Every Burden Has a Version

I stared at Frank’s cell phone, running my fingertips over the keypads. I can make up a lie and say I didn’t remember Brea’s number. Frank wouldn’t believe that. He knows my reminiscence is a work of a genius. I remember every element in my life. I can recall what I exactly wore two years on May twenty-second. It might sound fantastic to have a memory like that, but it’s so dreadful.

I dialed Los Angeles’ area code followed by Brea’s work number. It rang several times before she answered.

“Off With Their Heads Tattoos, this is the head owner Brea,” Brea hummed.

“Hey, this is V Murk,” I greeted, twirling my hands through my hair.

“Violet, girl, are you in Jersey? Is everything going alright?” I could hear Brea taking off her latex gloves. She was probably with a customer.

“Yes, everything is going great.”

“Except for what, then? Girl, are you getting married?” Brea chuckled. Brea’s personality was so unexpected and extraordinary.

“What? No,” I snorted, sitting down in the back lot of Mikey’s work. “Wait, what? Oh, except Frank wants me to stay for the whole week. I know I only said I would be here for, like, two days.”

“Frank is your guy friend, correct?”

“He sure is.”

“So, you want to stay for a week? Is that why you’re calling me?” Brea’s tone of voice wasn’t bitchy at all. Then again, she always sounded so courteous.

“I haven’t asked you yet, psychic. I’m not going to. Let’s say hypothetically I was going to ask you, what would you say?”

“Bring me back a souvenir.”

“So, you’ll let me stay? What about my customers?” I questioned, distressed about my status.

“Don’t worry about it, V,” Brea stated in such composure and simplicity. “Some so-called rock star from a so-called rock band wanted to get a tattoo done by you, but I’ll be glad to reschedule his appointment. Oh, and get this. Spike TV wants you to make an appearance at their award show with Rob Zombie.”

“Rob fucking Zombie?” I screeched, jumping to my feet to dance. I saw Frank come out of the back lot door with a smile on his face. “Oh, fuck me, Frank!” I ran over to Frank, grasping him with all my force. “Rob Zombie, Frank. Rob fucking Zombie,” I whispered, still bopping around him.

“Fine, leave me out,” Brea laughed.

“Hold on,” I grumbled. “Whenever Spike TV has an award show during this time, it is the Scream Awards. That signifies I won’t be able to make it. No,” I howled, plopping down on the cement ground.

“Yeah, they moved them back.” Brea heavily breathed over the phone creating a cackling sound. “Oh, and MTV wants you at their awards, but since you’re going to be gone, I’ll say no.”

“Whatever.”

“Then, Ellen DeGeneres wants you on her show.”

“I love Ellen! Can I make her show?”

“Yes, yes you can. I want to be on Ellen too,” she whimpered.

“Tell Ellen that I will not be on her show if the famous Brea Del Amo can not be on it too.” Take that, Hollywood.

There was a long silence.

“Hello, Brea?” I murmured.

“Yeah, I was just checking my notes and messages of people calling you twenty-four hours of the day.” Brea yelled, “Violet, you’re huge! You’re bigger than Oprah’s ass!”

I glanced at Frank. “My dream has come true. I always wanted to be bigger than Oprah’s ass. However, I can die in high spirits when I’m larger than Pamela Anderson’s boobies.”

Frank smirked.

“Anything else, Brea, because I need to get back to Franklin,” I inquired. I stood up and flopped my hands to symbolize that Brea was chattering too much.

“That’s it,” Brea sighed. “Have fun, Violet! Bye!”

I screamed while Brea hung up the phone.

“So, Violet, can you stay for the whole week?” Frank asked, holding onto his sweatshirt’s zipper. He was tense.

I nodded, slumping over, and shuffling my feet to Frank. I kept my head low and surreptitiously leered. Frank walloped me with a tackle, picking me off my feet, and then spinning me around.

“Thank you, Violet. You know, I would have never talked to you again if you didn’t make that call.”

“I’m staying for a week though, Frank. If I become a burden, let me know.

I gave back Frank’s cell after entering my number in his phone book.

I sighed. “I have the Spike Award Shows to go to when I get back!"

“Shut up, Miss Hollywood.”

“Did you forget who you were talking to? I’m Frank’s best friend.” I bumped my body into Frank’s.

“God, I love you.” Frank shook his head at my nuttiness.

“God loves you too. Fuck, he can’t stand me. Crucify me already, will you, God?” I elevated my hands so they were parallel to each other and dropped my head on my shoulder. “Frank, Frank! Who am I?” Spit dropped from my mouth. “Who am I?” I spattered.

Frank rubbed his chin. “What’s up, Jesus?” he hollered, throwing out random gang signs.

“Put those away. That’s dangerious.” I clutched onto Frank’s hands and put them at his side like he was a kindergartener. I went back to my customary posture. “I get that a lot. I mean the Jesus fixation. Everyone is like, ‘sup Jesus? And I’m like, you know any blind people because I can heal them by spewing in their eye.”

Frank and I moved our feet to the sidewalk. He bumped into my body and leaned back to see my facial expression.

“You walk like a sour kraut,” he announced.

“Thanks. I get that a lot too.” I wobbled my head, rolling my eyes at my best friend.

Notes

So terrible. I'm sorry. Next chapter will be better!

I appreciate all the comments and readers.
-christy-