Black Rebel Motorcycle Club Ask iAN * Little Lace

Ask iAN

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Ask iAN * Little Lace


In her last high school play she had played an old bat in a wheelchair and now having gone off to University she felt just as crippled in real life.  With only one friend on the entire campus and him being quite fey and feminine, they clung together like glue in her dorm room at night behind a locked door in tight quarters, the lights dimmed and the record player on low...the future looked pretty bleak but so did every morning that she walked to classes.

  It felt quite suffocating to be stared at, to be mocked, to be laughed at every step of the way, for she wore white lace...while the rest of the campus wore
Expensive trainers
Tanning bed tans
football jerseys
baseball caps
Wrangler Jeans & Jordache tops
designer sunglasses
Polo & Izod golf shirts...

Her grades had been dropping ever since she had moved here, far from home...and now it was Summer break and most of the other students had gone back home to visit, while she stayed in town...she couldn't afford to go back and anyway, her parents had gone on vacation...

She could always find some old and perverted codger down at the liquor store to take her money and purchase her some Vodka...that she ran home with as crude sexual remarks flew at her back like buckshot from a shotgun blasted into the dark...and back in her dorm room...stuffy, with the window open to let in the hot night air...she got drunk to the music weeping from her tiny record player....her friend had gone home too...and the campus at night...while humid and stingy felt as cold and alone as a mausoleum with locked doors in an Amityville August...

She had burned her ballet shoes...the white satin ones with the grey goose scuffed and flattened toes...and the more she drank, the more cigarette burns she found in her lace dresses, on her satin baby blue pillows and her menstrual stained sheets...she could not find her legs to dance inside of this box away from home, she felt no pleasure should she lay still in bed with her fingers down below...and so she played the weeping music from her little record player...while far away in Los Angeles, hundreds of girls like herself gathered in black and purple nightclub temples to the sounds of electric funerary guitars...and danced without fear, so very far from
football games
steak houses
shopping malls with candy coated summer girl clothing...far from Suburban death money death Mom and Dad mask...

She didn't know that there were others like her out in the world...for to her, the midwest was all she knew and that made the midwest her world, her earth, her grave.

When the students came back from their summer vacation...many noticed a vile odor coming from building C, dorm room 3 on the third floor of the building...and like rotted white roses...her lace was dried up...her skin a decadent baby powder purple...campus security kicked down the door...

it was a closed casket funeral far away off campus...far away from
Pizza Huts full of under age jocks drinking beer, far away from the girls that only loved horses, far away from all the books she loved
the music they hated
her paints and charcoals and pastels
so far away from her one and only friend and so very far away from her now pale
and forevermore misunderstood heart...

as sports boys all over the country laced up their brand new sporting shoes and chased after another mindless ball in another mindless season of whatever mindless sport their mindless minds were now involved in...on the team, one for all all for one, a team of one, one of many...adored by their parents, rape ready, on the prowl for violence, drunk and too dumb to read a book....and most of all...very afraid and impotent on dark dirt roads where the scrawny trees reached out like old women fingers...yes in the backs of their puny minds....they were all just more than a little concerned about how cruel they had that little afraid of a fabric...of a little girl now gone big, yet so scared....of a little Lace.
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