Judge what's in the head.
And the heart.
— The Green Meanie
By closing time at The Shady Lady, the only customer still lingering was Quinn, who showed up wearing a yellow dress made from a tablecloth, but sewn up in a way that was fitted and flattering.
She, or he, but I'm gonna say they because that's how they were introduced to me... They were one of our regulars, and always easy to spot. They were at least six feet tall and made their own clothes from stuff not meant for that.
That was Quinn's way. They were constantly making things or learning things. And whatever they didn't know became something to figure out, even if only to know they did.
Recently, homemade absinthe had become one of those things.
They also liked to talk about concepts like Social Constructs while serving their almost-absinthe, which would absolutely fuck you up. This happened from time to time on The Shady Lady rooftop. One of those times, they said, "The only difference between lost and stolen is who's telling the story," and I thought, "This person sees me."
I don't do the friendship thing, but if I did... They're cool.
On this particular evening, they were excited about the latest batch of their almost-recipe, so we all went up to the roof after work, to watch the sunset and play Name That Hooch.
I was still obsessed with the emerald ring a customer tried to swipe with a French Swap, so my suggestion was The Green Meanie.
Lorraine owned the place. Her suggestion was The Paradox, because it might be both genius and terrible. I wasn't sure if she meant the recipe itself, or drinking it, but the answer would be the same either way.
Quinn's idea was to call it The Allegory.
"I don't get it," I said, as if my face hadn't already made that clear.
They said, "It's Plato's Cave. What's real and what's an illusion?"
My mouth said, "Oh," but my face had doubts, so they explained it.
"Imagine this. You're born in a cave, and you spent your whole life in there with a bunch of other people. It's a prison, but you don't even know you're trapped. All you've ever seen are shadows on the wall. And you hear echoes. None of you know what the shadows and echoes are, so you fear them."
Then they leaned back, swirling the intimidatingly dark green liquid in their glass, and said, "One day, you manage to leave the cave. You find the way out, and as you step into the sunshine... Boom! You realize everything you thought you knew was wrong. It was all a lie. The shadows and echoes you were taught to fear were your own. Now, as you stand outside the cave, you see the truth. You see the world, the way it really is. It's overwhelming, because everything is so different from what you believed, but it's real."
Quinn topped off my glass, which was a spectacularly bad idea, and they said, "Now, imagine going back into the cave to tell everybody what you learned. They'd think you're nuts. They might even try to kill you for talking crazy. People would rather cling to a lie than know the truth."
They raised their glass in a mock toast, saying, "And that, darling, is how we become prisoners of ourselves. We become the cave."
"Well, that's dark," I said.
"It's a dark world, Dandy."
I stared deep into the drink and gave it a sniff before taking another swig. "Is this stuff supposed to be the sun?"
Quinn grinned. "I don't know. I'm trying to copy something real, so maybe it's just an echo."
I ran my fingers along the cheap fake ring I'd swiped from the French Swapper, which I was now proudly wearing.
Quinn can't get enough of philosophical shit, and the whole Cave thing got me thinking, so... I asked...
"What is real, though? What about this stuff you made? What are we calling it? The Allegory? The Green Meanie? It's real. I'll be feeling it later, and that's when things get really real. I don't have much experience with absinthe, but I'm pretty sure this tastes better, so why would it be judged as if it's less than the real thing?
"And what about the ring, in the display case? The emerald. It's fake, but it looks nicer than a real one. Why is it worth less? Who decides what has value?"
Lorraine said, "I do, because I own the place," and she got a laugh. But I couldn't help feeling disappointed as the conversation got derailed, because I still wanted to know...
Who decides what's real?
Who decides what has value?
Who decides if one gender matters more than another? Men do. Bastards. Every fucking one of 'em.
Who decides which ethnicity or skin tone or sexual orientation is better, as if such a thing could possibly be better. Or worse.
What's in a person's head or heart. That's what you fucking judge you fucking judgmental fucks.
And who decides when I should stop drinking, because, goddamn, they need to speak the fuck up, "BUT THEY NEVER DO!"
Lorraine decides if her people are okay to drive home, which is to say, she'd already decided if any of us were.
"ANY OF US AREN'T, WHICH IS TO SAY, NONE OF US ARE!"
Lorraine had a good heart. It's hard to stay good when so many people are bad.
"IT'S AN EVIL WORLD, INNIT? BUT NOT ALWAYS!"
I'd decided The Green Meanie was evil, and I'd made peace with that. But why did the evil have to taste so good, and was it my place to judge?
"JUDGE WHAT'S IN THE HEAD!!!" I shouted.
"I know, honey."
"AND THE HEART, LORRAINE!!!"
"I'm gonna have Quinn call you a cab."
"JUDGED TWAT LETS HEEE BE JUDGED!!!!!"
"Is she okay, Lorr?"
"I think she's stuck on something from an hour ago."