[--------------------------------------------------------------------------] ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #849 `888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8 888 888 888 888 888 "Pixie Dust" 888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 888 888 888 888 888 " by Ugliness Man 888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 9/24/99 o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8 [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] Every time I leave Pixie's apartment, I feel warm and happy. Kinda like visiting a Grandmother, or a Kindergarten teacher. She's not old, she's only in her late 20's like me, but she has that big, loving way about her. Just like you can always smell cookies baking at Grandma's house, there's always incense burning at Pixie's. And just like a Kindergarten teacher disciplines the little ones only when necessary, Pixie never criticizes, she only points out mistakes and sets you straight. I'll never forget the day Sam introduced me to Pixie. The two of us were sitting at the E-Café, and Sam was talking about some bizarre movie she just got at a flea market, when her watch started beeping. "Damn it, I didn't realize it was getting so late" "Ya gotta be somewhere?" "Yeah, I'm meeting Pixie at her place." "Pixie?" "Shit, that's right, you haven't met her yet. Hey, come with me, I want her to meet ya" "Uh... okay" On the way, she explained to me that she couldn't tell me Pixie's real name because she didn't know it herself. When they had met 2 months before, she had only said "Call me Pixie", and since then, the subject of her real name just never came up. I was slightly intrigued, but still apprehensive. It was in the part of the city where many of the buildings are "balding" (missing shingles), and about every third or fourth street light is either flickering or out completely. As we walked up the stairs, I could immediately smell the incense. Sam opened the door without knocking, and inside the warm, candle-lit apartment, was Pixie. I sort of noticed all the objects that decorated the apartment, but I first noticed Pixie, and it was hard to notice anything else. She looked just like someone named Pixie should look. Pinkish glitter makeup above her eyes and on her cheeks, a tiara made of flowers adorning her long, curly blond hair, and a green dress made of many thin layers of silk, her slip just barely visible underneath. My first thoughts ranged from amusement to cynicism to disbelief. But after the introductions and a very intelligent, stimulating conversation, I was sure Pixie was not a flake, but simply a lovely, slightly mysterious woman. I felt like I could be her friend for life, but, as lovely as she was, there were initially no thoughts of becoming romantically involved. Even when she gave me the kiss and hug that she gives everyone for hello and goodbye, there were no sexual thoughts in my head. And being introduced to her was like suddenly becoming a part of a new family. Now Sam was my sister, not just an ex-girlfriend turned best friend. I was finally able to admit to Don that I was mad at him for breaking my grandfather's antique musket, and then I could forgive him. And I can hang around with Steph without thinking all those negative thoughts about her voice and hair; instead, I can hear what she's saying, and see the person she is. All thanks to Pixie. Now, as I'm leaving Pixie's apartment, I'm starting to lose my grip on whatever it was that prevented the romantic thoughts at first. She called me up this morning just as I was getting out of bed. She had just read a great chicken recipe, and needed a taste tester, so she wanted me to join her for supper. Of course I agreed, the only alternative being microwaved lasagna. As we ate and talked, nothing about her or the apartment seemed different, but as the fragrance of the incense combined with the chicken, I started to look at her differently. Her perfect smile and imperfect hair suddenly held a new meaning for me, and I had an image in my head of me reaching out and gently touching her cheek, inviting a kiss. Right now, I can't even remember what the conversation was about, all I can think of is that face, and how much more loving the goodbye kiss felt to me. I wish she was psychic, like a lot of people as mysterious as her claim to be. Then she might understand how I feel, and she could help me resolve it. Who knows? Most women seem to have an ability to see feelings others are trying to hide, maybe she can tell, but isn't letting on. I don't want to tell her outright. She might be embarrassed. She might be afraid to reject me and hurt my feelings. I don't want to back her into a corner like that. I don't want to risk losing her as a friend. But I'm almost thinking of avoiding contact with her, try to let my feelings cool off before they start to heat up. Arrgh!! I gotta get to bed, try to get her out of my head. First, I'll turn on the computer to check my email. 35 seconds for the computer to boot up, 20 seconds to log on, 40 seconds to retrieve my email... over a minute and a half of trying to get her out of my mind. Let's see... huh? E-mail from Pixie? She doesn't even have a computer. The return address is sbarlow@chblock.org... Sam!! The send time is 10 minutes after I left Pixie's. She must've went over to Sam's right after I left. > Robert, please call me when you get this message. I know you've got something on your mind, and I think I figured it out after you left. Huggles... Pixie :) Well, I guess she's a little psychic after all. Should I call her right now? In the message she wasn't evasive or too serious, she was just as light-hearted and slightly silly as she usually is, so maybe she doesn't know what I'm thinking. If she did, wouldn't she be a little more serious? Then again, she rarely talks about romance, so I don't really know what her style would be. I quit smoking months ago, but all this is almost making me crave a cigarette. Or a drink. No, I'm not gonna do that. I'm just going to call her. My natural guy instinct is to put it off until tomorrow, pretend I didn't check my messages, but being Pixie's friend for so long has given me a certain level of honesty and integrity, as well as courage and respect, that go against the nature of being a 'guy'. I pick up the phone, not knowing at all what to say or what to expect. I dial, hoping I don't suddenly become short of breath and start stammering like a junior high kid asking for a date to the prom. *click* 'hello?' 'hi, Pixie, it's Robert' 'hi, Robert, I was hoping you'd check your messages before going to bed.' 