I like making up stupid band names.
Irritable Zombies
Manipulator Alligator
Let's Eat Grandma
Accidental Celery
Isolated Celery
Penultimate Forks
Microscopic Amy
Man Boobs
Crap Death Augustine
Hiding the Toys
House Fried Rice
Suicidal Chipmunk
Wait and See (I like this one)
Children of the 80s (I like this one, too)
Open Door Policy
Yes Dear
Lentil Stoop
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Maggie and June Lane
I'm participating in NaNoWriMo, which you can learn all about by clicking the link I've provided. Here's what I've got so far.
Maggie and June Lane
We sit on beach towels in the dirt, waiting for June's sister to come home on the fancy after-school program bus. June's mother is always giving us things like this to do, little chores so we don't "end up like the skanks on Teen Mom," she says. June's Sister, Kelly-Belle (you have to call her by the full name or she gets pissy; for God's sake don't call her just Kelly or Kell or just Belle) goes to a fancy year-round school. She got in on scholarship. She's 14 but she acts like she's 30. She gets home later than us public school rejects and she's always giving us advice about planning for our futures, as if it's any of her business. I mean, maybe, just maybe it's a little bit her business about June's future but she doesn't need to stick her nose into mine. I know what I'm going to do. I just haven't told anybody yet.
The fancy bus pulls up. There's a TV on it and everything. Knowing Kelly-Belle, she probably asks the driver to change it to CNN or MSNBC.
She stomps down the stairs of the bus, loosening her little blue and red tie and sighing, as if she's so disappointed to see us sitting here doing nothing. Once again, none of her damn business.
"Seriously June? A cigarette?"
June throws the Camel she pilfered from Roger, her mother's boyfriend, on the ground and smushes the butt underneath her black, lace-up Walmart boot. "Lighten up KB."
Kelly-Belle hates this nickname.
She slings her backpack over her shoulder and walks past us. "Don't tell Mom or I'll put a whole bag of weed under your pillow!" June shouts after her.
As if June's mother would believe Kelly-Belle capable of dirtying her lungs with the demon weed.
I smirk and sniff. "Stuck up."
"I know. At least you don't have to live with her."
"I do when Mom goes out of town."
"It's not the same as having to live with her every minute of every hour of every day."
My mother is a bikini model. She travels to competitions all up and down the east coast. It's gross, but she makes enough to pay the bills and give me a pretty good allowance. And she saves a lot of it. That's why we live in a falling-down mobile home, she says, so she can save up as much as she can before she gets too old to win any of the competitions. "Too late," I tell her. June's allowance sucks. She can wheedle a 20-dollar bill out of her mother once every couple of months but that's it. She can never buy anything and I'm constantly lending her money. I wouldn't mind except I know there's no hope eof ever getting any of the money back. A couple of years ago, I started a June envelope in my money box and I just stash a few bucks in there every once in a while, mostly from babysitting and filling it at mom's sister's bridal shop, anticipating the times when June says, "I'm sorry to ask you this again but can you lend me some cash?"
Once we've seen KB safely home, we head to Luke's house. He leaves his keys in the Mazda RX-7 his father bought from a friend ridiculously cheap. June drives us to the mall. We ride the merry go round a couple of times for free since our friend Delia works it, taking $2 a ride from little kids. It's a double-decker Merry Go Round and even though it makes me slightly sick to sit on one of the dragons on the top tier, I do it anyway. I like the mall. I like pretending I could buy the diamonds in the windows, the overpriced shoes on carousels outside stores with stupid names. I like looking at the sex toys at Spencer's and eating pretzels from Aunt Maria's. We're seniors now. Time to be doing something more constructive. But it's easy to go to the mall, doesn't require brain power or hoping for some kind of special result, like Kelly-Belle's after-school activities - model U.N., Mock Trial, Debate Team, Quiz Team, Science Team. The expectation must be more exhausting than the studying. June decides we should scam some Marines that come to the mall from the base two hours away. One of them is wearing a shirt that says, "Boobies make me smile." I don't like this game, but June loves it and there's nothing else to do. "Hey loser," she says to the Boobies shirt guy. "You think you're gonna pick up girls with a shirt like that?"
He laughs. "It worked on you."
She nods and pats his backpack. "Got any cigarettes in this big old thing?"
He laughs again. "None for you jailbait. What are you, like, 16?"
She's 17. Her birthday is three days after mine in July.
"I'm 18. I'll show you my i.d."
"That's OK little girl. I'm not interested in children."
"Dude! You're only like 19 yourself."
He shakes his head and walks away with his group, leaving us standing in front of the Starbucks. I watch a lady at a kiosk tearing eyebrow hairs out of someone's face with a thread. I shiver and look away. June is disappointed, but she's not ready to give up. She sees a group of boys from Kelly-Belle's school and points. "Them!"
