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Authors: Alissa Nutting
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even be able to forget that that ever happened, I mean.”
When we file out of the bus, the light of dawn seems to sober Sister up a little bit. It’s easy not to sober up in the bus-light and bus-air; the bus is a sort of intoxicant itself. As we walk out onto the rocks Sister looks down at the light shining on her scar tissue and begins to cry.
But Grog is not about to let this happen. “Lie down, beautiful woman,” he says. “Bloom like a flower.” He walks to her and parts her legs with his hands and tells her to say it. “I’m a blooming flower, say those words.”
And she does. The sun is coming up brighter than I’ve ever seen it, and it is all hitting Sister, her scarred parts and her whole parts, everything. And Grog’s face moves into her bloom like a hummingbird, and CT walks over with his erection peeking tall and shadowy from his still-untied leather suit, and he moves his face into her bloom like a hummingbird too, and I stretch out on a nearby rock like I do backstage at the concerts. Sister’s noises are a lot like the music of Wolf Rainbow, except this time I do jump into the noise, I get lost in the sounds and become them totally. My ears eat every drop of her pleasure.
When we get back on the bus we’re all pretty tired. CT and I retire to the clam bed. Sister hugs me and I hug her too and it’s cosmic. When we hug, my boob fits into her boob-hole.
Several state lines later when CT and I wake up, Fractyl Clymber tells me that Sis asked him to let her out at the Reno airport. She left me a note saying she was going to a hospital in Arizona, and that Grog gave her a lot of money in the form of gold coins (Grog refuses to be paid in any other type of currency). She also wrote that she would call me sometime soon, or that I could call her when I was ABLE to talk. The word “able” was bolded and underlined.
The biggest surprise was that she’d left me a white leotard. I knew with one look that it had been Mother’s. I smelled it, hoping that it would somehow still smell like her, even though she’d been dead for over two decades and was mostly a horrible mother. But it smelled like the bus’s incense-laden air. I put it on beneath my leather suit, though, and pretty soon because of rubbing on the leather all day the leotard acquired a very comfortable smell, like a drowsy horse.
A few weeks later we were able to stay in the hospital with Sister for a week. It was weird-Worm Eternal-serendipity because we’d long ago been scheduled to go to the desert to film a new video for the upcoming album La Muerte es Suerte . Then, during filming, the python wrapped around Grog’s shoulders totally bit him on the johnson, just like Grog is always worried will happen to CT when we go sleep in fields. The snake’s handler didn’t understand it at all; she said there was no reason in the whole world why a well-fed python would want to bite a human in that physical region, and asked Grog what kind of cologne he used and questions of that nature as he and the snake were being taken away to the hospital on a stretcher, which ended up being the very same hospital Sister was staying at.
So we cancelled some tour dates and I got to sit by Sister and hold her hand during and after treatment, sometimes holding her as she got sick and left drops on my leather suit that were a nice type of reminder stain. And beneath the suit I always wore Mother’s leotard. Late at night when the cable got boring and Sister was asleep and CT and the rest of the gang were doing opium in the bus parked in the hospital lot (“We can do as much of anything as we want, you know? We’re in the parking lot of a fucking hospital” Fractyl Clymber happily declared) I often thought about how family and Mother and Sister were like my suit and my leotard, skin under skin under skin, this onion whose layers can be peeled back for the Worm Eternal to help me understand. And understanding is beautiful. In fact, its beauty is dizzying
When we file out of the bus, the light of dawn seems to sober Sister up a little bit. It’s easy not to sober up in the bus-light and bus-air; the bus is a sort of intoxicant itself. As we walk out onto the rocks Sister looks down at the light shining on her scar tissue and begins to cry.
But Grog is not about to let this happen. “Lie down, beautiful woman,” he says. “Bloom like a flower.” He walks to her and parts her legs with his hands and tells her to say it. “I’m a blooming flower, say those words.”
And she does. The sun is coming up brighter than I’ve ever seen it, and it is all hitting Sister, her scarred parts and her whole parts, everything. And Grog’s face moves into her bloom like a hummingbird, and CT walks over with his erection peeking tall and shadowy from his still-untied leather suit, and he moves his face into her bloom like a hummingbird too, and I stretch out on a nearby rock like I do backstage at the concerts. Sister’s noises are a lot like the music of Wolf Rainbow, except this time I do jump into the noise, I get lost in the sounds and become them totally. My ears eat every drop of her pleasure.
When we get back on the bus we’re all pretty tired. CT and I retire to the clam bed. Sister hugs me and I hug her too and it’s cosmic. When we hug, my boob fits into her boob-hole.
Several state lines later when CT and I wake up, Fractyl Clymber tells me that Sis asked him to let her out at the Reno airport. She left me a note saying she was going to a hospital in Arizona, and that Grog gave her a lot of money in the form of gold coins (Grog refuses to be paid in any other type of currency). She also wrote that she would call me sometime soon, or that I could call her when I was ABLE to talk. The word “able” was bolded and underlined.
The biggest surprise was that she’d left me a white leotard. I knew with one look that it had been Mother’s. I smelled it, hoping that it would somehow still smell like her, even though she’d been dead for over two decades and was mostly a horrible mother. But it smelled like the bus’s incense-laden air. I put it on beneath my leather suit, though, and pretty soon because of rubbing on the leather all day the leotard acquired a very comfortable smell, like a drowsy horse.
A few weeks later we were able to stay in the hospital with Sister for a week. It was weird-Worm Eternal-serendipity because we’d long ago been scheduled to go to the desert to film a new video for the upcoming album La Muerte es Suerte . Then, during filming, the python wrapped around Grog’s shoulders totally bit him on the johnson, just like Grog is always worried will happen to CT when we go sleep in fields. The snake’s handler didn’t understand it at all; she said there was no reason in the whole world why a well-fed python would want to bite a human in that physical region, and asked Grog what kind of cologne he used and questions of that nature as he and the snake were being taken away to the hospital on a stretcher, which ended up being the very same hospital Sister was staying at.
So we cancelled some tour dates and I got to sit by Sister and hold her hand during and after treatment, sometimes holding her as she got sick and left drops on my leather suit that were a nice type of reminder stain. And beneath the suit I always wore Mother’s leotard. Late at night when the cable got boring and Sister was asleep and CT and the rest of the gang were doing opium in the bus parked in the hospital lot (“We can do as much of anything as we want, you know? We’re in the parking lot of a fucking hospital” Fractyl Clymber happily declared) I often thought about how family and Mother and Sister were like my suit and my leotard, skin under skin under skin, this onion whose layers can be peeled back for the Worm Eternal to help me understand. And understanding is beautiful. In fact, its beauty is dizzying
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