“You got me bestie, I don't know how to write fuck. Sue me.”
I turn around in mock surrender and embrace the limned figure with bold eyebrows and hay-colored hair. Sometimes her hair really does smell like hay, but today it’s a furnish-like smell of pinewood. Georgia and I have been going out for about six months now. It’s been a pretty rocksteady relationship which is surprising because I’ve never met a girl that’s lasted this long and who understands me the way she does. To this day my eyes are still crusted open hoping and rather expecting things to fall apart, and it just hasn’t. I don’t know if I’m very elated or anxious about this. Maybe I could be overanalyzing but I'm just not sure. Despite all this, I manage to twitch a smile and stroke the head of the hay-haired girl.
“Sorry about my mother. She doesn’t get it,” I say, referring to the fiasco scene I had with my mother.
“She’s probably just getting used to it. She’ll learn.” Georgia mutters. Simple, yet understanding. I love her.
We met in art class where I told her I liked One Piece and Naruto and she told me she liked Fairytale and Tokyo Ghoul. It was a mutual kindling to our friendship. Then we started hanging out after school. Like a lot. Ok, I'll be frank most of the time we were just horny for each other, but believe me, the passion was still there. There was one other kid I shared that class with. He had a torn eyebrow and falling tangles of brown hair. Most of the time he was asleep and when he wasn’t, he never really said much. He was a bit of a weirdo.
When I met Georgia, I didn’t actually think I’d find a girl who’d like anime as much as I do. She also aspires to be an animator when she grows up, which isn’t a surprise because she’s shown me her Popeyes, Bugs Bunny, and Ken Kaneki digital drawings and they’re really good. She's also into face claims and I've seen an inventory of them on her Deviant Art profile, it's really neat. It’s like she has a biomechanic eye for art.
I draw as well but I’ve also had my sights on being a tattoo artist and an astrologist for a while. And according to my mom's elusive handbook, these ambitions will never go anywhere.
Zodiacs are a very fascinating subject to me. Although I’m not sure they’re a favorable sight to many. It may be wishy-washy but it sure is fun to look at other people’s charts, and if not that, guess them, because that’s kind of my thing. I like to read people, just like I’m trying to read Georgia. I still haven't quite permeated through her charts yet.
Our lips press against each other for a glorious minute and then it’s stemmed off with an awkward release.
“What’s up?”
Georgia averts her gaze. “It’s getting bad out there, with what’s happening with the virus. You’ve heard of it right?”
Faintly. I don’t like to get myself into business, politics, and boring tech stuff too much, so you might as well throw medicine and science into the fold. But what I did hear vaguely of is that two older couples from Gilbert got sick and died. It was big on the news. Some say it started there and moved here, while others believe it began here in Palvalla. Either way, there’s a strange virus lingering out there, but I haven’t seen that many people die. Fingers crossed. I sincerely hope this isn’t some government hoax.
And on an unrelated note, there was also a kid that jumped off a bell tower years ago. He was around my age, still a junior in high school. Some say it was suicide but no one really knows what happened. These are the kind of mysteries Palvalla keeps. It never happens anywhere else in Phoenix. So hearing about this ominous virus almost doesn't surprise me.
“I told my mom about you and she swore me off saying that you could be infected and that I need to keep myself safe. That I need to keep my distance.”
The words are caustic but I try to fight back.
“Did you at least try to defend me? She knows I would never hurt you.”
Georgia nods mournfully. Her strong eyebrows make her face seem more hollow and morose than it really is. “That’s not really what I wanted to tell you though. We’re moving.”
“Where?” I can’t hide the abrasiveness in my voice. It’s now a grating substance. “I can come with you. Hell, we can escape together.”
“You know I can’t. My parents think you’re infected. The place is up in Irvine. We were originally supposed to meet up in L.A. since that’s where my grandparents live, but since it was too crowded we eventually decided on Irvine.”
“What about me? Don’t you care about me?” I know I’m being selfish. But that’s kind of the thing. I don’t care.
