Free Green Girl by Kate Zambreno

ache. Her glands were swollen in her throat, under her armpits. She had already called in once that week at work, breathing fragile and penitent at the same time to human resources. If human resources were supposed to be so human, why did they make you feel so alienated? Yes I don’t feel well I need to take a personal day. Yes my throat and my head and I’m a bit fatigued you see. She wanted to hibernate, to surrender to the slowness of sick.
     
    She craves her own stand-in, posted politely on her glass window: “The Part of Ruth for the next few days will be played by [fill in the blank]”. That’s what she needs. She needs her blank to be filled in. It all began to blur into the same train ride home. Doors closing. Mind the gap. The gap between who she was and who everyone thought her to be. The gap between the past and now, between her fiction and her reality.
     
     

The same shift at Horrids. The same bodies. Bodies, bodies, bodies.
     
    Red bodies, yellow bodies, white bodies, brown bodies, black bodies, purple bodies, green bodies, young bodies, old bodies, teenage bodies, middle-aged bodies, girl bodies, boy bodies, androgynous bodies, ambidextrous bodies, muscular bodies, skinny bodies, fat bodies, straight bodies, gay bodies, bi bodies, clean bodies, foul bodies, bodies that smell of smoke, bodies that smell of soap, bodies from the train, bodies from the street, bodies carrying other bodies, bodies in wheelchairs, bodies with strollers, bodies missing appendages, bodies in a hurry, bodies that go slow, bodies that whiz by, bodies that slink past, bodies that talk, bodies that are mute, bodies that don’t exist, bodies with shopping bags, bodies with large leather purses, damp bodies, dry bodies, bodies with the coldest of hands, bodies with the softest of skin, bodies with bored faces, bodies with scarred faces, bodies with no faces, bodies chewing bubble gum, bodies eating crisps, bodies on phones, bodies with umbrellas, bodies with other bodies, art bodies, business bodies, celebrity bodies, nobodies, mommy bodies, daddy bodies, brother bodies, sister bodies, bodies with bellies, bodies with breasts, hunched-over bodies, rich bodies, poor bodies, bodies who have never worked a day in their life, nice bodies, mean bodies, strange bodies, familiar bodies, British bodies, American bodies, bodies who say cheers, bodies who say thanks, bodies who ignore you, bodies who say bonjour , bodies of all nations, bodies wearing turbans, bodies whose skirts touch the floor, bodies all bundled up, bodies too naked, bodies with beards, bodies with long hair, bodies that tap by on heels, bodies that shuffle by, bodies bodies bodies…
     
    To all of these she proffers her Desire.
     
     

I have a part of you with me. You put your disease in me. It helps me. It makes me strong.
     
    — Isabella Rossellini in David Lynch’s Blue Velvet
     
     

Agnes and Ruth are at a pub on the East End. Agnes is wearing a red-and-black checkered long-sleeved minidress. Red heels. Her hair now in glossy dark brown curls. Her makeup done up like Isabella Rossellini in Blue Velvet . A blur of red lips. Eyelids bedded in deep blue. Like a bruised angel. She occupies herself tonight by twirling around on her barstool, sipping her red wine. Ruth watches her twirl, sip, twirl, sip, twirl, twirl. Her stockings are ripped. There is a pale moon on her knee. She cultivates a more mysterious air as a brunette. As a redhead everything was shock and fright.
     
    Do you ever get the feeling a camera is following you around at all times? She brings her face up close to Ruth. Her teeth are stained gray from the wine. Yeah, I think so. Yeah, me too. Agnes’ voice is dreamy. Ruth feels like she is just there in order to speak the supporting role, a character in Agnes’ play. Agnes digs into her purse, finds her silver cigarette case and holder. She lights up, breathing out billows of smoke with each turn. Ruth can’t help admiring her. You should have