by Christopher S. Bell

Bad_Bannah pieced it together first. They posted every day, usually together, sometimes even posing for each other. They were a brand we tuned into, eager for ten-second bursts; well-cropped moments often co-sponsored by local affiliates. It wasn’t like some fad. To most of us, Remy and Moon were our aspirations. We spent time talking about them, how upward mobility wasn’t so far out of reach. We tried a lot harder while our idles somehow knew better.

Moon_Bright_Luna was already an eyesore when she first punctured our scene. A small-town Texas transplant, her late-night bridge shoots attracted winner and yinzer alike. She followed many then dropped even more as shares spread like a bad rash. There were short posts filled with spiritual paraphrasing then longer rants of untethered fervor. She was the kind of gal to call a jag out for taking too long to say what needed saying, and we could only hope to cipher these elaborate emoji puzzles, forever uncertain how Moon_Bright_Luna could be everywhere all at once.

We were there the night she met Remy Sapphire, our corner table starstruck as he entered first with Pop_Pop_Bizz and Round_Crampus. They were always late to karaoke night, but Jazzy Jamison moved them right up the cue. “Nobody wants to hear any of yins sad crap bullshit right now,” they coughed into the microphone as we drunkenly jeered and watched the room freeze then melt like a sidewalk dowsed in salt.

Moon first spied Remy in the midst of “Love is Like a Rock,” clutching the mic in a sloppy stupor. She swooned despite his remedial rasp and subsequent warnings from her fellow influencers. “He’s a real jag that one. You best steer clear, honey.”

Moon couldn’t resist, soon jumping the line just the same and purring through a cringy “Genie in a Bottle.” It was difficult for Wink and Terry to do their best after that since we couldn’t look away. Something was happening in that inebriated cesspool, Moon approaching Remy past a smokey pastiche and introducing herself. He fell unexceptionally in love before exiting to collapse and vomit out back.

The rest only made everything else harder to stomach. It was in our nature to show distaste for this place we’d placed our hearts. We loved it, but love was usually a bit greasy with French fries and coleslaw on top. Toasting our IC pounders to the unlikely pairing of juggernauts, we all figured it wouldn’t be much different from our occasional hookups after karaoke night.

But the next day, we woke up to Saph_Infection liking Moon_Bright_Luna’s post. Then came tags, stories, hangs and inevitable cross-pollinating of brands and fans in an ever-rocky ballet. Their pairing came to define our shitty city as rabid onlookers shared their observations in unpopulated dives and jam-packed clubs. Oh hark, how their insides always felt better after the proper dose of black and gold, unsavory street dashers and mumbled catcalls all but dispersed into the perpetual grey as Moon and Remy became inseparable and then bought a dog.

Scruff_N_Stuff had more followers than all of us combined. We were guilty participants, trying not to observe their pupper’s location on any given Sunday. Scruff was spoiled and frequently shared, completely unaware of his significance, how he made our cats, lizards and birds feel somehow inferior. They’d never reach these heights, no matter their capacity for love or frequency of trick.

Maybe all of us knew it would happen sooner than we thought. The signs were there, even before their one-year anniversary. Remedial_Mantra had posted an uneasy pic of Moon sad facing in the corner, despite being surrounded by her best friends. Saph_Infection started in on the gym selfies not long after. He scored big with some dusty shake promo, sipping milky brown and pink concoctions every morning, then grinning big, except Moon_Bright_Luna wasn’t drinking the sludge or even heart-clicking her man’s recent ingestion.

When Moon snagged a deal with some upper-state lingerie dealers, the rest inevitably came into focus. There was our Bright_Luna posing under bridges, an unparalleled thirst trap in pink and blue panties with Remy not even close to reaching such likes. We all knew it got to him. How couldn’t it? This was his town, but that marketability, that good old mass appeal was suddenly compromised, tied to a pair of long legs that any old jag with an account could follow and ogle in-between far less stimulating activities.

Her popularity infected him much like the rest of us. Moon was a revelation that few could understand. She arrived in The Burgh and soon swept everyone up in her swirling uncertainties. We showed up for her, made strange but subtle toasts in her behalf and said all the terrible things we needed to when we found out the truth. She was but a temporary resident in our fragile world of rust.

We were born accustomed to the bad air, the way frequently rainy or unseasonably gray days contributed to the rotting crusts in our guts. We didn’t need the ravishing sting of outsiders contributing to our already dented way of seeing and doing just about anything worth doing right, especially so close to Bucko season.

She soon transitioned to Philadelphia then Jersey and finally New York. Remy kept doing his macho tension thing but quickly fell for Remedial_Mantra. Wanda seemed so much happier next to him and still kept in contact with Moon, sharing every three posts, pretending as if they truly missed one another. It wouldn’t have been proper to abandon those bonds in favor of saving face. Who was even really paying attention? We just needed something to stare at and discuss whilst waiting our turns on another solemn karaoke night.