Misery, Lust, Company

Alexis Luna

November 2005

Valentine's Day; 2005

As the plane touched ground at Sacramento International Airport I looked down at my Betsey Johnson pink leopard print dress and smiled. My gaze traveled down pink fishnet covered legs and ended at the six-inch pink Patricia Field stilettos which adorned my feet. My aching feet. I had had these shoes on for nearly 12 hours; since the idea for this trip entered my mind; since I had impulsively decided I absolutely had to travel across country. My baby needed me. I would run the three thousand miles which separated Kunda and myself had I not just earned the money for my nearly $500 plane ticket. Even on Jet Blue, a same day purchase is not too reasonable.

While the plane was taxing towards the gate my cell vibrated against my thigh and the caller i.d. read, "Unknown". I thought it was Mr. X, my other boyfriend, other wise known as the drug dealer I was leeching off of for money and a place to live. When I answered I was surprised to hear Kunda's baritone voice.

"Where are you?" He exclaimed loudly.

"I'm at the airport; my plane just landed," I could not contain my immense happiness at being in the same city as him, although my grin faltered at his next comment.

"Attiba is outside waiting for you."

"Where are you," since bipolar is such a lovely affliction, my exuberance immediately turned to delible apprehension and two other emotions, familiar when dealing with Mukunda- intense anger and disappointment. After a long silence I asked a question I already knew the answer to. "Are you drunk?" Moments of hesitation flowed through the wireless network which was enabling us to speak. Again, I asked, "You knew I was coming, how could you get too drunk to come pick me up from the airport?" Although my voice started off strong and pissed throughout, the sentence it rose and quivered with clear evidence that I was now on the verge of tears. I held the phone away from my ear and stared out the window at the tarmac. I sighed and leaned back into my chair, the same time the other passengers scrambled up and into the aisle. I was now in no hurry to disembark. Hopelessness engulfed me. And a bit of hypocrisy to.

"Alexis," Kunda pleaded at me through the phone, "just go meet Attiba, he did me a huge favor by going all the way out there to get you."

I silently gathered my belongings and limped off the plane. The pink felt letters on my green t-shirt read, "R is for Rad", earlier in the day it seemed to perfectly and profoundly express my mood. Now nothing seemed very radical; it just seemed so tragically predictable.

Interrupting my depreciating reverie, Kunda begged me to get in the car with my ride and said we would see each other soon. "That's not the point, Kunda. The point is..." holding back tears, keeping in mind I had on intricate eye makeup, "the point is, I just traveled three thousand miles to see you- to help you, and you couldn't even stay sober for one day. One fucking day. I'm going to get right back on a plane to New York." With this last statement I closed my eyes and raised them towards the ceiling in a futile attempt to keep my tearing eyes from overflowing.

"What are you coming off of by the way?" he asked, too knowingly.

"Nothing!" Rudely escaped from my lips as I remembered standing in a bathroom at JFK crushing up 60 mg of Adderall on top of the toilet paper dispenser using my NYU ID card, and then a rolled up receipt to snort the pink powder up my nose. The whole while, a cleaning lady was wiping off the front of the stall door; we made eye contact, mine were downcast, hers- knowing. 'Fuck,' I thought to myself, then I thought, 'I'm sure I'm not the only one who's snorted drugs in this airport bathroom. Still, slightly ashamed, I waited until she left before I exited the stall. I spent the next hour so high I talked up a storm to anyone who would listen. I was obviously high.

"I'm not coming off of anything, Kunda, I'm just upset." I was too embarrassed to admit to him that I had gotten dressed up just to see him at the airport. I had dreams of jumping on his six foot, four inch body, wrapping my legs around his waist and passionately kissing his rose bud mouth. It seems nothing with Kunda ever goes right, no matter how hard both of us try. "Fine, I fucking sniffed Adderall in the airport before my plane took off."

"Ya, you seem a little moody," replied my love.

"Anyone would be pissed, it's NOT the Adderall." Then I hung up the phone and went to claim my baggage.

The ride home was uneventful, save for a comment made by Attiba, which consisted of him informing me Kunda wanted me to pick up beer for him.

The car pulled in to Arbor Oaks off of Watt Avenue, the complex which had previously held housing for the families which comprised the McClellan Air force base. Each second the car careened forward my anger melted off and a grin returned at the thought of seeing Kunda. As the car made a right onto Chippewa Way, I saw my baby standing underneath the carport smoking a Newport with a wide smile on his unshaven face. I pretended to be angry; but only for a second, then I was able to forget my annoyance at his lack of control concerning alcohol, and only remembered how much I had missed him the past month while we were apart.

I jumped out of the car and he held his arms outstretched, waiting for me. He picked me up and our mouths pressed against each others, soft at first, then harder. Finally ending when Kunda bit my lower lip, put me down, and said, "Hey baby. I missed you." I could tell he was drunk, although I hoped some of his happiness was due to my arrival. Somehow, after doing this with him for eight years, I still could not be sure. No sooner than I had opened up my mouth to return the greeting, Kunda opened his. "Now go inside and let me talk to Attiba," he said with an exaggerated tone absolutely overfilled with authority.

"Okay, Kunda," I answered looking deep into his eyes and smiling. He smiled back, flashing a glance of naughtiness at me, then blowing me a kiss as I turned away.

No one gets me going like Mukunda.. I walked inside, suffering in my heels for aesthetic purposes only. As I started to unpack, I was surrounded by the most profound sense of happiness, and of fulfillment, that I have only ever known with Kunda. I heard Attiba's car leaving and I quickly abandoned my unpacking duties and stood perfectly placed in front of the door. As the knob turned I made sure not one pale pink chiffon strip was out of place; that the right amount of thigh was showing between the folds of my dress.

The door opened slowly, and Kunda's hand wrapped around the golden doorknob appeared first from outside. One of his broad shoulders was next, followed by his beautiful face that shone with a gleaming smile. We stood there like that for a second- then I was falling against a wall and Kunda was leaning against me softly saying he wanted my shirt off. We both half-pulled half-ripped it over my head, revealing the low-cut top of my dress. Kunda leaned over and began kissing the tops of my breasts and cupping the bottoms, in his hands. I placed one hand on the back of his head, rubbing it against shortly cropped, dark hair; the other hand I laid on his chest. I was always shocked at how big Kunda had grown. I smiled at the thought of him as a langley seventeen year old, scared of my best friend.

It turned me on that Kunda was so big, it made him seem so sexy to me for some reason; although he has always been sexy to me. I felt hands running up the insides of my thighs. "Take these off," whispered Kunda, then he desperately added, "take everything off." Kunda carried me into my little sister's room, gently placed me on the bed, took his clothes off and laid on top of me. I started to cry, just being so happy to be touching him. Too little in so long. I sighed and turned my head away, but he held my head to his chest and said, "Don't get all sweet now," he taunted in a deep voice, "I know how you like it." At that I laughed, he did to.

Later that night I made a valiant attempt at throwing out all the alcohol in the house. There was only one Smirnoff Ice left for me to drain.

Kunda has a thing with movies. He thinks he is a critic, and he feels as though he has a psychic connection not only to the protagonists portrayed in the film, but also to knowing which films are destined for the right people. He had decided before hand that I had to watch The Last Samurai. This was his new favorite feature, such that Tom Cruise plays an alcoholic in a historical fiction movie. Two of my dorky lover's favorite things. Since I'm sensitive to Kunda's feelings regarding cinema, I didn't have the heart to tell him that I thought it sucked. Instead I feel asleep, softly cradled in Kunda Moonshine's arms.

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