“You know I do. It’s—”
“Then why—”
“Look Cara, I do care about you. But I can’t just abandon my parents. They need me. Hasn’t someone ever needed you?”
It’s quite the opposite. I need Georgia. Visions of us cuddling, fingering, and smush our lips together permeate the back of my mind. Six months, it was just six months of pure bliss. It’s June 15th now, barely marking it off as a full year. It’s lamentable how we’ll never have an anniversary, but still, I concede to her wishes.
I did have someone that needed me. It was my mother. And I had needed her, but somewhere along the fucked up lines of bi-ness she abandoned me.
I sigh. “You’re right, sorry.”
We stand in agonizing silence for a few minutes. Georgia holds my hand and swings it. “But I don’t leave until tomorrow, so we have the whole evening to do whatever we want.”
This cheers me up to a minuscule degree. I feign a rosy appliance of a smile. “Have you checked into Casino Del Rio?”
Georgia pulls me close and starts to rub my vagina. I push her back teasingly. “Not here, you scoundrel!”
“Casino Del Rio it is!”
Palvalla is one of those sunny neighborhoods that the people of Phoenix usually stop by, rather transiently, before moving into Arcadia. But its opulence is unmatched because the one thing we’re known for is our hotels, casinos, and resorts. People move into Arcadia because of their luxurious homes, but they always return to Palvalla to hit a quick vacation in our hotels.
The funny thing is that Palvalla is still a new neighborhood. The community has only been established since the 80s when Phoenix was at its apex of booming growth, technology, and jobs. I figured it needed a relaxing, luxurious, yet temporary stay, so they settled on creating Palvalla. When we’re ranked it’s usually with Scottsdale and Arcadia and we’re almost always slumped into the bottom third. But yet, they will always flock over here for hotels and golden tropical views.
One of the biggest hotels we have is Casino Del Rio. It's so big it's actually a mixture of a hotel, casino, and a resort. The hotel is actually the biggest in all of Arizona so I already know it’s gonna be packed before I even lay my eyes on it.
One of the most memorable thoughts of the hotel pour in when I was five. We had just moved out of Nevada and we were going for our first vacation in the community and we saw this massive hotel. Once we went inside, for the first ten minutes, I’d already lost my parents. So I spent the next thirty minutes crying and baying for my mother until they found me shrouded behind a curved, glassy slot machine.
We plow down the heat-scathed roads, passing a succession of stores, spas, and scores of palm trees (which stand haughtily on the sidelines in an orderly, strip-like fashion). Georgia is sitting rather quietly in the passenger seat as the wind blows her hair. She smiles at me, but there’s no denying the pensiveness. I hear a cough ruffle my ears. Or at least it sounded like a cough. It could’ve been a mirage conjured up by the breeze.
The silver car carves a sharp right bend until we arrive at a massive desert lot. I’m windswept by the picturesque view. The lot sports an enormous, flaxen-colored building with tall erected arms that stands as blocks. The massive structure hats a brown arabesque dome and an array of gleaming black windows splayed against the blocked arms and the middle section.
An elongated portico runs through the middle with the neon inscription of Casino Del Rio plastered on the front. Among the many embellishments of the entrance, there are a handful of palm trees, spraying fountains, and gazebos blossomed in front of the building. Behind the hotel is the jagged view of Camelback Mountain. Tall, grand, and uprooted in the dry orange evening
We park by the stretch of the parking lot and make our way into the dimly lit vestibule which leads out into the widespread lobby. The room is echoey and the floor is marbled tan with flowers branded on it. Behind the receptionist desk, there’s a patent display of two large, mahogany double doors. They seem less threatening when you’re not up close. Fabian is at his desk taking a customer rather wearily. We’re the fifth in line, but flocks of people are approaching the desk rather steadily, so I make sure to properly stay in line in front of Georgia. I acknowledge Fabian once more with a bit of sadness.
I don’t really know how I still remember the red-haired receptionist’s name to this day. I just know that twelve years ago when I came here, he was the friendliest receptionist ever. He appears rather drab now.
