Trashley: Part Five
Lisa Butts
Bakersfield became my home away from home. I never tagged the location when I was there because if people knew how much I was going to Bakersfield, they would’ve staged an intervention or put together a GoFundMe to help me get back on my feet.
The best thing about Bakersfield was that we could drop Perci off with Ashley’s family while we went on adventures. We planned a camping trip up to Bass Lake for Memorial Day weekend. I’m not the type of lesbian who owns camping gear, so Ashley headed to Lesbian Headquarters, the REI store in Burbank.
She returned with enough camping supplies to survive in the woods for years. She bought a six-person tent, sleeping bags, floor mats, a cast iron pan, some regular pans and various cookware, camping chairs, a grill, lanterns, a portable shower, headlamps, utensil sets, knives, spatulas, coolers, a dishwasher, and even a wine rack. Now this, this was camping. I was shocked at how much she must’ve spent — it must’ve cost several thousand dollars. She spent her money how I spent money when I played The Sims. Only, instead of using the rosebud cheat to get infinite money to purchase all of the most expensive things, she was spending it in real life.
We stuffed the Tesla with camping gear and headed to Bakersfield to drop off Perci. As we pulled into the driveway, everyone came outside to ooh and ahh over her car, which they’d apparently never seen in person. The next morning we headed north to Bass Lake.
Ashley always let me drive. I love driving, I’m a natural. Getting behind the wheel of her Tesla felt like launching into orbit. I’d do a full countdown in my head: Rocket, check. Dog mode, check. Prepare for lift-off in three, two, one… I felt how Neil Armstrong must’ve felt when he (allegedly) flew to the moon. Ashley said she’d thrown her car in self-driving mode while having full-on meetings on her laptop, but I’m too much of a control freak for that.
We loaded up on firewood at a gas station, “You ladies got bear spray on ya?” The attendant asked. “No, actually,” I said. “I was just planning to fist-fight one if he starts some shit with us. We’ll take a bottle as backup, though.” We were officially set to spend three days in the woods.
Camping with someone is a real relationship test. You have to be compatible with camping styles. You can’t have two people who don’t know how to pitch a tent; only one can be that clueless, and it was me. While Ashley pitched the tent, I was on food and beverage duty. I also foraged for firewood and kindling, as a treat.
Bass Lake was so damn pretty. The sun glistened off the green and blue water. It was surprisingly empty for a holiday weekend. Our phones didn’t get service and I didn’t mind, I was in nature with a woman who knew how to use a compass (on her phone).
I loved this trip. We had so much fun being alone in the woods and off the grid. We ate hot dogs, took edibles, threw axes, and had gay lesbian tent sex.
I was sad to leave our little adventure behind and return to the real world. The camping trip had brought us closer. For a normal person, not in comedy, Ashley could make me laugh, and the edibles helped, too. She was smart and taught me things about Physics, like Schrodinger’s Cat and Time Dilation while we gazed at the moon. Sure, she had a flair for the dramatic, and was a touch eccentric, but she was growing on me.
On the return trip to Bakersfield, we stopped to charge her car at a roadside petting zoo. There was a Tesla Model Y in the parking lot, and we took it for a test drive to kill some time. I found a woman’s driver’s license on the back seat floor. Her name was Lisa Butts, and with a name like that, I knew I had to meet her. So, we veered off course and took a thirty-minute detour to the address on the license. I rang the doorbell, and an older gentleman greeted me. Ashley stayed in the car.
“Hi, is this the house of Lisa Butts?” I said, trying not to laugh. “I found her driver’s license in a Tesla I test-drove.”
“Lisa, come down here! A woman found your license!”
I stood at the bottom of the staircase and watched a blonde woman holding a trumpet with the biggest smile saunter down to me. This was Lisa Butts, and she was my hero. She thanked me for returning her license, and we chatted briefly before I left.
Between meeting Lisa Butts and hopping into the car, something shifted in Ashley. I could almost see a dark cloud forming above her head. Her brown eyes went black, and I asked her if she was okay.
