February 8, 2005
New Orleans, Louisiana
At mid-afternoon, Rose and Daffodil emerged from the tiny, cheap motel room they were sharing with a group of four equally impoverished college students, eager to take part in the Mardi Gras festivities.
Daffodil had been hired at the small restaurant she had interviewed at, so she had worked the morning shift, returning to the motel at two o’clock that afternoon to find Rose and the two college girls giggling at themselves in the bathroom mirror, empty containers of hair dye scattered around. She had taken one look at Rose’s newly orange hair and burst out laughing, earning a glower from her best friend and more giggles from the college girls.
“It was supposed to be blonde,” Rose told her, shaking her head at her reflection in the mirror. “It just didn’t quite work out that way.” She started giggling again.
Daffodil saw the joint the three had been passing around and shook her head. “You’d better hope no one gives you a drug test, since you’re supposed to be looking for a job.”
Rose shrugged, not caring at the moment. “Whatever.” She picked up the joint and held it out to Daffodil. “Want to try it?”
Daffodil shook her head. “Not this time. I think I’ll be the responsible one for a change.”
“That’s different.” Rose started to fix her hair, twisting it into messy cinnabuns. “I’m usually looking out for you.”
Daffodil crowded into the bathroom with the others, trying to fix her hair in a slightly less messy style than Rose’s. “I can take care of myself. I guess I’ll have to take care of you tonight, too.”
Rose laughed, waving a finger in Daffodil’s face. “Don’t take care of me too good. I’m not that kind of girl.”
One of the college guys stuck his head into the bathroom, a joint dangling from his fingers. “Are you two lesbians or something?”
Daffodil tossed her head. “Only for her.”
Rose narrowed her eyes. “Not me.” She giggled. “I don’t like anybody very much!”
“Men are scum,” Daffodil agreed.
“I resent that!” The other college guy looked into the bathroom.
“Present company excepted, of course.”
“Whatever.”
Daffodil stopped fussing with her hair, concluding that it wasn’t going to cooperate with any style she tried. Rose looked at her and giggled.
“Maybe you can get some flowers and be a real daffodil!” she suggested, finishing pinning the messy cinnabuns in place.
“Do you want me to help you with that?” Daffodil asked, shaking her head. “You look like a cross between Princess Leia and a carrot.”
Rose looked offended for a moment, then reached for the hairspray. “Nope. I think I look gorgeous.” She brushed at her outfit—tight, worn jeans that she’d had since the band had spent the winter in Phoenix and a brightly-colored, low-cut top that she’d found at a thrift store in New York, making sure that she hadn’t spilled anything on it, then turned to Daffodil. Taking another drag from the joint, she asked, “Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah. My hair’s not gonna do what I want anyway.” She took the joint from Rose, putting it into a shallow ashtray on the sink. “You are obnoxious when you’re high!”
Rose giggled. “I know. Isn’t it great?”
“Not really.” Daffodil opened the door of the motel room. “Let’s go. You’ll get over it sooner away from all this smoke.”
*****
Just as Daffodil had said, the air was cleaner outside, but it still took a while before Rose’s marijuana-induced high began to wear off. In the meantime, Daffodil did her best to restrain Rose, who had suddenly developed the opinion that everyone and everything was worth laughing at and interfering with, especially the religious groups protesting the celebration of Mardi Gras. After wrestling a sign that Rose had snatched from a surprised minister out of her hand and reluctantly returning it to its owner, lecturing Rose that everyone had a right to their opinion, even if they disagreed with it, Daffodil dragged her inside a busy café, determined to keep her out of trouble until she calmed down.
“You are making a total ass of yourself, you know that?” she scolded Rose as they sat down at a corner table.
Some people stared at them, but considering the occasion and the number of party-goers, even at this early hour, Rose didn’t stand out too much.
The high was starting to wear off, but Rose wasn’t quite back to her usual down-to-earth self yet. She stared at Daffodil, then retorted, “I’m turning into a four-legged animal that says ‘hee-haw’?”
Daffodil sighed. Initially, she’d been amused by Rose’s antics, but soon got annoyed when her best friend tried to drag her into her nonsense. “No. The other kind.”
“I’m hungry.” Rose ignored Daffodil’s scolding and changed the subject.
“I’ll bet you are, after smoking that joint.” At Rose’s blank look, she elaborated, “That’s one of the reasons why marijuana is good for cancer and stuff—it makes you hungry so you don’t waste away.”
“Oh.” Rose was rapidly returning to her normal self. “Well, I skipped lunch, too. What about you?”
“I ate at work. I get a discount on food because I work there.”
“Oh.” Rose looked at her menu. “I’ll just get a little bit to eat, then. We can have dinner later.”
“Considering that it’s only 2:30 in the afternoon, I hope so.”
“What—you mean you’ve never gotten high?”
“Yes, but I didn’t this time, so I can afford to be superior.”
“Shut up.”
“Glad to see you’re back to normal. Marijuana kills brain cells, you know.”
“I’m not a pothead!”
“You were this afternoon.”
“Shut up. It was one joint shared with two other people. Besides, I used to smoke a little with Angel and Jim. I’m used to it.”
“Still, you are sure obnoxious when you’re high. Besides, you can’t be sure of what’s in a joint—it might be laced with something else.”
“Hypocrite.” Rose glared at her, knowing she was right but not wanting to admit it.
