Wednesday, February 29, 2012

This is fashion

S on a mirror on the floor, wearing a white Corneliani men's shirt and a Mikimoto pearl necklace. That's fashion.

Monday, February 27, 2012

A little snowstorm

It should have been a calm weekend with S out on her date and mother back in Los Angeles for the Oscars (don't ask), but then there are those little things that remind of why I'm here. If New York is the powerful pulse that sends blood rushing through my veins again, then Carl is that irregular heartbeat that sometimes causes me to lose my balance and fall. I come to think of it too late at night like a quiet echo in my chest and I have to stay awake in the dark until the morning to get over the worst of the palpitations.

I see him with Chloe, I see them looking at each other, touching, holding hands in silence. It's torture but at least it's an emotion. Back in LA I was completely numb, watching days and weeks pass without notice. I know I hate it there but I couldn't even gather the strength to feel sad about it and it killed me. That city slowly suffocates all life and I'd rather stay up an entire night here, listening to the traffic outside and contemplating my lost chance at love, like this one and possibly the next.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Lady grey

S an I alone in the apartment late at night, dressing up in voluminous silk gowns pretending we're the girls from a Tim Walker shoot for Vogue Italia. Mother's been friendly, the little we've seen of her since we got here. I don't know what she does when she's gone and I don't ask, it doesn't matter as long as she's happy.

She keeps a framed picture on her nightstand, the same black and white she has in our house in Los Angeles. It's the only one I've ever seen of my grandfather, an old man dressed in black with a fur hat on his head, standing in a snowstorm in the middle of Moscow's Red Square.

Every time I see it I think of what she wrote in her diary.


I've made up my mind. I don't know if it's because of that family I saw, the freezing little girl and her parents on the platform, but I know what I have to do. I always imagined I would be able to escape not just in body but also in mind, but the memories and the guilt have been tormenting me in a way I never thought possible lately. I have to tell T somehow, I only wish he will understand and not judge me by my weakness. It would kill me if he did, he's all I have right now.


Tuesday, February 14, 2012

The girl that never sleeps

The serenity of a voluntary insomnia at 3 a.m., getting out of bed and walking silently barefoot over algid floorboards; standing by an open window with the February winds blowing through your clothes, glittering city streetlights like a starry winter sky outside.

New York is my sanctuary, the complete opposite of the mental institution that is Los Angeles and my home. I can breathe here, the air seems lighter somehow, my footsteps less strained knowing I don't have to put on the mask of popular convention wherever I go.

They say you can never run away from yourself and maybe it's true. Maybe this is all just a dream, but in it I get to be whoever I want and I'm not yet ready to wake up. The taste of disinhibition is just way too sweet. Come with me if you like.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

The first snow

This weekend S is coming to see me in New York along with a snowfall. They're both a welcome change. Mother is mostly out, I spend my days walking around the dark apartment in my nightgown or aimlessly wandering the streets alone, looking at people and fantasizing about their lives. I feel I could write a book about it.

And then I remember a late autumn years ago, we were about to leave the house for the winter and go back to the warmth and sunshine in Los Angeles. I was eleven, the forests surrounding us had just started to change color, it looked like a giant fire. My father was closing up, I was outside waiting by the car and suddenly there they were. First one, then a dozen then thousands and thousands of little snowflakes painting the trees and the ground in a sparkling white.

I remember how I wanted to be there with Carl. His parents had been screaming at us for what we had done to him the night before, Belle and I, and they left shortly afterwards. It was the last time I saw him before that night in the Gauloise haze, and nothing scared me more than the blank expression on his face. For years to come it was almost the only thing I could remember about him.

Monday, February 6, 2012

Nothing changes everything's the same

Someone must have told Carl about my giveaway. His casual attitude and the distant tone of his voice would have scared me if I thought he had read it himself. It's late when he calls, I can almost hear Chloe breathing in the background through traffic noise and telephone wires.

"How is she?" I ask, imagining her dancing barefoot on black marble floors. I'm not mad at her, she didn't know, I just wonder if she sits next to him by the fireplace like she did with me. "She's fine" he says, then tip-toes around the subject of the jacket. He wants me to keep it but won't say why, and maybe it would have mattered if he had found the right words but he doesn't, and now it's all too late.

So for those of you who have asked me if I'm serious: yes I am. I'm giving the jacket away, I want one of you to have it and I'm not going to change my mind. Take it or leave it.