She was wearing a floral dress and smoking a cigarette, waiting to cross the street of her small, mid-western town. The bright, September sun caught the stud in her nose, and sparkled. No one wanted to stand next to her at the street corner, and they stood either a few feet behind or to the side. She had an imaginary circle drawn around her... three feet on all sides. Their nervous glances didn't faze her. She crossed the street, stomped out her cigarette about 30 feet (as was stated in the handbook) from the front door. She walked into Belmont High, leaving her hesitant classmates behind. She put her hands on her hips. Because of the imaginary circle, she never had to worry about someone bumping into her. It was how she liked to walk--like a model.
She was so beautiful, and her tattoos and scars let everyone know she was accustomed to pain. She had a near-perfect body, pale skin that didn't look pasty, and clothes that certainly didn't come from Wal Mart (except for her shorts, a fact she would have told anyone who cared to ask). Sarah thought she was too beautiful; too exotic. That kind of beauty just didn't belong there. No one could compete with it, and in a community of girls who mimicked each other to get at the top. But instead of moving upward, they all just ran around in circles, endlessly trying to be just like the next girl, never moving anywhere. But she. She was from a whole different world. She was untouchable, nearly literally, and her image was both admired and feared, and it could not be replicated due to their parental restraints and lack of resources. But she. She worked for what she had.
Sarah had History, English IV, and Computers with her, and had had the same PE class since they were freshmen. They'd never spoken, but Sarah had always watched her. Sarah was a secret people watcher--a creeper, yeah? She knew so much about the kids she walked the halls with because she listened. Secrets spoken in confidence were overheard. No one sees a wallflower. She and Millie gossiped about her, swapping stories they'd picked up from classmates. Sarah always had more because Millie was more of a talker. It's possible some of their stories were products of Millie's imagination.
Everyone seemed to think she was so secluded that she was unaware of the ludicrous stories, and if she was unaware, she couldn't defend herself. But she knew about them and she could defend herself. She could break down their self worth. She was quick-witted. But she let them circle to keep her peers just scared enough to leave her alone, and to have something to laugh about with her friends--all of whom had already left for college, she had met at coffee shops in the semi-near college town, or through friends of friends of poets. She didn't like the kids at her high school. She felt even a little superior to them. But no person lives without insecurity. She envied their ability to make nice--to feign professionalism and friendliness when necessary.
Her parents possessed this talent. She didn't really envy them. Her parents valued wealth so much that they were willing to pretend they had money. Their big house was a lie, their nice clothes were a lie, even their calm, friendly demeanor was a lie. They were not so kind at home. They possessed this talent and they wanted to instill it in their children. She and her two little brothers were forced into charms school, but you cannot teach perfection to someone smart enough to know it didn't exist. She was pressed into a box of their expectations, and she just didn't fit, although she had tried for much of her young life. She hid darker secrets than her parents ever had known or would know, because she wasn't allow to feel in public. She allowed herself to feel in the secret of her spacious bedroom or immaculate bathroom. Doors with locks were doors with secrets. Some dedicated friends--secret friends--brought her out and showed her a different way; a passionate and emotional way of life. And when she finally broke free, she ran as far from that fucking box as she could. Without her parents' padlock on the box, she may have been content to open the lid, sit inside comfortably, and look up at the sky--but she wouldn't be nearly as interesting if it had been that easy, would she?
On a Friday night she had planned on meeting her girlfriend at a coffee shop near her dorm. She loved coffee shops. But when she called Lena's apologetic voice informed her irritated girlfriend that she had forgotten a paper for History. Lena was so unorganized despite her girlfriend's best efforts to help her with this. Sitting at home, she was starting to feel sorry for herself, and when her mom started to read her an article about how unhealthy vegetarianism is, she just left with no response. Her mother's passive aggressive attempts to change her pissed her off. She drove to her friend Matt's apartment. They'd dated before they both recognized and accepted that she was a lesbian. This was information only her friends possessed; no family member, classmate, or citizen of Belmont would ever know as long as she had any power over the situation. Matt wasn't all that offended. He'd kind of questioned her sexuality since they'd met. So mutually they decided to be friends. She was okay with that. She'd liked him once for a reason.