"Nooooooo!" I whine.
I know at least two of them - the two Davids. They're total geeks. There's no way they'd have any cigarettes and scamming them seems like a waste of time. But June is determined.
She fixes her black skinny jeans, pulling them down a little so her bellybutton is nearly exposed under her lacy white top.
"David," she yells, after I point out one of them. Both Davids turn around. David Ternan's mouth falls open while David Burn, an Asian kid with thick glasses, looks away. He seems to know what June is up to. But David Ternan doesn't seem to care.
"What's up?" he asks June.
He's only 15. I just don't think it's right to scam little children.
June sidles up to him, doing her pat-down thing again to his backpack, an expensive-looking leather deal.
"Got any cigarettes?"
David T. surprises the hell out of me when he nods yes.
He and June leave the food court and head outside to a corner where no one will see them lighting up.
I look at David B. and shrug.
"Hey Maggie."
"Hey."
"This is Brandon."
The guy standing next to David B. turns around and studies me. "Whoa," he says, and I can't decide if he's saying that because he thinks I'm hot or hideous. I decide to pretend it's a good "Whoa" and smile at him.
"Who are you?"
"Maggie. I'm June's best friend. She's Kelly-Belle's older sister."
A little light goes on in Brandon's eyes.
"Ohhhhhhh. KB. I heard she had a wild sister."
"Yeah well anybody's wild compared to Kelly Belle."
"That's true," Brandon says, poking around in his backpack. "You guys want some chocolate chip cookies? I bought these but I can't finish them."
David B. takes one but I shake my head. I'll be damned if I'm going to eat anything with sugar in it after starving myself for months to be able to wear a 6, the same size as June.
"I hate it when girls won't eat," Brandon says, pushing some of his too-long brown bangs out of his face. His green eyes are beautiful but I don't stare too long in case he gets any ideas.
"I bet you hate fat girls, too," I say, more harshly than I meant or maybe I did mean it. Boys are so stupid, expecting you to eat and still be able to fit into tiny clothes. No one can do it, my mom says. But she still tries to get me to eat all the time.
Maggie and June Lane
We sit on beach towels in the dirt, waiting for June's sister to come home on the fancy after-school program bus. June's mother is always giving us things like this to do, little chores so we don't "end up like the skanks on Teen Mom," she says. June's Sister, Kelly-Belle (you have to call her by the full name or she gets pissy; for God's sake don't call her just Kelly or Kell or just Belle) goes to a fancy year-round school. She got in on scholarship. She's 14 but she acts like she's 30. She gets home later than us public school rejects and she's always giving us advice about planning for our futures, as if it's any of her business. I mean, maybe, just maybe it's a little bit her business about June's future but she doesn't need to stick her nose into mine. I know what I'm going to do. I just haven't told anybody yet.
The fancy bus pulls up. There's a TV on it and everything. Knowing Kelly-Belle, she probably asks the driver to change it to CNN or MSNBC.
She stomps down the stairs of the bus, loosening her little blue and red tie and sighing, as if she's so disappointed to see us sitting here doing nothing. Once again, none of her damn business.
"Seriously June? A cigarette?"
June throws the Camel she pilfered from Roger, her mother's boyfriend, on the ground and smushes the butt underneath her black, lace-up Walmart boot. "Lighten up KB."
Kelly-Belle hates this nickname.
She slings her backpack over her shoulder and walks past us. "Don't tell Mom or I'll put a whole bag of weed under your pillow!" June shouts after her.
As if June's mother would believe Kelly-Belle capable of dirtying her lungs with the demon weed.
I smirk and sniff. "Stuck up."
"I know. At least you don't have to live with her."
"I do when Mom goes out of town."
"It's not the same as having to live with her every minute of every hour of every day."
My mother is a bikini model. She travels to competitions all up and down the east coast. It's gross, but she makes enough to pay the bills and give me a pretty good allowance. And she saves a lot of it. That's why we live in a falling-down mobile home, she says, so she can save up as much as she can before she gets too old to win any of the competitions. "Too late," I tell her. June's allowance sucks. She can wheedle a 20-dollar bill out of her mother once every couple of months but that's it. She can never buy anything and I'm constantly lending her money. I wouldn't mind except I know there's no hope eof ever getting any of the money back. A couple of years ago, I started a June envelope in my money box and I just stash a few bucks in there every once in a while, mostly from babysitting and filling it at mom's sister's bridal shop, anticipating the times when June says, "I'm sorry to ask you this again but can you lend me some cash?"
