Alessandra’s Rio Adventures, Part 4!!!
As the taxi bumped through Botafogo traffic, Narcisa began to smile brightly.
“Is SO good this day, Alessandra,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
She paused a beat, thinking with gleaming eyes.
“Is like this. I don’t expect I EVER gonna leave the house again. I CAN NOT to leave the house because I’m always e’scared of the peoples and the things are going to kill me, or rap-ed me, or arrest me. Or the extra terrestrial shit. Some crazy shit gonna happen to the Narcisa all the time, and all the things like this. You know? That shit man, I e’smoke, and then I become the crazy girl. Afraid of the shadow! No to ever leaving even my little room!” She said, waving her hands around, then she thought a second longer. “But now I am here, in the taxi cab. And the sun is so good on my face. And I’m HAPPY to be alive. I WANT to do thing with my life. I don’t want to smoke the crack right now…. Is crazy! And you are here, and we gonna go to my favorite place on the whole Rio. You gonna love the Parque Lage, man.”
She was silent the rest of the ride.
Upon arrival at the park gates, she descended the cab like a queen from a horse-drawn carriage. I grabbed my purse, payed the driver and clumsily followed behind, scratching the mosquito bites on my ankles, making “psst psst” noises at a nearby cat. The cat scurried over to Narcisa and me and a did a few laps of 8’s through my legs as Narcisa leaned down to pet it. This went on for a minute, until she grabbed me by the hand.
“Let’s go find Cigano,” she said and we walked up the cobblestone driveway to the building where the art school is.
Jonathan was waiting for us next to his bike, typing away on his ratty silver laptop.
As we greeted him, a couple more cats came around, weaving through our respective legs, until they too realized we had no food and went back into the big tropical brush to tend to their cat business. There were many cats. Beautiful cats, everywhere.
We walked through the big entry way of the colonial-style art college into a big courtyard with many rooms off of it where art was being displayed. Narcisa yelled at a plant.
“Why you looking on me like that!??!” She said to a leaf on which
someone had placed a sticker of their face. “This is the most e’steew-pid art exposition I ever see. Ruining the plants to make the shit art that no one even notice? Re-tarded!”
“Do you want some pastels?” Jonathan asked Narcisa, poking his head into the little art supply store.
“Yes, Cigano. Right now, and the psychedelic color only. I’m e’staying here with my friend Alessandra now. Go!”
I felt a slight surge of panic as Jonathan disappeared into the little store. We were alone now. Babysitting Narcisa. In public. I lit a cigarette and thought about all the stories I’d heard of Narcisa in public places. Crazy stuff.
Off crack now a full eight hours, Narcisa was a ticking time-bomb. I shrugged it off as she told me a story about Israel, half-ready for an overdue critical meltdown.
NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw e Alessandra DeBenedetti. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.
