Chapter Text
Just Gigi
I wait until everyone is asleep, sometime around when a creak of a floorboard would be a jarring shock. I adjust the lighting to red, wait for the click of the lock, and breathe in the eerie calm of isolation. I creep into her embrace. It’s all Gigi. The universe comes to a screeching halt. My heart is a rock in chest, my eyes well up with tears, chills rush up and down my spine, it’s my Gigi. Fade into focus, I crane my neck, I squint, and she’s right there. I see the pen with the feathers, the lavender walls, the drawings of pretty women in designer coats. We are sitting on a willow branch while we gaze at the pond. We are shivering in a towel, gushing ideas for our screenplay. Our wide eyes dream of city skylines in silence, as an unspoken truth depresses our tongues. We are sneaking up to the roof to see if there are any stars. There just might be some, but all I see is Gigi. All I see is how I’m not as tall as her, even on my toes; the way her nose turns up, the tremor in her hands, the mole just to the right of her top lip. All I see are Gigi’s blue eyes opening up to the infinite skyline. We stretch our arms up toward the stars, because maybe if I reach out just a little bit farther, I’ll feel it. Maybe if I snuggle in a little bit tighter, I’ll smell it. Maybe if I lean in a little bit closer, I’ll taste it.
The moment I smell smoke, Gigi vanishes from sight. Bright lights, high pitched wailing, chanting, gunfire, they press play, I press pause. If I wanted to, I could climb out the window. I could sprint to a revelation and fight for humanity, fight for something. I could use my sweaty palms to press up a sign, let my righteous voice rip through my ribs. I could pass out petitions on public transport, be a giant in the front lines of liberation. So why don’t I want to? Maybe it’s the way snakes slither around my guts and wring out my internal organs. Maybe it’s the way my limbs hang like corpses and my skin dries to leather. Maybe it’s the massive cork that’s crammed in my throat or my molten crybaby tears. I don’t move.
I slip 2 fingers my ears, and I will my mouth shut. I pull myself in tight, tight enough that nothing can slip through the iron walls of my bedroom. Fade into focus, a wide-angle lens, and it’s all Gigi, it’s still Gigi, it’s just Gigi.