BitchFace. 18 x 24″. Oil on canvas. By Cat Jones .

This is my friend Chris. AKA BitchFace. Chris says, “I’m just a really, pretty, boy.” yes indeed. (Chrissy won’t pick a preferred pronoun, so most of us just use “she,” because it seems to fit the best.)

Chrissy  is a cutter, and my favorite story with her so far was the time I went to see her in the ER, after she got committed on a 72 hour hold. “What happened, BitchFace?” I asked.

She explained how she’d been sitting in the park with her boyfriend, all stressed out. “I cut a little,” she said, showing me the stitches on her wrist. (Even before I got up there, I knew that would be where the stitches were.) ” I meant to just cut a little,” she said. “You know. Just let a little stress out. But, then HE hadda go all He-Man and shit.”

By that, I thought she meant her boyfriend called 911 on her and got her unnecessarily committed. But no. Rather, he had decided that, if drama was the order of the day, he could out-do her. So he took the blade, and as she described, “opened up a GUSHER” on his own arm. “You should have seen it,” she said in awe. “Blood everywhere.” (She underlined this by making little gestures with her fingers to indicate blood squirting out of the vein in his arm.)

Apparently, his wound was severe enough that his life might be in danger. So the two of them struggled to their feet, and then walked up to the hospital together, trailing streamers from their bleeding wrists.  They obligingly took the little squares of paper napkin they were handed by the ER receptionist, and sat politely in the waiting room, with the customary hundreds of other indigent patients waiting to be seen. They sat there like that for awhile, she said, holding the little paper napkins against their wounds as the blood soaked through and ran down their arms, down the chair legs, down into a growing pool at their feet.

At last, they got called in one by one to see the doctor, and were promptly committed. Chrissy was grouchy and needed a cigarette as she sat on the side of the stretcher in her blue hospital pajamas and told me the tale.

“Man, he really is the one for you, isn’t he,” I said.

“Today’s our 4 month anniversary,” she grinned.

“Happy anniversary.”


One thought on “BitchFace

  1. Pingback: Lark Street | Beyond the Barbed Wire

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