Atlas & Alice | Issue 3, Spring 2015
Loose Ends Rewind Drahomíra, my roommate, has lent me her camcorder and a pair of her old snowboarding pants to take my mind off the frostnip. I am huddled in the stands between a silver-haired fox who intermittently shivers when he thinks I'm not looking, and a preteen, earmuffed redhead with a weatherbeaten Norwegian flag and no parent in sight. I open the flip-screen with my thumb when the little tape inside clicks to a stop. The man asks if I'm filming the event. “My friend is racing,” I say. I'm just holding this for her.” “Who's your friend?” “She's from the Czech Republic. Racing for America, though.” “Oh yeah. Dragon-whatshername.” “Drahomíra.” He nods as if I'm repeating exactly what he said, then brings his gaze back to the men grooming the icy humps, or whatever you call them, that the five boarders will battle during the qualifying race. I imagine Drahomíra leaping the humps as if soaring over icebergs, a palm gripping the tip of her board as she lines up a smooth landing. I press play. Smooth landing. Icy humps. I feel like I'm always lousing up the lingo.
Best Girl In the first bit of video, Drahomíra carries an air-conditioner box, brimming with empty bottles, to the front door of our apartment, wearing nothing but red pajama pants and a sports bra. The weather outside our window looks glorious and summery. I hear my own voice behind the lens: “Is this how you want it?” Her head, licorice braids poking from beneath her knit cap, swivels. “Yeah, yeah,” she says, banging the box against the door, dropping three bottles, bashing the door open with her elbow, and rolling the empties out with her bare foot. She sets the box outside, snatches a black Ramones tee from the futon, throws it over her head in one fluid motion, composes herself. “Fuck. You rolling?” Me: “Whoops.” “Nah, keep going.” She makes eye contact with me – present-day me, not the greenhorn behind the camera. “Hi,” she says, “I'm Drahomíra. My last night of drinking is over. Those are the last beers you will see in here.” My past self giggles. The camera shudders. “Leanna laughs,” says Drahomíra, “but she is in charge of this.” She begins strumming an air-guitar and sing-talking about the World Cup. 68
Issue 3 | Spring 2015