'yeah, well, I wanted a distraction' 'so, was I right? is there something on your mind?' 'yeah, you could say that' 'and is is about me specifically?' 'yeah...' 'okay, you don't have to say any more. do you wanna go down to the E and talk?' 'okay, I guess' She's being really frank and easy-going about this... I hope we are talking about the same thing. 'okay, see you there' 'bye, Pixie' *click* I'm kinda relieved, but I also feel like I have a whole new anxiety. Am I about to engage in a conversation that'll change my life in one night? Is she going to try to let me down easy? Is there something preventing her from being with someone? No use in overthinking it, though; all my questions will hopefully be answered soon I just gotta get down to the café and take it from there. As I walk there, I'm humming a song I just wrote, trying to prevent myself from rehearsing what I want to say. That never works out, rehearsing like that. Usually I end up anticipating something that's different from how things really happen, and all the things that sounded great in my head end up being inappropriate or counterproductive. I walk in, and she's sitting there, sipping her soda, my usual latte waiting for me in the seat across from her. She smiles when she sees me. I attempt to make a little joke to break the tension, although I'm sure I'm the only one who needs it. "I see you've already ordered for me. Isn't that the guy's job?" A little laugh. Not condescending, or insincere. Just a giggle. I sit down, and I see a kind of smile that I don't think I've ever seen on Pixie's face before. It's almost a shy smile. She's always modest, but never shy. Probably sensing I don't have a clue what to say, she starts. "Sam never told you why I don't date or anything, did she?" "No" "Yeah, I didn't think she would, she's good that way." She's still smiling, and I'm wondering what the big secret could possibly be. She continues. "Y'see, I always hated my father. He didn't hit me or anything, he was just a jerk, and a bit of a drunk. And all the guys at my high school were jerks, too. I never met someone I could imagine wanting to be with in a relationship. I started to hate guys. Then I met Susan. She was gay, and I had a few gay friends, but mostly she was just a pal. She seemed to know things about me that I didn't know myself, and I enjoyed spending time with her. I was able to go out and do things with friends, without any pressure of any kind." I'm starting to really relax. I never thought I'd know this much about her. I don't see her any differently. I always thought that I'd see her differently if she became less mysterious, but nothing's changed so far. She's still wonderful, and I'm amazed at how much I'm learning about her. "After a lot of soul searching, my affection towards her, and my distaste for guys, had me starting to believe I was gay, too, and I loved the idea. Soon, me and Susan were lovers, and I lived as a lesbian for 3 years, sticking with Susan the whole time. Neither of us were sluts, we only had each other, and she taught me things I never thought were possible, and I'm not just talking about sex." I nod, as if to say 'I understand', even though I'm sure I never really could. "Well, me and Susan were walking home one night, and a car sped by..." her voice drops a bit... I think she's going to cry "... Someone shot Susan. There were three gunshots from the car. two just broke some windows, but the third hit Susan. She died instantly, and I screamed and cried. I ran away to Moosejaw for a month so I wouldn't have to face anything that reminded me of Susan. I didn't even stick around for her funeral." Suddenly, this conversation is going in a direction I never would've expected. I never thought I'd be hearing Pixie confide like this. I'm so used to her listening to this kind of stuff that it's easy to forget that she's a person, too, with problems just like everyone else. I don't know if I should say something, or at least put my hand on hers as a comforting gesture. I decide to just let her continue and hope I'll know when to do or say something. "That's why I burn incense all the time. Susan liked incense, and since I missed her funeral, I figure I'll burn the incense like the priest would've. It became a habit after awhile, it doesn't always make me think of Susan. But every once in awhile, I do. She always called the ashes 'pixie dust'. That's why I started calling myself Pixie" "Anyway, after my 'getaway', and a lot more soul searching, I realized that I wasn't gay, I had just convinced myself that I was to try and fill in the gaps in my life, and because it just felt right at the time. But my feelings for Susan never changed, and they never will. She taught me what love really means. But I still found it hard to let myself love someone beyond the kind of love that a sister or mother gives. I tried once, but the guy was kind of a flake. He left me after 2 weeks." A long pause. She stares into her glass, turning it around slowly, as if silently saying "and that brings us to today". The she looks up at me, a tear or two almost falling from her cheek, but a warm smile in her eyes and lips. "Robert, I'd like to try again. I've grown to really love you as a person, and something tells me that it's time to rejoin the real world." I smile, finally putting my hand on hers. I can't think of any words to say, but somehow I don't have to. "I need to do something," she says, "and I want you to come with me." "Sure, anything you want." I pay for the drinks and we go back to her place for a moment. While there, she gathers up some incense ashes in a little bottle tied to one of her necklaces. Without any talking, we just walk a little out of town, near the church, and into the cemetery. It's calm, but not spooky. We slowly approach one of the headstones. I barely see the name. Susan DesCartes. I can't see Pixie's face, but I can somehow tell she has a bit of a sad smile. I hear her sniffle a bit, and I'm close to tears myself. Letting go of my hand, she approaches the grave and kneels on the ground. She takes the tiara of flowers off her head, and, almost ceremoniously, places it on the grave. She then opens the little bottle of ashes and sprinkles it on the grave, and the tiara. She stands again, and comes to me. She suddenly puts her arms around me, and bursts into tears. For the next half hour, I hold her, hearing her cry, and staring at Pixie Dust. [--------------------------------------------------------------------------] [ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #849 - BY: UGLINESS MAN - 9/24/99 ]