The
Rococo Mermaid
An Ode to the Ghost Ship
In a headdress of cascading curls I
see the rococo mermaid. I can make from a distance a string of pearls hanging
from her porcelain elongated neck. The mermaid’s cheeks are rosy and her lips
are blood red puckered, as she walks dragging a train of turquoise shimmery
charmeuse fabric simulating a fish tail. She approaches with a sing-song gait
and appears to leave sparkly ocean dust in the air. Behind her the full moon
dangles from the nocturnal sky and reflects all its splendor on her mythical
gown. She extends her frail and tactful hand holding the entrance ticket, I
quickly retrieve it and she goes on her way. There at the ghost ship she joins
the hordes of people contaminated by the spirit of Halloween, the guilty
pleasure of the old Celtic festival.
I too join the ghost ship a few
minutes after and I run do not walk to the realm of fiery lights. Inside there
is a spaceship, an abandoned wagon, a humungous spider web, a cute little
dinner and a spacious dance floor all housing the euphoric souls of the ghost
ship. Souls who dance to the mumbo-jumbo of the lyrics scratch by the agile
hands of Dilma, otherwise known as Laura Lisbona. I get lost in the sea of
individuals looking for an escape into the ghost ship. The music plays from one
beat to next and a cloud of smog appears among the laser lights. I look up at
the ceiling and observe the bravest operation of group think as one person
after another climb the huge spider web hanging from a few strings. The
security catches wind of it and I cannot longer be amused. Then, in a
delightful skip I head to the little dinner where both coffee and grilled
cheese is free. The waiter is more friendly than usual and he comes within
breathing distance to one of the patrons who is either agreeable or too
intoxicated. Once I finish the semi decent snack I join the burners and others
once more as they burn to the rowdy speakers leaving sweat traces that can only
be mitigated by the soap bubbles which are now floating in the mist of havoc. All
of a sudden there is a tug coming from my right side, I glance and see a
galactic girl glamorized with short purple hair and lipstick. The galactic girl
named Karol has pulled a sufficient amount of people which are now making a
dance circle. Plenty of time has now elapsed where I can barely move my legs
anymore, ready for my ride staring at my cellphone waiting for a miracle. The
message has indeed gone through and I will be picked up shortly. In an
accelerated manner I wave goodbye to the galactic girl and accomplices who say
goodbye in a detached way for they are now ghost ship’s ghost.
I
come out as quickly as I boarded to join my ride but on my way a fairy shooting
star twirls in a sea of tulle waving a magic wand and saying in a sort of
gibberish “I am a fairy/shooting star make a wish” And to this day I wish upon
a time when I will return to the one place which gave the most memorable
welcoming and the best goodbye.
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