PRESENT MEMORY FILE 0017

"Quicksilver..." She clicks her tongue. "I haven't heard of this group... Not that I’ve been to a retro party lately..."

I wonder why she hasn't been going to parties if she is so bored.

"Yeah this could be cool. They'll probably just play Britney Spears remixes all night but, I mean, there's bound to be some cool costumes." She sets the flier down on the vanity and looks back at her closet. I can tell she is brewing something but I curb myself from asking. I sit back down in my spot on the floor and bite into my second bubble fruit. It is filled with juice and it drips on my chin. I wipe it off with my hand. Now my glove is going to be sticky. I take off my gloves and stuff them into my backpack.

Lime sits down at her vanity and shifts the top back to pull out her keyboard. The mirror of the vanity flicks over to reveal her desktop, with a browser window open. A video resumes playing of a human figure exercising. She opens a new page and searches for the event.

Quicksilver is the name of a production group that puts on warehouse parties between Los Angeles and Las Vegas. Each party is at a new location but this one will be in an old studio. Should be cool. A forum links to photos from their last party in DTLA. Hundreds of faces covered in glitter makeup. Lime scrolls through. So many of them look familiar but I don't know if I recognize them. Lime laughs and turns around to look at me. "Is that Karlois?" She twists her face into a skeptical smile.

"It looks like them," I say, but I don't know who she's talking about.

"Right?!" she says, spinning back around. She keeps scrolling through the rest of the pictures. Now she is really going to want to go.

"I'm going to use your bathroom. I've been working all day..." I say, standing up.

She keeps scrolling without responding.

I head into the bathroom and close the door.

The bathroom has a deep sink with 4 hoses installed for cleaning various orifices of the body. I decide to blast one into my mouth. I haven't deep cleaned my teeth since last November, and it was here. The water is way too cold but I can't figure out how to adjust the temperature. I give my armpits another sniff. Not that bad, actually. I'll just wash my face. I use the extra water to slick back my hair as I put it back up. I should use her makeup for tonight. Maybe she'll do it for me.

"I'm going to pick something out for you to wear, okay?" she calls through the door. I slide it open in time to see a giant mass of bright green fabric fly onto her bed. "What kind of shoes are you wearing?" she asks.

"I just wore my skates," I say, pointing at them. Her and I both know that there is no hope of her shoes fitting me, not that either of us are going to acknowledge that.

"You'll have to wear a full length skirt. It's the only way we'll be able to get in," she states decisively, hands on her hips. I hate dress codes. I've had to wait outside for hours on deliveries because of dress codes.

"I don't think the retro party is going to be that strict with like period costume, Lime," I try.

"Not the party, the resturant. I want to go to Mangeurs de Merde, and I'm pretty sure they won't want those things scooting across their floor, stinking up the place."

Can she smell my socks through my skates?

She holds up a bright green gown with a sheer mesh yellow overlay and long sleeves. "This one is really stretchy so it should fit okay."

I'm going to ruin that. "What if it gets caught in the wheels?" I ask.

"You'll be fine, just make sure you make it into the resturant fine, and once we leave, then whatever."

"But this is the dress you wore to The Fairy Ball 2 years ago, isn't it?" I ask. She looked so beautiful that night. That was back when she wore green every time we went out.

"Exactly, I've already been seen in it." Lime says. "Besides, I don't wear green anymore. I'm over that- needing people to recognize me bullshit. I feel like anyone who needs to know me already does, and anyone who doesn't know me doesn't matter." She disappears back into the closet.

"You should wear your skates too," I suggest. "Then we can both skate to the party." We used to go to these things almost every night. "Like old times," I add.

Lime is silent while she keeps poking around in the closet. I wait. It feels like she is taking so long to think about it. I shouldn't have said 'like old times.' That was probably too much. I don't want her to think I'm begging for things to be like they were back then. Or that I want to pretend that they are. She was the one saying she wanted to go on a nice date-dinner-and-a-movie.

"I have this white gown that I have pretty much no other reason to wear..." she says. She pulls out a long-sleeve sheer white gown with a wide, flowing skirt.

"Is that a wedding dress?" I ask. "Why do you have a wedding dress?"

"It's only a wedding dress if you get married in it," she corrects me with her eyes closed. "And I'm sorry, darling- but I'm just not ready to make that commitment tonight." My stomach lurches and I groan before I can stop myself from reacting. She disappears into the bathroom. Why does she say stuff like that? She reappears in the dress. The fabric has a silvery sheen in the light and the sheerness becomes opaque only around her torso, leaving the ends of the wrists and legs completely visible through a clear silver sparkle.

"They'll see your skates in that though," I point out.

"Why can't you ever just say, 'It looks beautiful, Lime'?" she whines. She's right.

"You look beautiful, Lime." I say, and immediately regret it.