corner in a camel leather booth, beneath teal wallpaper. Our waitress looks like she’s about to die, but in a pretty way. She’s so thin, like she might float away. I assume she’s on some kind of raw diet.

I order grains and eggs, my favorite on the menu. I’m not really a foodie, I mean my favorite food is Domino’s. But this shit is good. Crispy grains covered in cool green cilantro-yogurt sauce and fried eggs with runny yolks.

Nina orders a burger, which I respect. And we both order Bloody Marys.

“I notice you rap a lot about your hair,” Nina says after sipping hers.

“Sherlock Holmes,” I say.

She rolls her eyes at me.

“What? You think I should be rapping about, like, global warming? Gun control? Peace in the Middle East?” I throw up a peace sign.

“You make being politically conscious sound like a bad thing,” she says.

“Hair is political!” I accidentally yell, and someone in the booth beside us turns to stare. I lower my voice a bit. “Look, I have no business speaking to how countries should be governed or how to save our rapidly crumbling planet.” I watch Nina’s face to see if she’s buying it. “Some people might find the topic of hair trivial, but I’d argue that women don’t really have the luxury of not caring about our hair.” I pull the celery stick from my drink and take a bite. “So I guess you could say my work is a radically honest portrayal of the crushing weight of gender performance.”

Nina’s expression remains inscrutable, and I don’t blame her—I don’t really buy what I’m saying either. I just love my hair!

“You seemed pretty fixated on your hair in Palm Springs,” she says, “in a way that seemed kinda, I don’t know… “

“Vain?” I attack myself before she can. “They aren’t mutually exclusive. Politics and vanity, that is.”

Nina picks up her burger. “When did you start rapping?” she asks, then dives in for a ravenous bite. It’s sexy.

“Um,” I say. “End of college.”

“Where did you go?”

I poke my dish, which seems off somehow, with my fork. I normally like the sauce, but at this moment I’m just focused on how unnaturally green it is.

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