She said, seemingly out of thin air, “I can’t believe you took other people you’ve dated to Alaska to meet your family. I never want to meet your parents because I wouldn’t feel special. You just do that with everyone you date. I can’t believe you do that. Wow, and I was really starting to like you.”
Girl, retreat! Retreat! What the hell was this now?
“And you’ll end up with a man. I know you will. Bi people always do. It’s a statistic. You’re a statistic.”
“I’m sorry, what is happening here?” I asked. I was so thrown. My first thought was she was scrolling through my Instagram, but she had no social media, so this didn’t feel right. It was something else. “I don’t understand, and what does it matter if other people have met my family? And I’m not bi; I’m one of the gayest people I’ve ever met.”
Ashley yelled and screamed for a good ten minutes as I drove. I stopped responding because nothing I said made any difference. Anger consumed her. Ashley’s phone repeatedly rang, but she kept sending it to voicemail. Eventually, she threw it onto the dashboard. We drove in silence the rest of the way to Bakersfield.
I was so confused. We’d just had this super fun weekend camping together, yet somewhere along the way back, she’d morphed into the world’s biggest cuntsicle. I had to figure out how to return to LA with Perci since I didn’t have my car.
At her parents’ house, she stormed inside and stomped down the hallway — to her parents’ bedroom — with Mom and Dad on her heels. All I could hear was deafening wails between fits of screaming. I took Perci into the backyard to escape. I couldn’t determine what was happening, just that I didn’t want to be around it. This was unhinged.
I didn’t know Ashley was capable of this level of rage. I hated the sound of yelling, I grew up with it from both children and adults. It’s not why I hate sports, but it’s a major factor. Screaming’s not in my vocabulary. If someone started stabbing me, I wouldn’t be able to yell for help, I’d just be like, “Please stop. Knock it off right now!”
Her tantrum lasted another thirty minutes. Once her reign of terror died down, Ashley stormed out of the bedroom, headed to her car, and drove off. I was stranded at her parent’s house, but glad she had finally left. My headache thanked her, too.
Ashley’s Mom found me and Perci in the backyard.
“Poor Ashley,” she said, “She just found out her ex stole money from all of her accounts while you guys were gone. She doesn’t want Ashley to be happy; she never wants anything good for her. Ashley just needs some time to cool down.”
I’ll say.
I packed my things and set them beside the front door and sat on the couch, where I waited for Ashley’s return so we could figure out how I was going to get back home.
Several hours later, Ashley barreled through the front door. “Are you ready to apologize?” She hissed.
I have the self-awareness to recognize when I owe someone an apology, but this was not one of those times.
“Ashley, I don’t know what’s happening right now, but I need to get home. This is a lot.”
“Typical, so you’re not going to apologize.” She says. “When my car’s done charging I’m taking you back to LA. I’m done.” The only downside of Teslas, you can’t storm out of a situation.
You read my mind, sister.
It was getting late, so Ashley’s parents ordered tacos for dinner. We sat around the living room in silence. The only sound was the steady crunch of taco shells. Ashley was sitting on the same couch as me, but as far away as possible. Just like the time we met.
At eight o’clock, her Mom got a ring camera notification.
“There’s a man at the front door wearing a mask,” she said to the room.
Everyone looked at each other for what felt like a long round of Wink Murder. Eventually, all eyes fixated on Ashley. She got up and slogged to the door. The entire afternoon had been so surreal that I assumed it was a DoorDash delivery driver.
Ashley slowly opened the door.
“Are you Ashley?” The man asked.
“Yeah.”
He placed a thick manila envelope in her hands. “You’ve been served.”
The fuck? At eight pm?! I didn’t know what in the flying fuckville was happening.
Okay I have questions. What do you mean you test drove a Tesla that was hanging out? Did you know who owned it? Is this common among Tesla owners?
Also I loved "cuntsicle."
Ps. Ashley scares me.