Rose of No Man's Land by Michelle Tea Page A

think about.
    Ma leaned over and gave me a hard kiss on my cheek, she really dug her lips into the skin there and I let her. It felt nice to be loved by Ma. Her hands dug into my gunked-out hair and rubbed my head a bit and I closed my eyes and let myself feel small. It was a real sweet moment. When it ended I hurried out of the living room, my pizza crustclutched in my hand. In the kitchen I grabbed the big tube of salt and shook a stream of it from the metal spout into the tender center of my pizza crust.
    Ugh
, Kristy said, entering the room. The camera sprouted from her face like a terrible growth.
Tell the camera what you’re eating.
    Pizza crust, I shrugged. The camera ran the length of my body, and I could feel it soaking in my bare feet, the sweats, the ratty T-shirt, and my crazyperson hairdo.
    Kristy, I said, trying not to whine. You’re Not Being Fair. You’re Taking Me Out Of Context.
    Kristy shook her head, the camera still firmly pressed to her eye so that it too shook in seeming disapproval. Her free hand gestured dramatically to the kitchen around us, the grease-heavy curtains and the clutter of the kitchen table.
No, Trish
, she said ominously.
This is it. This is you, and this is your context.
    Family time!
Ma hollered from the living room. Kristy sighed, let down the camera, and hit the Pause button.
    There’s Pizza, I offered helpfully.
    Kristy shuddered at the suggestion of something bready.
Ugh, no thanks.
She hesitated, waiting for Ma’s next yell.
What’s she doing?
she whispered.
    You Know, I said. Sitting Up. Waiting For You. It’s No Big Deal. I gulped the rest of the crust and grabbed a half-empty glass of water from the table to wash it down.
    Nasty!
Kristy said. Ma’s summons from the living room had made her edgy.
That’s been there forever.
    It’s Just Water.
    Gross, Trisha. Really. You’ve got to learn how to be a bitmore civilized if you’re going to keep that job.
And I laughed, because though Kristy was right, I was going to have to learn to act like some sort of regular human girl for my time at Ohmigod!, Kristy was deluded if she thought my spot there was anything but doomed. The job was unkeepable. She’s In A Good Mood, I said, and jerked my head in the direction of the living room. You’re Going To Have To Say Hello To Her Sometime, It Could Be A Lot Worse.
Yeah
, Kristy said uneasily. She hit that Pause button again and the camera whirred back to life. She followed it into the living room.
Hello, MTV!
our mother cried happily from her spot on the couch.

Ten
    Monday morning I tried to reason with Kristy. I told her that it was ultimately preferable to come into work smelling like cigarettes than with your face all puffy and red and its makeup muddied and streaked because you were crying about smelling like cigarettes. Through the entire philosophical discussion Donnie leaned far back in his seat, one arm draped lazily out the window and the other gently riding the steering wheel, a burning Marlboro clenched between his yellowing cigarette fingers.
I’m doing you a favor
, he pointed out, and by “pointed” I mean he used his burning cigarette as a little pointer, jabbing its ashy tip in Kristy’s general direction.
I do your mother a favor, not smoking around her and her illness, and this is where I get to smoke. You ride with me, you ride with smoke.
He chuckled as if he’d just created some identifying catchphrase for himself, like “Ay caramba!” or “Hasta la vista, baby.” You ride with me, you ride with smoke. What a genius. Kristy didn’t want smoke all over her clothes and her hair and neither did I, but I don’t indulge in dead-end fights. Donnie wasn’t going to toss his butt out the window and onto Route 1, which whizzed by beside us, sort of sad and abandoned-looking in the daylight. At night, forget it. I’ve never been to Las Vegas but I can’t imagine it’s any better than Route 1 and the lit-up theme resteraunts propped up alongside the