The Only Bohemian I Knew
I used to
have a bottle of
So, I think I
killed this rum bottle with her, one night when we were so desperate
for mixed drinks that we bought a bottle of
She introduced me to Dead Can Dance, Sarah McLachlan and Liz Phair that night. At least I think it was that night. There were several such nights. It was between A & J, when I was looking for some place for my body and my lust to crash. She never gave in.
All of her furniture seemed low to the ground, except in the kitchen. Her boombox was on the floor next to the 70ís goldish couch that seemed to go all the way to the floor. She was the only real Bohemian I knew. She had a giant glass ashtray that always seemed filled with ash and butts. The kind of ashtray where youíd have to clear a spot before you could stub out your smoke. And it was the only one she had.
All of her furniture was found furniture, which seemed to match the nature of the apartment, with its patterned carpeting in the kitchen and woodgrain paneling in the rest of the house. Around her house, either on the walls or stacked in corners, were her dabbles in different kinds of artwork. There was a portrait of the Indigo Girls that always fascinated me. She seemed to try a little bit of everything. She knew the art was inside her and she was going to find it come hell or high water.
She was a foil to my perfect woman. Faux mousey. A completely self-aware and yet self-effacing sensuality. Cherokeesque hair and pink white skin. The only Bohemian I knew.
that the night of the slurry-coladas ended when the black of night became that
pre-dawn gray. I drove home with the dead
Maybe Iíll make a candle holder out of the Bardolino bottle Iím working
through now. Or maybe the bottle of absinthe thatís almost gone. Little
momentos reminding me of the artist and her little 70ís paneling palace. My Bohemian times. Nights of Marlboros and