The Stephanie Glitch - Chapter two

Surprise, another one

Stephanie’s thumb traced a cartoon skeleton on the side of the cold glass, pushing moisture around its textured painted bones. All around her the cheap disco lights beamed dots of blue and red across the table. She watched Emma at the bar, ordering another round of drinks. Emma stood out here, a rainbow-clad creature in a sea of black leather and spiky hair. Stephanie thought that if her mother was here to see them both, especially to see how Stephanie had dressed, that she would lose her mind.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a little notebook and pen. She watched the people orbiting her table and others. Even though she had dressed to blend in, she felt she stood out more than Emma. These should have been her people, antigravity hair and gigantic boots, but Stephanie felt like an alien here. She began writing.

liquid confidence in confidence

lyrical itch of cider syrup

a conference. I can’t dance

so don’t ask me to dance

but I’d like to blend in like furniture

just belong somewhere once

“Vodka coke for the alien staring at that tall boy’s head,” Emma said. Stephanie snapped back to reality, realising now that she had spent the last minute lost in a purple mohawk across the bar.

“Yeah, sorry. How long have you been here?” Stephanie said.

“On this planet? Nineteen years in June. At this table, watching you astral project? About three minutes.”

“Shit, really? Do you think he noticed?”

“I don’t think he’d notice if you told him to,” Emma quipped. She tilted her head to the boy, redirecting Stephanie’s attention back to him. He was dancing as if in a trance, his eyes preoccupied with another reality as he moved like a lava lamp to the music.

“Right,” Stephanie said.

“So, uni.”

“Uni,” Stephanie parroted.

“You going?”

“If they take me. It’s a conditional and I’m doing okay so far.”

“Wow. I’d say we should go out to celebrate but, here we are.”

“I’d prefer Bowie,” Stephanie raised her voice over a guitar riff.

“So would Jay. Where is he anyway? He’s not texted me.”

“Band practice I think.” Stephanie took a sip of the vodka coke.

“Ah, radio silence.”

“Is that his new band name?” Stephanie asked.

“No, I think their name is Frozen Aisle for now.”

“Frozen Aisle For Now?”

“Just Frozen Aisle.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, not their best rebrand, but I’m sure he’ll have another soon,” Emma said.

“I was a fan of Grannie’s Yarn Monster.”

“Me too. It really captured their eclectic vibe.”

“Or Evil Sauce,” Stephanie added.

At this point the man beneath the purple mohawk stumbled past with a few of his friends, hiccupping and waving at Emma, saying brief hellos before moving to the bar.

“You know everyone don’t you?” Stephanie asked. She curled her nose at the sweet smell of smoke machine smoke emanating from the dance floor.

“Not everyone, just enough people to get by.” She brushed a curling lock of ginger hair away from her drink and finished it. “You’re going to have to get social by September you know Stephie. I can’t be there to hold your hand on fresher’s week.”

“I thought you wanted to crash my fresher’s week?”

“Only because I’m not going myself,” Emma explained. “I only want the socials, not the academia. I am allergic to academia, remember?”

“That’s fair,” Stephanie said. She took another sip of her drink, and was briefly distracted by the cartoon skeleton on this new glass.

“I mean what would I study anyway? Minimalism, sketch, cubism, surrealism? What’s the point?” Emma asked. Stephanie got the impression that this question was not aimed at her, but rather the whole universe. The question lingered in the smoky air for a few moments before Emma elaborated.

“Because I could find stuff to paint or write about outside. You know, like when we went to the caves that time or the river in the park with Jay.”

“You’re still doing the art exam though yeah?” Stephanie asked.

“Of course!” Emma replied with fake glee. “Even if I don’t use my grades to go to uni, I still want them. It’s like an art prize, but I don’t have to pay anyone to enter.”

“That makes sense,” Stephanie said. “I want to learn more about the universe, and I can’t do that here. You can make art anywhere.”

“Getting into physics but hates maths,” Emma quipped. Stephanie finished her drink.

“Yeah but, maths is poetry too. I just don’t know how to read it yet. It’s codified.”

“I like that, codified. Mind if I steal it?”

“Sure. It’s not my word.”

“It sounds like your kind of word.”

“Thanks,” Stephanie said. A cluster of people rattled beside their table, carrying what looked like one of every drink that was being served. Emma nodded approvingly at them and one of them smiled back. Stephanie didn’t look up.

“I guess I could paint a student union bar, or a canteen,” Emma said.

“It’s not too late to apply,” Stephanie replied.

“Or a lecture hall. A Bunsen burner? Never see any good surrealist depictions of Bunsen burners.”

“Why would an art class have a Bunsen burner?”

“To burn the bad art. I don’t know, I’d just walk into one of your classes.”

“How about a collage of your student ID, made with chopped up textbooks?”

“That’s actually cool,” Emma said. “I’m tempted now.”

“Don’t think you need a degree to make a collage though,” Stephanie said.

“No, probably not.”

Finally a song Stephanie recognised started blurting out of the speakers. Emma nodded and smiled.

“You know this one,” she said.

“I do.”

“Dance?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Stand awkwardly beside the dancing people?” Emma smiled convincingly, raising her eyebrows at the concept as if it was the best decision that had ever been made. Before Stephanie could reply Emma was stood up, waving her hands at Stephanie’s bag and notebook, making her pack it away.

“You could always take a year out, come to my uni for a bit, see how you feel,” Stephanie said.

“Sample the nightlife?” Emma asked.

“Yeah.” Stephanie pushed the glass to the centre of the table and stood up. “Another drink?”

“Sure.”

As they pushed through one crowd to another crowd that was ordering drinks, Stephanie caught sight of another skeleton glass filled with light greenish liquid, perhaps a cocktail. The image lingered in her mind as they approached the bar, giving her an idea for a story.

“You good?” Emma said. Stephanie re-entered reality. She looked up at the flashing red and blue lights, breathed in a puff of fake smoke, and prepared to embarrass herself by either dancing or not dancing.

“Yeah just, maybe an idea for a story.”

“Not now,” Emma replied. “Now we do the social thing.”

Stephanie mumbled something in disagreement.