Lookin for love calling heaven above, "send me an angel, right now!"
Bianca is Italian and voluptuous, and I shudder to think what she did to her black hair to get it all those colors she had it dyed. On her hip-bones and pelvis (God, she'd love to know I just refered to her pelvis) was a tattoo of a lime, a lemon, and in the middle a cherry. "Sour" "Bitter" and "Sweet" it read. Or "Soup" "Butter" and "Sweat" as we'd tease her. Her makeup was risky (it's amazing she never tore a retna with some glitter), and her pop-punk/Eighties fashion was impecable.
Being licked by Bianca was common.
Being straddled by Bianca was comforting.
Being humped by Bianca was inevitable.
She was a forerunner in the planning of the girly-hardcore band (grrlcore?) we were going to start (none of us play anything, but who gives a fuck?) called Toxic Shox.
We girls met every Tuesday night to talk about boys and to listen to 80's rock. Okay, that was not the premise of our organization, but it boiled down to that. Bianca was a crafter, though.
She hand-made the most well-thoughtout, personal gifts any of us had ever received. She inspired us girls one night, too, and we all made shirts with a lyric on them. The lyric had to be from the 80's, though, and it had to be a question:
"Should I stay or should I go?"
"Do you really want to hurt me?" were a couple. I chose my man's line of,
"Do you know where you are? You're in the jungle, baby"
but it got cut short for lack of lettering... and I ended up with,
"You're gonna DIE."
Bianca was the guru of eighties, and from her it was completely sincere. You know how some people have their passing-fancy about certain trends, but Bianca knew her shit. Blondie and Billy Idol... (and some hardcore, too).
She energized me. Encouraged me, if you will.
We both liked being loud. Well, so did Brandy, and Amy and Lindsay could belt it out, too, but for my intents and purposes we're going to kick it with Bee.
Not exactly obnoxious, becuase often our volume was not for the benefit of others. Our volume was the side effect of the enjoyment we were getting from making each other laugh. As we exchanged our humors it no doubt began quiet, until it burst into,
"SHOT THROUGH THE HEART AND YOU'RE TO BLAME"
simply because those lyrics are to never be hummed.
Bianca and I were both slighted by people who loved who we were deep down, but really thought we were too... too -- well, just too. Not loud, really. I think that the men we loved felt insecure at how much enjoyment we could take from a simple tube of lip gloss.
So Bianca and I took our nights of being quiet, in my cozy living room, where we railed against ourselves and God about our personalities being too... too much.
Bianca has poetry that knocks my knees out from under me.
She has an intuition, and creativity, and passion.
We both used to say that living in the South was the problem. Maybe up north we could find a man who would hear us maxed out at 11 and simply say, "you remind me of my ma, but not as loud as her."
It wasn't for the men that either of us left Tennessee, but the analogy of the men sort of swept over many things.
We didn't understand how the two of us could be so fascinating to each other, and so alone.
She left back home to Detroit.
I walked to New York.
We don't talk so much anymore, but I know by our shared level of faith that she's experiencing a lot of life. Never a little.
Three and a half years ago when I begged God for an answer on to marry or not to, all I heard God say was, "I'm not done with you."
I knew if I sacrificed my love for that guy, then God would show me more excitement than I ever would see otherwise.
Bianca and I could get excitement out of countless things, and we watched with an eye to find excitement.
When you embrace a passionate lifestyle you are destined to be thrust into the hands of change without warning; in a good way.
Bianca and I are proud of each other, I know.
