The front door opens. “Ladies, welcome to my home,” Jasmyn announces in a bad British accent.
We are so stunned and it’s all so crazy that we rush in and shut the door behind us.
“This is insane,” Ally says as she turns on the hallway light.
“Don’t turn on the light,” Jasmyn shouts, and Ally immediately turns it back off.
It’s my first time breaking in. It’s creepy to be in a stranger’s house. There is a distinct homey smell that’s hard to describe, other than it just isn’t yours. It looks like the people left in a hurry. There are open letters sprawled out across the kitchen table. A man’s suit jacket is on the back of a chair. Some dirty dishes are in the kitchen sink.
It makes me think of when Crystal, my mom’s friend, had her apartment broken into. She was all upset about the violation of her “spiritual refuge.” She spent months trying to reclaim the energy of her personal possessions that the person stole from her just by snooping around. But the thing is, I realize now that when you’re doing it, it’s like you don’t even think of the people as “people.” I remember telling Crystal that the robbers are just looking for stuff to take, they don’t stand there and contemplate the photographs or kids’ toys. But she still called it a “rape of her space,” which makes me feel now that maybe she was right in a way.
Jasmyn finds the stereo, blasts FLOW 93.5, and begins to dance in the living room. The windows vibrate. The last pill starts to hit me hard. I can’t think straight. I start dancing. More like jumping up and down. I pretend I’m more high than I am, and I keep my eyes closed mostly because I don’t want anything to do with stealing. I won’t steal from a person. It’s just not right. Stores are different. They make so much money, and they’re not going to miss a shirt or eyeshadow. But stealing from a person is just hurtful. Unless they’re a bitch or a jerk, in which case they might deserve it. And this family? They’re probably away at a cottage or something, having a nice time, and they’re gonna come home to find their stuff gone, and I just can’t be a part of that.
A while later, the girls return from upstairs. Ally proudly shows me a fistful of jewellery and shoves it in her jacket pocket. Even though I didn’t really steal anything myself, I’d be lying if I didn’t say the rush feels good. It’s like all of me is alive and tingling and breathing. We laugh and laugh and laugh while marching down the middle of the street, as if we owned the whole world. But it takes only a few seconds for the red flashing lights to appear behind us.
Jasmyn tries to run for it but falls over her ridiculous highheeled shoes and does a face-plant on the pavement. Ally and I just stand there with bewildered looks on our faces. But then, when the police approach, I start to laugh. Hysterically. Laugh, laugh, laugh so hard it’s not until I feel the heat between my legs and the wet between my toes that I realize I’ve pissed my pants. And then I laugh even harder, because life is such a joke. Reality has a way of slapping you in the face over and over and over again, like it’s waking you up from the stupid dream that had you believing your life was actually going to get better. And somehow the predictability of that disappointment, those flashing red lights, the fact that you totally knew the defeat was coming, is just so funny.
Nine
I always stand a moment or two outside the front door to our shitty little apartment, on our shitty little street, in our even shittier neighbourhood. I stand there as if I’m trying to decide whether or not to enter. As if I have a choice. As if I am ever brave enough to just turn and run.
But I do it anyway. Stand a moment or two. Fantasizing about the possibility.
When I open the door, I step into another world. In this world, I am not Echo. In this world, I am Syphilis. Okay, that’s not his real name. I call him that to make myself laugh. His real name is Sisyphus. He showed a lack of respect for the gods, and