It was a weird Tuesday, middle of the afternoon, the house dead quiet except for the hum of the VCR and the soft static crackle between rewinds. I thought I was alone. School was a joke that day and I bailed halfway through health class with some excuse about stomach cramps. Truth was, I had a mission.
I’d recorded Madonna’s “Express Yourself” video off MTV the week before, waited up past midnight just to hit “record” at the exact second her heels clicked across that factory floor. I must’ve watched it a dozen times. Rewound. Replayed. Studied every frame like it held some secret code meant only for me.
The scene with the milk? That’s the one that cracked something open. I went into my mom’s drawer and pulled out a black satin nightie. smelled like Ivory soap and vodka. I slipped it on. It barely fit.
I poured a bowl of milk, our Garfield cereal bowl, and dropped to my knees in front of the TV. Crawled. Arched. Licked the milk like she did, slow and sensual, tongue dragging along the rim while the TV flickered blue light across my back.
That’s when the front door opened.
And my mom’s voice:
“…Vince?”
We never spoke of it.
But the VHS vanished.
So did the nightie.
And the Garfield bowl turned up cracked in the trash.
Reads like a lost Euphoria scene directed by Sofia Coppola—aching, electric, and unforgettable.
😳