Fatalist Ramblings
Caitlin Price

Now’s a different era. It’s different than genital-free, hard plastic. 
Polyvinyl chloride mimicked curves I’d see in long car ride, car 
seat daydreams. Different from being a grade school outsider too 
queer for swimsuit clad pool parties and weekend sleepovers. Kids 
hadn’t had the vocab, but knew I was our butch cafeteria lady 
type weird minus the cropped hair and sports bra flattened tits. 

Now is different than years of straight sex splurging like one good 
screw could’ve proven that my parts worked because nothing felt 
as good as girls looked. One night, on a middle school like dare, 
I felt a girl’s lips against mine. Drunk and sloppy, we moved like 
exhibitionists. I named her “Fireball Cinnamon Whisky” and 
assumed she was straight as she disappeared into a crowd, leaving 
my life as quickly as she entered. The taste of her lips washed 
away with vomit and Listerine, but the memory of her mouth 
visited me as I went home with my boyfriend and settled in for 
another comatose screw. 

Now is different than the solitude like mid-days at dive bars. 
Quarantined with Catholics, I regressed to a secret dyke as my 
mind belonged to a body that wanted to evaporate into air. Days 
were spent with a word processor and nights were spent with 
films on my old flat screen. Nostalgia inspired my choices as I 
watched the Larry Clark and Gregg Araki movies I snuck as a 
preteen. I fell asleep with Paris is Burning, envisioning a life outside 
of a red state suburb. 

I’m in a different era now. My fingers go numb pounding into 
my keyboard—vomiting out verbs I can’t vocalize. I crack my 
knuckles and skim dating apps, finding couples looking for 
thirds. It feels like another year of my loner lesbianism. Online 
musings lead me to Instagram, where I find old friends getting 
married, having kids, and leaving the state. One day, maybe I’ll 
really scratch my itch, dig in until my skin tears and bleeds, and 
flush out “Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey’s” mouth and all the lips, 
pussies, and tits I’ve experienced since then, and be able to join 
them. Maybe I’ll live as if I have multiple bodies. One body for 
me and one body for my Catholic parents. I’ll drive one until its 
miles are up and then I’ll move on to the other. 

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