as I tried to search, I could not find a single mean bone in her body. That girl is a true saint.
But Tatiana the Tangerine on the other hand is pure evil. A Kim Jong-il nuclear threat. Or is it Kim Jong-un, since he is the next successor? And then there is the older son, Kim Jong-nam. Hmm, I need to get my Kim Jongs straight.
Truong interrupts my highly charged political thoughts. “Will you fight for Mikquisha? I say we do! Let’s start a war, Maddy!” He pumps his fist, fired up and all gung-ho. “Hell, she’s no competition! She’s just a citrus fruit!”
“No,” I say disconcertedly.”
“Why not?” he demands.
“I already gave up on him yesterday.”
After a pause, Truong mutters, “Yeah, that tacky tangerine will bring too much drama into your life.”
“No drama for me. I prefer to sail in tranquil waters.”
Truong begins humming the melody to Mary J Blige’s No More Drama. “No more pain,” he sings soulfully, hopping on board the Soul train, pointing at me.
Taking his cue, I croon, “No more game, No draaama.” I punctuate my words with big bends and little dips.
Consumed with raw emotion, I find myself swaying from side to side like Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles.
“No more. No more. No more,” Truong groans, hands in the air, belting out the lyrics in a weary, evocative manner.
“No more drama, I’m tired of all this drama,” I sing with raw conviction, turning up my soul meter.
Wearing a pained expression, Truong scrunches up his face and moans, “No more drama yeah, no more, no more, no—”
Beep!
“Thanks for calling Lightning Speed...”
Nineteen
“We die to each other daily. What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same is a useful and convenient social convention which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember that at every meeting, we are meeting a stranger.”
~T.S. Eliot (The Cocktail Party)
The words of the great poet and playwright ring loud and clear. The Mika that I thought I knew has died. He is a complete stranger to me now. All the things I believed to be true about him are thrown into doubt.
Things have sort of tapered off with us.
And to be quite honest, after that incident with Tatiana and the tater tots, I refuse to have anything to do with her. If she’s the sort of girl that Mika is into, well maybe he’s just not the sort of guy for me, friend or otherwise. I’m still cordial with Mika, but every time I see him, the air is zinged with awkwardness.
And so I try my best to avoid him. Whenever our paths cross, I make a quick about-face and take off in another direction.
Mika has yet to confront me about my erratic behavior, but he’s been withdrawn and detached. Sometimes he looks sullen, almost broody. I catch him leaving with the tangerine every day, therefore, things must be progressing nicely between man and fruit. Right this minute, in the parking lot, I’m forced to witness them yet again.
“Just look at that hoochie mama. That skirt is so short you can almost see her coochie,” says Kars with revulsion.
Tatiana climbs into Mika’s car and indeed her skirt rides up, exposing her coochie.
Hey! That must be how the word ‘hoochie’ came about!
Hooker + coochie = Hoochie.
I share my epiphany with Kars and she smirks. “Makes perfect sense. Anyway, let’s not get started on that hoochie. I know how much she bugs you.”
“I may not like her, but she doesn’t bug me that much. What bugs me is the fact that Mika is dating her.”
“Oh, don’t get your panties in a wad over that hoochie who doesn’t even wear panties. And what makes you think Mika is even dating her? It’s never been verified.”
“Well, it’s never been falsified either,” I retort.
“I think you need to have a talk with Mika and just flat out ask him.”
“I can’t...” I let out a ragged breath. “It’s too weird. We haven’t spoken in days. I’ve, um, sort of been avoiding him.”
“Why? Poor boy doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong.”
“I don’t know.” I sigh dramatically. “I just thought that maybe he felt something for me. And seeing him with someone else just confuses things.”
Suddenly my phone blasts with Katy Perry rocking out in full angst to Hot ‘n Cold. Reaching for my BlackBerry, I answer, “Hi, Truong.” Pause. “Okay.” I hang up. “Truong