The line corrodes and we’re up.
“Premium or standard suite?” Fabian slurs. His tone is rock bottom dead.
“Ermm…standard I guess.” Fabian slips out two golden key cards. They act as the key to our rooms and our credit cards. The price runs up to $250 for one night. Lmao, I’ve drained up my money in one night. Welcome to Palvalla peoples!
“Umm, you’re Fabian, right? I don’t know if you remember me? Caracao? The little girl that got lost here?”
Fabian cracks a weak grin. It’s strange seeing him smile now. “Oh yeah. How are your parents?”
"Umm..."
I don't know how to respond (or rather I don't want to respond) so I take Georgia’s hand and we sweep out of the lobby. I know it’s rude to leave him hanging dry like that, but my parents? Who cares. They’re the last people I want to be thinking about right now.
We burst through the double doors and enter a sprawling, glass-paneled hallway. It leads us into a large purple-lit activity room bustling with people walking in about the escalators. The area houses a bunch of glassy slot machines, movie theaters, pinball machines, arcades, and a whole host of glowing machines that I don’t know the names of. The hotel is bigger than I imagine. Misty visions of my seven-year-old self getting lost in the casino begin to suffocate me but then I shake myself and my surrounding become clearer again.
We head down the escalators and land on a bigger platform deeply lit in purple than upstairs. It has the same activities as upstairs but I can hear the dance music resonate through my ears more here. I recognize some dance clubs, casino rooms, bars, comedy rooms, strip clubs, and throngs of restaurants as we walk across the sprawling activity room. The same glassy, tube-shaped slot machines crop up here and there until we finally stop at the courtyard that leads to the outside swimming pool.
“All this splendor is making me hungry,” Georgia says dizzyingly. “Let’s eat.”
We have to be wary of where we go. Some activities and restaurants are only permitted to people with premium suite passes. We end up eating in a small Mexican restaurant called Paolo’s Taqueria. Then we play in an arcade for about an hour until we resort to a lounge room called Felizos. The room is decked in neon violet light with a bar bolted in the center of the room. The lounge is blaring 80s music and spots of people are dancing carelessly and uncouth on the dance floor. The sight seems perfectly strange to me, and somewhat unreal. Like I’m watching a movie.
My heart palpitates and a huge surge of excitement courses through me. Maybe this is my moment. Maybe for once, I don’t have to think about anything and just dream blissfully.
“Let’s get a drink,” I say as I pull Georgia to the bar with complete alacrity.
“Ok,” Georgia says, unregistered.
We take a few shots of margarita as we talk about what Georgia and her family are gonna do once they reach Irvine. Georgia is convinced that they’ll probably just build tents and settle in the woods until the government settles everything. Or if they’re not so paranoid, they’ll be renting a motel. Either way, it seems they'll be locked in until things return to normal.
“It can’t be all that bad,” Georgia mutters as she takes her fifth shot. “Pandemics, natural disasters, whatever you call it happens all the time and they end don’t they?” She pauses. I expect her to say, “right?” at the end. Like she needs confirmation. But I’m not so sure. It could either be the beginning or the last chapter of our chaotic lives. I don’t want to think about it. Not because I’m being evasive but because there’s a tumultuous grumbling going on in my stomach and I’m feeling incredibly dizzy.
I quickly limp to wherever I can find the restroom and I vomit viciously into the toilet. I’m stationed there for about five minutes expectorating yellowish chunky goo out of my crinkled mouth. After I’m relieved of my visceral misery, I hobble back into the lounge. I look around the bar but the hay-haired girl has disappeared. I stumble around the labyrinth of the dancing crowd and circumvent the entire bar but I don’t see Georgia. Perhaps she’s skulking around outside the lounge. I mean it’s pretty crowded in here anyway and the purple lights have died out their appeal. It’s really starting to make me feel sleepy now if anything.
I swim through the fish of people toward the exit and then I finally see her. She’s not rushing to see me. Instead, her waist is being held tightly close by a burly, tawny-haired man.
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