• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 04
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Ingrid Coker Finds a Friend

Ingrid Coker was the type of woman who felt, very strongly, that latex clothes were strictly taboo. “Latex only looks good on film. Never in real life,” she’d say. “It looks idiotic in person, and even more absurd in daylight. I would never wear something so shiny and crass.”
    She said this most especially when frequenting the local goth bar.
    It was one of her little quirks, a funny thing Ingrid liked to do. She would go to the goth bar wearing beige, typically something in a soft and all-natural weave, and white clogs. It was her distinct way of being contrary amongst those who were themselves contrary.
    Perhaps not unsurprisingly, Ingrid didn’t have many friends. In fact, she did have a very close friend once, when she was a little girl.
    Ingrid’s best childhood friend was Bianca. They were so young at the time, Ingrid had no idea what Bianca’s last name might be. Bianca X was a very special and very freckled little girl, but horribly, quite unexpectedly, her parents moved and took Bianca with them. Ingrid never recovered. She felt outcast, abandoned; left behind.
    She chose to be contrary, intentionally.
    “Lady, you need a better hobby,” said the bartender, smirking at Ingrid’s cashmere cardigan. “I know what you’re doing, but you’ll never be Other enough. Not in this place.”
    Ingrid nodded and sighed and sipped her cocktail, the bartender’s invention: Recycled Trash. It tasted stronger than usual. “This is good,” she winced, then smiled. This got a chuckle from its inventor.
    “Glad you like it,” he said, and checked his coal eyeliner in the mirror. Then he made another Recycled Trash. It was quite the popular item.
    “I’ve never had one of those before,” said a woman. She strolled up to Ingrid’s right side, tapping on the bar a light rhythm.
    She’s a drummer, thought Ingrid.


Ingrid Coker Finds a Friend

    “I’ll give it a try,” said the woman, holding up a finger and gesturing to the bartender, who saw her unheard order in the mirror and stretched the cocktail recipe for two drinks instead of one.
    “Is this your first time here?” Ingrid asked.
    The woman nodded. “Just moved here, actually. Didn’t realize this was a goth bar until after I walked in.” She looked Ingrid over, “Though looking at you, maybe this isn’t a goth bar.”
    Ingrid smiled. “I’m a true rebel here, is all.”
    “Well, you certainly stand out,” said the woman.
    “Well you stand out too, though for different reasons,” Ingrid smiled.
    The woman wore latex, but beige. She also wore a snorkel and goggles.
    “Why are you dressed like that and why is there a bush sticking out of the breathing pole thing there?”
    “I’m a performing artist,” she reached out her hand. “Bianca Whit. You?”
    Ingrid went slack jawed. She did her best to look past the goggles; her eyes followed the lines of Bianca’s face. Ingrid imagined what the Bianca looked like as a child.
    “Bianca. I’m Ingrid Coker,” she hardly breathed. “It’s me.”