Arakun

Arakun: “He scratches with his hands” 

It was New Years Eve.  Kya stared hopelessly into the open closest of functional long sleeve shirts and trousers.  She was to meet her best friend Jenn at a popular downtown bar. The tan smocks she wore every day in the warehouse were devoid of style and made her skin look pale. Sometimes she would where a silk blouse underneath to combat the mundane and treat her skin to the dry cool sensation.

She pulled the two silk blouses out of the closet and laid them on the bed. Kya loved fashion but could not afford to keep up with the seasonal trends. However, if the fashion police stormed her door she would not be in violation, but instead applauded for her gravitation towards black.  Her satin bra partially revealed a tattoo, the footprint looked remarkably human. She was convinced after a sweat lodge retreat, she saw her spirit animal rise from the cinders. Kya grabbed the darkest shade of smokey silk off the bed and matched it with a silk pant she had worn to every company Christmas luncheon. The heal caps had fallen off her green faux snake skin shoes leaving the white plastic exposed. She thought no one would notice and found it hard to rationalize the longevity of quality compared to her paycheck.

    Earlier that afternoon, Kya forked over thirty dollar to the sales clerk at the makeup counter. Layered in gothic glamour, the associate suggested the C-2 foundation for her complexion. “It would give the most natural  coverage.”she said.   Even though the clerk’s own canvas was a cadaverous shade, Kya had faith in her apparent expertise.

Her vibration started to shift as obscure instigating emotions scratched their way to the surface. She applied the foundation and changed her lips from matte flesh to Diva red. The tail end of her ritual ended with a woody aromatic waft filling her nostrils. Before she foraged in her purse for house keys, she slipped on her full length raccoon coat. She would never admit to her co-workers of owning such a beast because it was a regrettable decision. The purchase was purely a statement of screw you asshole after her divorce. Her salvia suddenly tasted bitter when she remembered clipping coupons and bar bills for so called business clients. The weight of her coat reminded her of the emotional darkness of a failed marriage.

She locked the door and walked toward the subway. The chill she felt on her hands and cheeks help cool the escalating inferno inside her pelts. A cheap clicking bounced off the pavement in her wake.  The north and southbound platforms were busy with people, each patiently waiting their turn to transport into evening activities.

Jen’s manicured hand waved from the crowed Yorkville bar. She had widdled her way to within an arm’s reach of the bartender with a flirty twenty dollar bill. Kya waved back and shouted over the mapping of conversations “Vodka and O.J.”  Rehearsed innuendoes were now taking stage.

“God, this place is jammed.” said Kya

“I guess every where will be this busy.” replied Jen

“I don’t know about you, but I’m up for just about anything tonight.” said Kya

Jen laughed nervously. She noticed Kya’s intense eye make-up. Trendy or slutty: either way it was un-becoming. They made small talk with a couple beside them.  Kya wondered if the beautiful brunette Christine, and her hunky brother, Cole, were each others’ consolation prize. The chitchat progressed to planning the remainder of the evening.

“A friend of mine is having a party in the Beaches, if you want to join us?” Christine asked.  

“Yeah that’s sounds great.” Kya replied.

“We’re cabing it. Can we all jump in together? ”asked Jen

Cole asked the driver to make one stop along Queen Street at the Rat’s Saloon. Devoid of light, the seedy terrain pulsed and rocked with nocturnal primates.

“I’m not sure about this.” said Jenn passing a beer to Kya.

“Not exactly what I expected.” she replied.

 Cole had latched onto a male playmate. Soon it became apparent the house party had been crossed off the expedition. They were on there own. Kya tapped Jenn’s beer bottle.

 “Happy New Year.” she said.

“Yeah, another one gone.” replied Jenn.

 On route they had missed the year turning new.  Kya wished she could take her coat off somewhere. Studded leather would have been more appropriate she thought. She really just wanted to blend into the shadows and drift into the intoxicating music. Her head was beginning to spin from the alcohol. Jenn was becoming impatient and wanted to leave, because another cab would be at least an hour she reluctantly ordered their last beer.  Kya checked her watch, 2:30 am.

“The cab should be any time.” she said “I’m just going to find the washroom.”

Ungraciously, she maneuvered past the pool tables and luring dance floor. Both stales were full and two women were primping in front of the mirrors.

“So what do you think of this place?” Christine’s dominate whisper pierced  Kya’s ear.  She had slipped in close behind her and caressed Kya’s pelted arm. The predator pressed herself closer and Kya was unable to defend herself. She liked the sexually charged fear of crossing over. A stale door opened and two women were still groping each other as they left. Christine released her. Kya’s heart was pounding louder than the deafening decibels outside the door. Detached from her reality, she stood with glazed eyes in front of the mirror. Wet, abandon paper towels draped the counter-top and filled the sink. The rings of smudged mascara masked her hesitation. She applied a new layer of Diva and opened the door.

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