Chapter Text
CHAPTER 4 - Fancy
4pm, just woke up. I’m a really deep sleeper so even though I set a bunch of alarms, I still manage to sleep through them. It’s a miracle I woke up today before 5:30pm, tbh. I was diagnosed with severe depression and Anxiety Disorder at a young age, so it’s hard to fall asleep AND to wake up. I’m used to it though, when the doctor informed my mom about my condition, she said “Heck No!!!!” to those poisonous brainwashing pills. Since she doesn’t believe in medication, mom told me to recite the rosary until I fall asleep. Right now my record is 67 times in a row!
Anyhow, it’s finally the weekend, and I love Saturdays. Christina didn’t schedule rehearsal today though, so that means I don’t have plans. Not having a routine stresses me out BAD! But instead of flipping out, I decide to take 18 slow panic-attack-prevention breaths. I’m proud of myself for staying calm and fighting off the voices in my head telling me to kill Christina, and then myself. “Just keep breathin’ and breathin’ and breathin’ and breathin’,” I hum to myself. I channel Ariana Grande, and feel the tension in my shoulders melt away.
I roll over in bed to pick up my phone on the nightstand. I accidentally let out a toot as I do so. I check my phone– zero notifications, as usual… sigh. Not even the CVS pharmacy prescription refill AI bot texted me. And by the way, last time I went to pick up my meds, the pharmacist wouldn’t even let me buy them without parental supervision. She thought I was a child because I’m so wee. So I ended up being off my meds for three weeks because mom and dad were busy expanding their business in Saudi Arabia. During that period of time, I lost a lot of weight and it was the nicest the internet has ever treated me. Even though I was really lightheaded, it was nice to be objectified for once. I felt like I was finally being treated equal to my sisters. :( </3
I get out of bed and slap on some Maybelline SuperStay Matte Ink Liquid Lipstick in shade 125 Inspirer I got from The Local Walmart. I smack my lips together and the pink clumps smoothen out. Some of the lipstick smudges on my teeth but honestly I don’t care, no one looks at me anyway. I grab my journal, plop down the shitter, and get to writing.
“Dear diary,” I write, my guts bubbling, “I am so ugly and fat and stupid. I hate my life.” I sigh with relief. I love journaling, it’s so much better than a therapist. “I want to die,” I write enthusiastically. “Arielle is so hot. Just kidding aha, unless…? NO! Homosexuality is haram.” I wipe and throw on my best temple garments, forgetting to flush the toilet again. Dang flabbit, I’ll get it one of these days!
It’s true, I feel a lot better when I write. I smile, and slide my diary into my cross body pink pleather snake skin tote bag that I got from Claire’s, right next to my communion wafers and travel rosary. I head outside towards my Neon Green Smart Car, get behind the wheel, and drive over to Dad’s golf course for my daily walk. I step outside with no headphones, just vibes and Faith. The weather is cool, so I’m not too sweaty which is a relief because I would start to stink real nasty. While I walk, I pray– HARD.
“Jesus, please give me a reason not to kill my self,” I beg the Lord desperately. I stop to look past the drunk balding fat men on the green, and bring my attention to the horizon. Behind the trees, blankets of deep orange and pink spread across the sky, with clouds slowly melting into the darkening ether. Bright white wisps divide the two hugging colors, creating what could only be described as a Lesbian Tiramisu. This sunset is the second most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life... Is this my reason?
Just then, I get a text. Did God answer my prayers??? I check my phone; nope– it’s a text in the Cimorelli group chat, from my mom Lynne.
“Impromptu concert tonight, address is 96 Bono St. Be there or suffer the consequences.”
Mom is going to flip the freak out if I miss this show, so I better head back to my green smart Car. As I hobble back towards the parking lot, I think about our setlist. It’s really patriotic this year! I’m guessing we’re performing Made in America tonight, in light of recent events. Basically, as long as you’re made in America, you can legally enjoy the land of the free and the home of the brave! <3
In 2016, we performed that very same song for President Donald Trump’s inauguration. It was a really special moment for our family, especially my MAGA older brother Michael Jr. He was there on Jan. 6 as well, with my dad Michael Sr., and my completely heterosexual brother, Pastor Christian.
I climb in the car. As my cheeks touch down onto the weathered adult car seat, my phone dies. Dang it!!! And I forgot my charger, and I forgot the address. I am so rippin’ screwed.
I drive around aimlessly and somehow make it downtown by following crowds of people, like Gretel when she was fat and greedy for bread crumbs. I don’t know my way around here that well yet. We just moved to Nashville in June, it’s been a good experience but there’s a lot of BBQ everywhere. I’m not a huge fan of meat– if anything, I prefer fish.
I park my car and look for my sisters. I yell out for them, but no one hears me. No one ever hears me :( People continue to walk past me as if I’m a ghost. “Do I still exist? Am I enough?” I give up on looking for them. I guess I should just DIE–
Out of the corner of my eye, I see an extravagant building with dazzling bright lights and a big welcome sign. I've never seen anything so fancy!!!! This has to be the right venue.
I walk towards the door, and a majestic woman approaches me. She is wearing 8 inch heels, a bra made of knives, and rocks a violent tuck.
“Hey doll, ya here for the show?”
“I am! But I’m looking for my sisters. Where are my sisters?” I ask the beautiful woman with despair. She laughs and says “they’re all here, queen! Now come on miss Mary, let me show you around, you’re late! I’m Cara Tosis, by the way.” “I’m Amy Cimorelli,” I say shyly. “Okay brickiana we can work with that!” She takes my hand and pulls me through the door, being careful not to stab me with her spikey breasts.
Inside, it smells like marinated thong and wet cigarette. The aroma is familiar, and reminds me of my dad, which is comforting. We walk through the club and are surrounded by Gays and Twinks. I am so scared, honestly. But I take a deep breath, and bravely head backstage with Cara.