Think I Want to Twist the Plot This Time

Part 5

Ugh, she probably smells. Barbie dips her head to sniff the inside of her arm, but instead of her nose twitching, she... kind of likes it. She's lingering with perfume and him, and she can't explain it, but there's the cigarettes, the musk, and she's right back in the room with Oppenheimer. She can feel her lips curling back up at the thought, her fun little secret.

Once Barbie sees she's transformed back into her jeans and bomber jacket, she sighs, gently bringing her horse to a stop. There are her pink Birkenstocks, her softest t-shirt. Her lipstick has changed back into simple lip balm, and hopefully she never has to see another garter belt again. Of course, she has to do the final leg back to the Real World, and dons her neon skates, placing her rose back in her mouth as she laces them up.

It all feels routine, going back home this way, but with everything that's happened, it's a little different, too. It's this odd, internal juxtaposition as she instinctively blades toward the beach, but with the realization that her body somehow feels more human, more flawed and marred and wonderful. Barbie plays with the rose in her hands as she skates absently, knowing she's going to put it in a vase and when she wakes up next, she'll see it and remind herself just how real this all was.

When she gets to Venice, and the plastics of Barbie Land become the concrete (and other plastics) of Los Angeles, the sun is starting to creep up behind the buildings. But it's not reflecting on the waters, on the calm waves that immediately soothe her as she brakes up against an unoccupied bench to change her shoes. The sky becomes a little pink; the cotton candy clouds reflect that light, and the water is still dark as ever. Even this early, the most committed surfers are out on the waves in their wetsuits, beating the day trippers and snagging the closest parking spots.

Barbie pulls her phone from her pocket to check the time and her signal. 6:42. It's the day after. And her signal is back so she can make a call or go online. She knows she told Ryan she would just call an Uber, but... after the night she's had, she kind of just wants to see her family instead without the awkward silence a stranger has to offer. They should be up now, Gloria and Ryan getting ready for work, and Sasha getting ready for school. Barbie is usually up by this time, too, but it's to prep for discussion later in the day, or work if that's what she's scheduled.

She calls Gloria, fiddling with her rose in her free hand.

Gloria picks up after the second ring, her voice a little hurried. "Oh, hey Barbie, what's up? Ryan mentioned you might be taking an Uber back home?"

"I, uh... I changed my mind about that," she says meekly, biting her lip. "Do you think you could pick me up instead?"

"Yeah, of course, hon," Gloria answers immediately. It sounds like she's already trying to rush out the door now. "You're on the way to Sasha's school, so I'll grab you just before dropping her off—in fact, we're already on our way out. Just send me your location and I'll call you when we're close, okay?"

"Okay." It just sounds good to hear Gloria's voice. And she honestly can't wait to hear what sassy quips Sasha has in store today. It's a little strange, having this conversation and going back to her life as if something huge didn't just happen to her—but at least now she knows what sex is, has had her fun, no strings attached fling. More questions for Dr. Cohen, when Barbie sees her again. "I'll see you soon."

"We'll see you soon, love you!" Barbie hears Sasha saying the same thing in the background, and she smiles as they hang up. As promised, the first thing she does is turn her location on for Gloria, and within minutes Gloria shares her route over. This early, they'll be here in no time, just before the rush hour starts.

Barbie decides to watch the surfers in the sunrise, knowing that the only place open right now is a coffee shop a block or two over. She's never been here when Venice isn't teeming with life, with skaters in the park, or folding tables set up along the strip of people selling knockoff designer goods. The metal doors of kitschy souvenir shops are still closed, and other than the occasional runner getting in their morning workout, hardly a soul in sight. She buries her nose back in her stolen flower and appreciates the weather as it's so much nicer out here with the cool sea breeze. Cool enough to keep her jacket on, but comfortable enough to not be shivering.