Chapter 6: Purgatory
In the soft purple dusk of Lawndale, Jane and Daria stood on a deserted sidewalk—the former staring into the distance and the latter at her shoes. They had strolled as the anxious introvert told her tale, but at its conclusion, the friends had come to a standstill. Jane cleared her throat. "Um," she said, "Do you want to come over to my parents' house for a bit? I think we need to…process this."
Daria resisted the urge to joke about the extraordinary amount of "processing" their flannel-shirted sisters were reputed to partake in and instead responded, "Of course."
The pair walked several blocks to the Lane house and entered the silent living room, where Jane immediately removed her heeled black boots with an exclamation of, "Jesus, finally! These things are terrible." Daria smiled, then remembered the enormous and possibly friendship-destroying disclosure she'd just made on their walk. Jane looked at Daria, standing there in as miserable and awkward a fashion as possible. "Casa Lane may not have a doorman or meet certain health code standards, but we do have a spot for your boots and blazer," she said gently, gesturing with an outstretched arm. Daria self-consciously wriggled out of her navy jacket and passed it to Jane before bending to unzip her boots.
The silent pair made their way up the stairs to the second floor, where they side-stepped a disturbingly life-like sculpture of a grinning goat perched atop a small mountain of severed penises. "I see your mom is still in her Sexual Nightmare Petting Zoo phase," remarked Daria.
Jane laughed. "Wait 'til you see what she made for my apartment—guaranteed to haunt your dreams. She's still in Peru for her Menopausal Mindfulness retreat."
"How about your dad?"
"He's off doing some photojournalism for Apocalypse Bunker Magazine."
To Daria's dismay, they had reached the doorway to Jane's room. As she followed her friend inside, the dread-filled waif took in her largely unchanged surroundings. The art easel and heavy maroon drapes remained, as did the olive-green walls with their colorful paintings. Jane gestured to the familiar box spring and mattress on the floor in one corner of the room and cautiously asked, "Why don't you take a load off? I think I need a quick shower—you know, try to scrub away that funeral feeling."
"That's one feeling the perfumers can skip."
Jane gave a wan smile and went to her chaotic closet to unearth some pajamas while Daria took a seat on the bed. When comfortable clothes had been located, the unsettled artist headed for the bathroom. A worried Daria watched her walk away and then flopped backward onto the mattress, exhaled, and stared at the ceiling.