Once we've seen KB safely home, we head to Luke's house. He leaves his keys in the Mazda RX-7 his father bought from a friend ridiculously cheap. June drives us to the mall. We ride the merry go round a couple of times for free since our friend Delia works it, taking $2 a ride from little kids. It's a double-decker Merry Go Round and even though it makes me slightly sick to sit on one of the dragons on the top tier, I do it anyway. I like the mall. I like pretending I could buy the diamonds in the windows, the overpriced shoes on carousels outside stores with stupid names. I like looking at the sex toys at Spencer's and eating pretzels from Aunt Maria's. We're seniors now. Time to be doing something more constructive. But it's easy to go to the mall, doesn't require brain power or hoping for some kind of special result, like Kelly-Belle's after-school activities - model U.N., Mock Trial, Debate Team, Quiz Team, Science Team. The expectation must be more exhausting than the studying. June decides we should scam some Marines that come to the mall from the base two hours away. One of them is wearing a shirt that says, "Boobies make me smile." I don't like this game, but June loves it and there's nothing else to do. "Hey loser," she says to the Boobies shirt guy. "You think you're gonna pick up girls with a shirt like that?"
He laughs. "It worked on you."
She nods and pats his backpack. "Got any cigarettes in this big old thing?"
He laughs again. "None for you jailbait. What are you, like, 16?"
She's 17. Her birthday is three days after mine in July.
"I'm 18. I'll show you my i.d."
"That's OK little girl. I'm not interested in children."
"Dude! You're only like 19 yourself."
He shakes his head and walks away with his group, leaving us standing in front of the Starbucks. I watch a lady at a kiosk tearing eyebrow hairs out of someone's face with a thread. I shiver and look away. June is disappointed, but she's not ready to give up. She sees a group of boys from Kelly-Belle's school and points. "Them!"
"Nooooooo!" I whine.
I know at least two of them - the two Davids. They're total geeks. There's no way they'd have any cigarettes and scamming them seems like a waste of time. But June is determined.
She fixes her black skinny jeans, pulling them down a little so her bellybutton is nearly exposed under her lacy white top.
"David," she yells, after I point out one of them. Both Davids turn around. David Ternan's mouth falls open while David Burn, an Asian kid with thick glasses, looks away. He seems to know what June is up to. But David Ternan doesn't seem to care.
"What's up?" he asks June.
He's only 15. I just don't think it's right to scam little children.
June sidles up to him, doing her pat-down thing again to his backpack, an expensive-looking leather deal.
"Got any cigarettes?"
David T. surprises the hell out of me when he nods yes.
He and June leave the food court and head outside to a corner where no one will see them lighting up.
I look at David B. and shrug.
"Hey Maggie."
"Hey."
"This is Brandon."
The guy standing next to David B. turns around and studies me. "Whoa," he says, and I can't decide if he's saying that because he thinks I'm hot or hideous. I decide to pretend it's a good "Whoa" and smile at him.
"Who are you?"
"Maggie. I'm June's best friend. She's Kelly-Belle's older sister."
A little light goes on in Brandon's eyes.
"Ohhhhhhh. KB. I heard she had a wild sister."
"Yeah well anybody's wild compared to Kelly Belle."
"That's true," Brandon says, poking around in his backpack. "You guys want some chocolate chip cookies? I bought these but I can't finish them."
David B. takes one but I shake my head. I'll be damned if I'm going to eat anything with sugar in it after starving myself for months to be able to wear a 6, the same size as June.
"I hate it when girls won't eat," Brandon says, pushing some of his too-long brown bangs out of his face. His green eyes are beautiful but I don't stare too long in case he gets any ideas.
"I bet you hate fat girls, too," I say, more harshly than I meant or maybe I did mean it. Boys are so stupid, expecting you to eat and still be able to fit into tiny clothes. No one can do it, my mom says. But she still tries to get me to eat all the time.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Nowhere to run, nowhere to nap
I waddled into the mall's food court, sticking my pregnant belly out, a big old license to binge on multiple teriyaki chicken samples. The Hispanic women handing them out on toothpicks either didn't notice, or pretended not to notice, my return trips. I bought a sweet tea from Chick-fil-a, gestational diabetes be damned, and retreated to the family bathroom, to the breastfeeding alcoves.
I tried to breastfeed my first baby but I ended up pumping breast milk for six months after I couldn't get her to latch on properly. I mourned this failure until I became pregnant again.
"We'll get it this time," I told the little girl in my 20-week ultrasound picture, tapping her little upturned nose with my finger. "I won't blow it again."
A few weeks later at the mall, I sat in an overstuffed pleather chair in one of the alcoves and drew the curtain across. I've never had much luck trying to sleep sitting up, but I was desperate for a nap and couldn't think of anywhere else to go. Most of the hotels I checked were way out of my price range, and I decided not to risk trying any of the really cheap places.
