Mansion's tale

Posted by I'm the penguin | Posted in | Posted on Saturday, July 02, 2011

Remember the Golden Boy? The one who inherited the throne as king of brains. Well, I (we) went to his eighteen year old birthday party. I don't remember the invitation, but being there we reckoned that he was throwing a massive celebration not because it was in his character such extravagant fest, but because being as Victorian as he is, he saw fitting to follow the tradition of big-fat-crazy parties for boys reaching manhood (yearight). But of course he made it so that both family and friends would have a good time.

Where else could that have been, other than the Mysterious Mansion/Mall. You know, it's actually a little weird that the building is half a mall and half a mansion, but nobody cares, it's just a fusion of bourgeois elements in one decadent symbol of squander. (it's quite cool). It's also funny how nobody knows who owns the place, its sort of a secret society, but we all know that they go by the pseudonym of Mae West. So much for a rotten feminist symbol huh?

Anyway, I don't remember seeing you at any point of the party, so I'll tell you my version of the night, because even if you don't believe me, I was not half as drunk as you think I was. The things I do remember are rather blurry, but the ones you think I don't are not blank, they are memories of something else that happened that night, something I can't really put together, but I'll try. I still don't know why I can't seem to glimpse my arm.

At first a group of people (extras) and I were walking around the mall/mansion, talking about how hard must it had been for TheGoldenBoy to get such a place, not just for the money, but the contacts and such affairs. I had never been in the mansion, decoration was rather eclectic from room to room, deco to gothic to radical activist to rainbow road to plain kitsch. There was this boy I don't remember from anywhere, but we were hanging around the Mall. We commented on the grotesque structures, made for numbing shopping at the day, they seemed so stupid and pointless at night, like a fat lizard on the tundra.

Back at the party I remember drinking a bit, but not enough to hallucinate, I think. We danced like morons and sang the most ridiculous of tunes as if they meant something in this teenage wasteland fest. But through the furious head pumping and heap vectorizing, I still felt I had to be somewhere/sometime else. I'm always feeling it in these types of events, it's a strong pull that tells me I'm not where I'm supposed to be, that probably I forgot a rendez-vous, a wedding, a first day of school, a first love, a burning house. There is a place in the universe where I'm being pulled at, and it's not the mansion's dance floor.

So I start moving, I have to get there. Where? I don't care, does it matter? But I have to get there, so I walk past rooms of the Mae West halls. Is it a room there? Am I looking for you? Am I looking for me? Who's looking after me? After a while I'm just lost, wandering the many rooms until I find one where I hear voices. There's people and lights, but as soon as I enter they vanish, poof. It's dark, a bathroom I think. Yes, it is a bathroom, now I can see everything, but it is huge, there are bath tubs everywhere I look at, all installed, all prepared for anyone to wash away the night's anxieties and go back to the spree. I need to shower, I have nothing on me, but I need to shower.

Choosing the right tub she appears, Mae West, or so she says. I recognize her right away, she's the Kite's Rich-fake-aunt. (the one we like). She doesn't really remember me at first, but as soon as I make the Kite sign, she knows I'm for real. This is too ridiculous, I tell her. She doesn't care and begins to tell me all about the secret society who own the Mansion and how she's part of it, and being a woman doesn't mean she can't be masonic and all. I think that's an old discourse, and I tell her about feminism, it is not about making the woman superior but equal, it is about freeing women and men. Men? Yes, from their stigmas and social duties that make them insensitive and stereotypical. Fuck men, they had it coming, she says. She proceeds to take a shower.

I look away and shower too, I never take off my clothes, but I shower. At some point I was again with the same boy I criticized the mall with, he knew where I was supposed to be, so I followed him. Now, this is where people say I went to the party, soaked in water/alcohol/blood (varying in gossip versions), to shake my cochleas like a maniac, and then ran off with strangers(yes, plural.). But, this couldn't have happened, because I was with the guy, who we will now call Red. He and I had gone to another dimension, or something like that it seemed.

I know how that sounds, but you gotta trust that is all I can make out of the memory. It was as if we were inside a ship, near the machine room. It was -as if- because I knew it was a make believe, we were inside the idea of a ship, so I can't really say we were still in the same dimension, let alone mansion. In this ship we had to save someone, but it was all alone. We had to procure its safety, but it was drowned in the bottom of the Baltic sea. I started to tell Red I was uncomfortable there, the place was a ghost. This is where we are supposed to be, you know it called for you, he said. I didn't care, this was not what I wanted the place to be, this was not the calling I was dreaming for.

Then there was black, and red. And were on the surface and something went on for several years inside a canteen, but I can't remember any of that, I just know it happened.

The mourning after, I went back to the mall, hoping nobody had noticed my departure for years. As if nothing, I gathered around everyone, they were all hang over, sharing the missing/invented pieces of the night, writing the official version of what had happened yesterday. The same old stories, mistake make-outs, lost V-cards, embarrassing singing and twisted confessions. The Golden Boy/Man was having fun, as Victorian as ever, but amused by us mortals.

Then I saw you, at first you were one more of the crowd, but you looked at my arm, then at me and you turned around. In my hand I was holding a beer bottle, which was not crazy weird, but I just didn't remember when had I grabbed it. Then I looked at my arm, it was blurry. I couldn't make out the lines, the color, the texture, nothing. My arm is a blurry memory which I couldn't glimpse. Then you stared at me again.

You ask if I remembered, if I wasn't playing dumb before. I don't know what you are talking about and so you approach me, really close. You ask me if I remember, and I can't make out your expression, if you're talking about something great or something horrible. Your face comes really close to mine, and I can make it out. It's the first thing I can really define. You ask once more, do you, or don't you remember that last night...

It's over. I have my arm back, but I guess you and that night are lost forever.

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