She walked in without knocking. "Wanna get drunk tonight?" He looked at her. "Hi to you too." She plopped down next to him on his couch. "Hi. You didn't answer my question." He rolled his eyes."I'm writing a paper." She refused to waste the gas she'd spent to get there. "When's it due." It wasn't a question, really, although she expected an answer. "Tuesday." She gaped at him. "Are you freaking serious? You're an English major. You can pull masterpieces out of your ass and you're finishing the paper four days ahead of time? Shut up." He took a deep breath. "When you are writing for an English professor, they won't think what you pulled out of your ass is a masterpiece. Nothing comes from your ass but shit."
She looked at him with puppy-dog eyes. "I'm just going to steal your Vodka and drink right here on the couch next to you. I plan on being really distracting. You know how I get. You might as well procrastinate some more, yeah?" He looked at her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Where do you want to go?" he asked. "I don't know. You're the one in college. Take me somewhere." He shook his head. "No parties before Greek Week. They have competitions starting at 8 am tomorrow. And the last time I sneaked you into a bar you got yourself kicked out. They're not going to forget your pretty face." She crossed her arms and sighed her way into the couch again. She peeked at him trying to be sneaky, keeping her head forward, but he was already looking at her, so it didn't work. She laughed. This was a game they used to play. She'd try to scare him, but he was always already looking at her. She was so beautiful. She never thought of the game in that context, though. And to him she wasn't a beautiful he wanted to have. She was beautiful like a work of art to be admired.
"I think I may know a place," she said mischievously. "But we have to be willing to go to a high school party. With high school kids. From Belmont." He shrugged. "Up to you, lady. This was your grand idea. I was going to write a paper tonight." She laughed and pulled him up into a hug. "I've already texted Lena and she agrees that a fair punishment for finking out on our plans is a ride home. Home being here, because I'm not ready to see my mother again." He broke off the hug. "I appreciate that you've made the appropriate arrangements, and yes, you may stay at my apartment."
She was careful to have her phone charged so she could call Lena to pick up Matt and herself. Not many people seemed to notice she was there. It was dark, the music (terrible music) was loud... There were a lot of people, including college kids who'd graduated from Belmont, which she thought was kind of lame of them. But maybe they were just looking for a party like she was. She walked straight to the bar. She grabbed a beer for Matt and pulled out her own cold water bottle. They danced some, but when they got tired of the show--bad dancers, bad music--they sat on the couch in the parlor and talked and laughed. They talked about people that these kids hadn't met and probably never would. They talked about good music, about poetry, about the way the world should work... if only they had the power...
and after a while, Matt left to get another beer. He was gone for a long time. She thought maybe he'd gone to the bathroom, or maybe he found someone to make-out with a little. That was their rule. Nothing more than kisses. Drunken decisions are bad ones. So she didn't worry for him. She'd never had to before. But when he was gone long enough, guys started to sit around her. Drunk, they had the balls to say what they'd wanted to since she'd broken out of her box in junior high.
"Did you really have sex with the principal to get into National Honor Society?"
"Actually I got in because I get good grades."
"oh."
"Were you really the one who stole everyone's cell phones from their lockers?"
"Falsely accused."
"oh."
"Would you ever fuck me."
"No."
"Why not?"
"You're too drunk to even remember if I told you."
"oh."
"Want this drink?"
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
"Sure."
She took it and walked away. She was smarter than to take a drink from someone else. He followed her, waiting on her to drink... just a sip, then he'd know he had fooled her. She found Matt on some table, a girl straddled around him. Is that Courtney? Good God. I would have never expected it, miss first chair flute. She started to drag him away from the girl on him. "I'm gonna text Lena now. She'll come get us, kay?" Courtney turned around, looking pissed, then saw who was talking and stopped. Courtney stared at her, mouth opened a little. Finally Matt made eye contact with her and nodded. "Where do we go now?" He asked. "We can wait on the porch. I could use some air anyway." They started to leave but Courtney grabbed her arm. "I-I'm sorry," Courtney said when she gave her a disgusted look. "Can I have that drink?" The bar must have stopped giving any. The house was drunk enough. She'd actually forgotten she was holding the drink. "No, it's for a friend," she said kindly.
She handed it to Chris, a football player she knew vaguely from a group project, on her way out the door. He hadn't had a drink all night, and she thought he looked a little tense. She chuckled and said quietly to herself, "No one's going to rape him."
Part 2 to come...
art by Jeff Ramirez... that's a painting, ya'll.
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