Besides, I knew the family bathroom was clean, smelling of flowers with just a hint of disinfectant. I was positioning my head on the back of the chair to find the most comfortable angle when someone threw my curtain open. We both gasped.
"Darby?" I said, recognizing the woman holding a pink swaddled bundle propped on her left shoulder.
"Oh my God, Ellie. I'm so sorry. I didn't think anyone ever came in here," she said quickly. She was wearing sunglasses. The rest of her face was flushed pink, and her auburn hair was falling out of its pony tail one strand at a time.
"It's OK."
I started to get to my feet, using both hands on the arms of the chair.
"No. Don't get up. I can use this other one right here," she said, throwing my curtain back in place. I heard the woosh of the curtain covering the alcove next to me and the creaking of the chair as she settled herself and her baby, Melanie or Melissa or something like that, into the chair.
"How's little um...your little one?" I asked, not really feeling like talking but even more afraid of the silence or worse, the little sucking sounds.
"She's fine," Darby called out. "Just hungry and fussing at me because it's lunch time. I can't bear to breastfeed in a hot car. Can you?"
I slumped down in my chair.
"Nope," I said glumly.
"And anyway, Melody likes riding around the mall after lunch. Lulls her right to sleep. How's your little girl?"
"She's doing good. She's at home with her daddy and I'm searching for a place to get some rest."
"Lord, I know girl. Being pregnant takes it out of you. I can't imagine being pregnant and already having a 2-year-old to entertain. I'm sorry I disturbed you."
"You didn't," I lied. "I just wish I could find somewhere to lie down and sleep. I can't sleep at home because of Lauren. Even if her daddy's home, she just stands there and cries until I get up and hold her."
"She know's competition's coming. I expect it will only get worse after she's born," Darby said.
"Mmmm hmmm," I said, rolling my eyes.
I tried to breastfeed my first baby but I ended up pumping breast milk for six months after I couldn't get her to latch on properly. I mourned this failure until I became pregnant again.
"We'll get it this time," I told the little girl in my 20-week ultrasound picture, tapping her little upturned nose with my finger. "I won't blow it again."
A few weeks later at the mall, I sat in an overstuffed pleather chair in one of the alcoves and drew the curtain across. I've never had much luck trying to sleep sitting up, but I was desperate for a nap and couldn't think of anywhere else to go. Most of the hotels I checked were way out of my price range, and I decided not to risk trying any of the really cheap places.
Besides, I knew the family bathroom was clean, smelling of flowers with just a hint of disinfectant. I was positioning my head on the back of the chair to find the most comfortable angle when someone threw my curtain open. We both gasped.
"Darby?" I said, recognizing the woman holding a pink swaddled bundle propped on her left shoulder.
"Oh my God, Ellie. I'm so sorry. I didn't think anyone ever came in here," she said quickly. She was wearing sunglasses. The rest of her face was flushed pink, and her auburn hair was falling out of its pony tail one strand at a time.
"It's OK."
I started to get to my feet, using both hands on the arms of the chair.
"No. Don't get up. I can use this other one right here," she said, throwing my curtain back in place. I heard the woosh of the curtain covering the alcove next to me and the creaking of the chair as she settled herself and her baby, Melanie or Melissa or something like that, into the chair.
"How's little um...your little one?" I asked, not really feeling like talking but even more afraid of the silence or worse, the little sucking sounds.
"She's fine," Darby called out. "Just hungry and fussing at me because it's lunch time. I can't bear to breastfeed in a hot car. Can you?"
I slumped down in my chair.
"Nope," I said glumly.
"And anyway, Melody likes riding around the mall after lunch. Lulls her right to sleep. How's your little girl?"
"She's doing good. She's at home with her daddy and I'm searching for a place to get some rest."
"Lord, I know girl. Being pregnant takes it out of you. I can't imagine being pregnant and already having a 2-year-old to entertain. I'm sorry I disturbed you."
"You didn't," I lied. "I just wish I could find somewhere to lie down and sleep. I can't sleep at home because of Lauren. Even if her daddy's home, she just stands there and cries until I get up and hold her."
"She know's competition's coming. I expect it will only get worse after she's born," Darby said.
"Mmmm hmmm," I said, rolling my eyes.
A snippet of a conversation
"It will get worse before it gets better. That is the essence of a good story."
"But this isn’t a story. This is real life."
"Everything is a story. Everything. Some stories are just more quiet than others. And some people really can keep secrets."
"I don’t understand."
"Questions aren’t made to answer themselves. Every story begins with a question and you are at the beginning right now."
"It’s easy for you. You can just disappear. Like that. Like what you just did. Wait! We weren’t done. Come back here, you…you….whatever you are. I’m going to call you Ob Noxious. And now I’m talking to myself and it’s all your fault."
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