Near-Dead Pearl

Abstract

DANIELLE PAFUNDA Near-Dead Pearl H H heytellitI wasbornina plateofclamsina dinerinnorthFlormm ida.A perfectly roundpeacock-shaded pearl,a rarity Idiots.I all butdied in an oyster s gulletand was buriedin thatplateofclamsby a fatfuckofa shortordercook.Myrotten corpselayer, mybruiseofa bodybag,turned everyone on. I wasborn ,ifyoucancallitthat, centuries ago.A grainofsandwornoffa slickpieceofsea glass.Thatseaglass, an ocean-smoothed shardfrom thepirateQueen Granuaileselegantlittle prophylactics case. Drifting lonelyacrosstheoceanfloor, I fellinlovewithan oyster, an ambisexual iconoclast, a hundred yearsold. Ze was mybeloved,and I worshipped at thechipseparating hirsplish-splash. Fornearly a decade ,ze remainedtight-lipped. Then one dayze opened.Whetherin surprise orwelcome,I didn'tgivea shit.I rakedmywayinandbeganto inflame. ButI'm notthevillaininthisscene.Ze wascruel.Ze heldmetoo tightly, washedmewithputrid acids,ranhirbacterial swagoftongue over me.Some nightsI thought Id be erased.Butevery timeze tookitout on me,I grewthicker skinned, and eventually nothing ze saidbothered me."Youslutsliver," ze taunted, "youformer whoreandpermanent nuisance .Yousea-bottomed prostitute." Ze wasn'twrong, perse. I'd fallen quitefarfrom mydayswiththeQueen. I'd beenina lotofcrevices, and takena lotofknocks on thecoralreef. Whatcan I sayaboutit?Ze wouldrollmeover, and I'dforget myself .Forget, smallas I was,thatI wasoncea gift from onegreat queento another. Queen Granuailesdirty whisper in Queen Elizabeth's earas I slippedfromcoldwhitehandto pocket.Neitherhaghadan eggleftto guard. Itwasn't politics; thatlittle exchange sealedthemarriage ofqueens. Theydied,Granuaileand Elizabeth, yearslater, landsapart,at thevery samehour.The verysameminute, thespooks.And somewhere in the 142 shuffle, thosehenchmen inserviceto theQueen dumpedtheglassbox overboard. Whatdid theycare?In thosedays,ifa fellahadn'tcomein oroutofa queens body, thenherpersonaleffects, thefurred robesand handwritten notes,thedevicesand potions,all werejettisoned.Only actualgoldwas worthitsweightin gold,and whatwas thelittleglass box butsentimental clutter? What was I buta puked-upshardin the making? Oh,howmybelovedsoothedallthat.Memory slippedoff intothe scuzzybasement ofmyoyster s shell.Ze wasnasty, ze washome. AJJfc So howdid I endup so near-dead?Ze killedme.Slowly, one layer ata time,shellacked meto deathwithhirownparticular stain.I heard less,I sawless,I neverwentout,andone day, near-dead, light spilledin on me.Out thecrackI rolled.Ze hirself wasfully dead,as itturned out. A hundred-some yearsbeyondhirexpiration date.None too fresh by thetimea porkfacedcracker orderedup theseafoodspecial.Ze wentin thetrash, and I shotintoa plateofshellfish andfries. Its Honeywhofoundme.Haltingatthekitchen door,shetucked me deep in hercleavage.Then she swungthrough to thedinerside, plunkeddowntheplate,gavea curtnod to one oftheregular lechers, andhotfooteditto theladies.There,shetippedmeoutwithone long coral-painted nail.Inherway, Honeywasa classact.Sherolledmeinher palm,rinsed meinthesink, andsuckedmebetweenherlips.Itwassalty, warm, pinkly dark.Then shespatme,rolledmeina thinsheetofrough paper, andtuckedmebackinherrack. I dozed there. I hunkered very deepinsidemyownglossy remains, betweenHoneys neatlytrussedtits.At theend of hershift, she collaredStrung Out Barb,theotherwaitress. "Hey, bitch," Barbprotested, shanks ofredhairescapinga plasticclawclip. "Youwanttoseethis." Honeywhisked. Barbdouble-timed. Inthe T-topinthebackofthebacklot,justbeforegravel becameswamp, the coralnailcamebackforme,slidmeoutofmysleazywrap,andheldme upto Barbs slowfocus. 143 "Real?" A swampbirdcalled. "I think so.Founditintheclams." "Theycomeingreen?" "Thisone does." An enginerevved, gravel crackle. Somemoments. "Theycomefrom clams?I thought itwasoysters." I shivered. Whatwerethey passingovermygrave? InmytimewithQueen Granuaile, I sawmyshareofstrung pearls, andsawherfoamforthem. Aye, they like to beworn ,now, dont they >Shedscoop themoutofthechest,butI knewwhattheyreally were.Just whatthe skeletons weretohermen.Nothing, everything, a threat anda promise. Theywere,ultimately, bones.And Queen Granuailewas right, a bone likestobeworn. $ In thea.m.,Honeylocatedme betweengelcutletand underwire chasm.All night,I rode it out in herhamper.She'dbrought home a friend, Rick,whowas tucking hisbusinessbackin hisshorts whenshe hauledmeintotheir funk. I thought she'dhandmeover, butinsteadshe gripped tight andslugged backunderthecovers. "Hot filly," he hackedagainsthersateen-wrapped thigh. "Youcan ridemeanytime. I mean,rideyou.Aw,shit." He pinchedherandwinked hisgoodbye. Itsmelledlikehomeinthebed,littoral. I thought ofhir, mydearly departed hissy fit oyster, andI wondered ifI didn'tfeela little something likelonging.Butthen,no.Just Honeydroppingme in thedampspot, wipingmeon thehemofthesheet.She shotbackoutofbed.Clickety. Shesearched, thegreatscreenhumming withbluelinks, withnumbers. Clickety. "How much, howmuch, howmuch," shewhisper-chanted. "Dumb shit," shesays. And thistimesheswallowedmewhole. 144 Once swallowed,I snaggedin Honeys gut,wherethingswere rather crowded.Therewas a LiveBaby, whomI couldsee through the walls.Therewasa Dead Baby, a littlesalt-looking lumpofa child.And therewas the Cancer. My gutmatesweren'tthe cheeriestlot. Dead Babyharangued mewiththetaleofhowhehadpersevered, waiting for hismoment, whileotherbabiesswamout in greatbreezes.Live Baby chewedherdeveloping fingers, and Cancerhuddledinthecorner waitingforDead Babytosleep. Fuckinfuck. Honeys tonestrickled downon us. Speaking? Thinking ?I couldn'ttell.Fuckingfuck ofanidiot. Give the first piece ofassthat looks at you your piece of ass ,and what doyou expect >This ones not gonna give. And thenshe burst intointerior sobs. "Is shealways thisloud?"I askedDead Baby. "Iswho?" "Honey Honey." "Who?" "Honey, we'rein her."I couldsee therewas littleframe ofreferenceforthislot . "You'renewhere," hesaid...