Super LaLa

By Chloé Sehr

Ode to Jennifer, the LOVE OF MY LIFE

Jennifer

Jennifer

Jennifer

Do you remember, Jennifer, when we French kissed under the bleachers after cheerleading practice?

I can still taste the sweet Dr. Pepper of your Bonnie Bell lip balm on my lips

the tight polyester of your uniform was really tight against your boobs

the pleats of your skirt rising up just enough for me to see your little cotton panties, the ones with the tiny cherry blossoms on them

your sweet head gently resting on a pillow of our pom-poms

I tenderly fondled your ponytail, kissed your neck and you sighed in my ear and said softly, “get off me before someone sees us”

you let me carry your books and your duffel bag and your poster board for your student council posters home from school

your mom said I could spend the night and we made mac-n-cheese and baked cookies and made your campaign posters for student body president and then got in our pjs and watched Some Kind of Wonderful because Mary Stuart Masterson is our favorite actress ever

then we turned off the lights and cuddled and you rolled on top of me and said, let’s play husband and wife

and we kissed and kissed and rolled around back and forth all night until you said softly,

shut up or my mom will hear us

then the next day we rode bikes and stole eyeliner from the drugstore

and then you made me watch you get ready for your date with CRAIG

CRAIG

CRAIG

I HATE CRAIG!

Jennifer, I love you.  AND I HATE CRAIG!

I wrote that poem about a girl named Jennifer.

Tonight, Jennifer is on her stupid date with stupid CRAIG, so I had to come home,

which is so lame, because I forgot it’s my dad’s turn to host his weekly single dad group he’s been going to since my mom left. And I have enough to worry about without those sad old dudes

freaking out my dad!

He came back from the last meeting where one of his dad friends told him all about date

rape and now he won’t stop talking about pepper spray and drinking at parties and dudes dosing

drinks and I was like, DAD, DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT. I don’t go to any of those lame

FOOTBALL parties! Everyone on the football team is a big fathead idiot and it doesn’t surprise

me that they’re dosing girls’ fuzzy peach wine coolers and raping people all over the place!

He said, if you hate the football team so much, why are you a cheerleader? I said, DAD! You spent all that money on gymnastics lessons. Don’t you want to see a return on your investment? GOD! I was lying, of course. Cheerleading is stupid. But I’ll do anything to be by the side of my one true love.

Then he gave me $20 and a canister of pepper spray and said I should call one of my little friends and go to a movie. So, he’s useless, CLEARLY. And anyway, what does he know about girls breaking your heart?

And now Jennifer and Craig are out together doing god knows what and I’m trapped here, with emotional dads downstairs and I’m so bored and MAD. WHY IS SHE OUT WITH HIM? Why would she want that enormous IDIOT when I know her better than anyone? I know that she needs mint chip ice cream when she has PMS and Tori Amos music when she’s sad and she only likes mac-n-cheese from the box, not the gross baked kind that they probably serve at whatever fancy restaurant she’s at with CRAIG.

I don’t know what to do. What am I supposed to do? Why can’t anyone tell me what to

do? I need help. I need a guide. Like a lesbian fairy godmother, or guardian angel, someone to

give me advice, but not a lecture, like my old piano teacher, who everyone called Aunt NoNo,

because everything you did was always wrong and she was always telling you to sit up straight

and force-feeding me butterscotch Lifesavers. I need someone who listens and always knows what to do. A writer, like me, only instead of poetry, she writes lesbian romance fantasy novels and instructional books about how to be gay. The opposite of Aunt NoNo. Someone who says yes and has a name that says, I don’t care what you think. I’m making up my own name, lalala. That’s it! Aunt LaLa.

Aunt LaLa would have a cool store, or someplace where there’s always snacks, like a

bakery or a café, and there would be a back room with flowers and plants and stuff and everything would be purple.

At Aunt LaLa’s, everyone could sit on the floor on beanbags and fancy cushions. She would explain it all to me, and then I would be a lesbian expert and I’d know everything I need to know to defeat CRAIG and make Jennifer love me and my life would be perfect! But where do you find an Aunt LaLa? Where can I go?

* * *

I have located the Aunt LaLa I need. She owns a shop called Macaroons and Macramé, in the cool part of town with the head shops and vintage stores. It’s a craft store and vegan bakery. All the walls are purple! There are gorgeous buttons and fabrics and sequins and ribbons everywhere. I walked up to the tea and pastry counter. The vegan pastries looked kinda gross, like all the same brown stuff  in different shapes and sizes.

Then, I saw her. My future hero. The superhero to help me triumph over CRAIG: my new Aunt LaLa. She was helping a customer buy a big pink candle that looked like a vagina. She was wearing glasses and a Tori Amos t-shirt, so I know she’s cool. Her long, curly hair was like a mermaid, or a siren, and her flowing skirt fluttered around her like butterfly armor. She was sipping something from a mug that read, “Goddess Bless.” Obviously, she was the perfect superhero. 

Once I had found her I had to know more about her lair. I found a huge bulletin board with a million fliers about playing in drum circles, volunteering at the abortion clinic, and getting rideshares to Lilith Fair. There was a big calendar with all the events in the Community Reflection Room, which is a room in the back of the shop. I read it and saw that Aunt LaLa does EVERYTHING: queer single-parent pancake dinners, cat custody counseling for separated lesbian couples, guided transitions into veganism, Hot Flash Haiku, which I guess is a fancy name for moms in menopause writing poems, and of course, macramé workshops.

Then, I saw what was about to happen.

In just a few minutes.

The TEEN LESBIAN COMING OUT SUPPORT GROUP!

This was obviously a sign. Not only had I found my Aunt LaLa, but I was about to meet a pool of potential sidekicks. I was so close to my perfect life with my sweet Jennifer. What magic was happening? I couldn’t wait. I went to the bathroom, blotted my face with some toilet paper, and applied more eyeliner, just in case. I couldn’t wait to assemble my gang of righteous assassins, rid the world of CRAIG, and ride into the sunset with Jennifer.

I took a deep breath and went into the room. There were big purple pillows with spangles in a circle. There was a table in the middle with some of the funny-looking pastries and a carafe of tea. I sat down and got ready.

Then, I saw her. She walked into the room, wearing cutoff overalls, a baby tee and low-top Docs. Her choker was black lace. Her hair was short and slicked back. Her crimson lips smiled at me.

Hey. I’m Lisa, she said.

Now, I know.

My destiny.

It’s Lisa.