In Kijra’s room there was a tapestry that hung from the wall with a beautiful picture of an elephant, and it was covered with jewels of all different colors, rubies, diamonds, emeralds, and when I was really really stoned I would stare at it, and get lost in it. I could almost see myself in that elephant. I don’t know if it was because I was somehow reflected in all the little mirrors that seemed to make up the elephants body and garb, or because I was somehow relating to the elephant.
I pinched my stomach.
“I’m all blubbery,” I said.
At this Kijra began to giggle again and said, “You’re a skinny, tiny little girl. You look twelve.”
“Siggy told me I should be a model. I think maybe she was making fun of me.”
More giggles from Kijra was all I got from that, while she had turned her back to me and was putting on her next song selection, standing over the stereo, placing the needle carefully on what looked to be about the fourth song in. Let me see now. The Rolling Stones cover that had the cake on it was leaning against the base, song number four, that would be…
“Now I don’t ever want you to play this song. You have to promise me,” she paused, holding the needle up above the song, her tangled black curls hanging assymetrically from her tilted head. “You promise? Or I won’t play it.”
“I promise. Why does Siggy always lend me clothes that I don’t want?”