*****
Rose was considerably calmer by the time they left the café an hour later, only a vestige of her earlier high remaining. The two women moved through the streets companionably, enjoying the festivities, although Daffodil couldn’t resist teasing Rose about her earlier behavior from time to time.
As they stopped to stare at two preachers who had been protesting the festivities and had subsequently decided to get into a fight over who was more likely to go to hell, Daffodil whispered, “Now would be a good time to steal their signs.”
“Shut up.”
“You seemed to think it was such a good idea a few hours ago.”
“I wasn’t thinking then.”
“And now you think it’s a bad idea?”
Rose didn’t reply, but instead stood looking pensively at the two preachers, whose fight had been broken up by a police officer and were now united in the idea that the police officer and the spectators were going to hell.
Daffodil waved a hand in front of her face. “Earth to Rose.”
“Hmm?” Rose turned to look at her. “Oh…what?”
“The show’s over. Let’s go find something else to do.”
“Did you ever think they might be right?”
“Who?”
“Those preachers.”
Daffodil gave her a strange look. “Uh…no.” She raised an eyebrow. “What’s the harm in having a little fun?”
“Nothing, I guess.” Rose turned away, looking around the street thronged with people. “Let’s go find something to do.”
*****
As the hours passed, Daffodil grew more and more concerned about Rose. She continued to be melancholy, in spite of the parties going on all around them. Twice more she stopped to stare at religious protesters, frowning and shaking her head slightly as though confused. Finally, she used her Rose Dawson ID—which showed her to be two years older than she actually was—to get into a bar, where she ordered an enormous margarita and commenced gulping it down like it was water.
Daffodil sat at the table across from her, an untouched beer in front of her, and stared at Rose worriedly, wondering if Rose’s unusually melancholy behavior in such a festive atmosphere was the result of the marijuana she had smoked, or whether it was just another of the blue funks Rose seemed to go into from time to time.
Finally, when Rose had finished her margarita and was eyeing Daffodil’s beer longingly, Daffodil spoke up.
“Okay…do you mind telling me what’s wrong, why you’re being like this?”
“Being like what?” Rose’s words were slurred as she reached for Daffodil’s beer, scowling as her friend moved it away and took a drink herself.
“All sad and depressed and everything. I mean, you don’t usually smoke pot or drink this much.”
“It’s Mardi Gras. I’m having fun.”
“That’s why you keep looking sad and asking if those religious killjoys out on the street might be right.”
“I only asked that once.”
“Considering that you were trying to steal their signs earlier, once is enough. Besides, you keep looking sad.”
“I was high when I tried to take those signs.”
“You don’t usually smoke pot…or dye your hair strange colors.”
“That was ac—axsh—stupid.”
“Or drink this much.”
“It was one Margaret.”
“Margarita.”
“Whatever.”
“One margarita the size of a swimming pool, and now you’re slurring your words, and I bet you’ll be staggering when you stand up.”
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.” Daffodil shook her head. “Seriously, Rose, was there something in that marijuana, or does this day have some bad memories for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is this about your boyfriend or something?”
Rose gave her a strange look. “No…his parents hadn’t decided to move yet.”
Daffodil looked at her in confusion. “Whose parents hadn’t decided to move yet?”
“Juan’s.”
“Who’s Juan?”
“My boyfriend back then.”
“Back when?”
Rose gave her an exasperated look. “Back when my dad died.”
Daffodil nodded, a look of understanding coming across her face. “Let me guess…your dad died on Mardi Gras.”
“No…jus’ when I was at a party. Mom wouldn’t let me go to parties on Tuesdays.”
“But was it a Mardi Gras party?”
Rose rolled her eyes at Daffodil half-heartedly. “Yesh.”
Daffodil sighed. “So, I take it that you were at a party when your dad died, and now you’re feeling guilty.”
“I didn’ kill ‘im.”
“I know that, Rose. You told me he died of AIDS.”
“I’m not guilty.”
“But you weren’t there when he died because you were out having fun.”
Rose turned to glare at Daffodil. “Quit pickin’ on me. I didn’ know it’d happen so fas’. He’d been sick for months.”
“But you still felt bad.”
“Duh…he was my dad.”
“So you’re upset now because Mardi Gras reminds you of the fact that you weren’t there when your dad died.”
Rose put her head down on the table, suddenly looking very tired. “I guesh.”
“Maybe we should just go back to the motel.”
Rose lifted her head a little. “Yeah…those college kids prob’ly ain’t back yet…we can have some privacy.”
“Privacy? For what?” Daffodil’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute…no. No, no, no. We are not getting together because you’re drunk, depressed, and need comfort. You’d hate me in the morning, because you’ve made it clear that you’re not interested in me that way, and I’d hate myself for taking advantage of you.”
“Guys’ve took advantage of me.”
“I’m not one of those guys. I’m your best friend.”
“But…”
“No, Rose. If you still feel the same way when you’re sober…if you even remember this conversation…then maybe we’ll have something.”
“Fuck you.” Rose put her head back down on the table.
“Not tonight.”
Rose didn’t respond. She let out a soft snore, her mouth hanging open slightly.
Daffodil put her head in her hands, trying to figure out how she was going to get Rose back to the motel in her drunken state and hoping that coming to New Orleans wouldn’t prove to be a very bad idea.