To My Nearest & Dearest,

It's that time of year again - like clockwork Uncle Tom will ask why my boyfriend looks like Jesus Christ while my cousin takes a huge dump on my mom's decor and asks if she got everything from Family Dollar. While I unwrap my 6th bath & body works gift set and contemplate drinking it down and committing suicide in front of everyone during the dessert portion of the evening, families around the world face the same wonderful - token interactions with relatives they see two or three times a year. Let's get up to date on who's boyfriendless, who still lives in their parent's basement, and who dropped out of college to focus on their art.

I just have a few really simple requests to make before we sit down and air kiss eachother hello. My first request is that everyone just skips the what are you doing with your career portion of the night. We all hate our jobs, Aunt Susan - do you like yours? Do you want to discuss your role at Accounts Receivable in the kitchen while there are delectable mozzarella sticks and pigs in a blanket just waiting to be eaten? So let's not ask me what I'm doing with my sad little life.

Grandma: we know you love going out and buying us all gifts but you really shouldn't be driving anymore after your last two-three-ten car accidents.

Aunt Robin: I'm not a size Small but thank you for reminding me of my weight-gain through the form of too-tight JcPenny sweaters every year - I mean it, thank you.

Aunt Michelle: I know you're curious about my Grandpa's sex life but ask polietely in the hallway or even just slip him a good old-fashioned note - away from the dinner table conversation.

Uncle Richie: I know you were raised to see every woman as a waitress but you can get off your own ass and make yourself a drink you horse's ass.

Uncle Frankie: If I have to hear you ask when i'm getting married - I will just launch my face into the piping hot spinach and artichoke dip. I'm happy. I get drunk Fridays and Saturdays. I have a cat who is my child. My boyfriend does what he wants. We travel. We're not getting married. And I mean, what you've been engaged 3 times now and have cheated on all of them? So maybe MARRIAGE ISN'T THE RIGHT PATH. LOL - I'M KIDDING, TOTALLY KIDDING. Love you.

Sister: I know you're TOTALLY IN LOVE with your new boyfriend (the 15th one of the year) but can you refrain from making out with him on the couch - it's like watching Kids Bop Porn.

Dad: We understand it's hard for you, but if you can just not bring up the time I totalled your car twice in one year. SWALLOW THE WORDS DOWN WITH YOUR EGGNOG FOR CHRIST'S SAKE.

Mom: Can we not be so stressed out this year about cooking and cleaning that you turn into Kim Kardashian the time she was photographed from a bad angle and couldn't believe anything so horrible could ever happen to her?

Cousins from Arizona: I know it's fun and all to relive your childhood of bullying me but let's just skip the part of the night where you give me wet willies and lock me in the hall closet, okay?

Just take that into consideration. Thank you so much. I appreciate the wonderful prescense of each and every one of you in my life.

xoxo,

Ange & Billie Jean the Cat

ME

Even before birth (B.B.), I was the queen of assholes. I held my throne in my mom’s placenta. The whole time I judged the state of her organs. Was her uterine wall really wearing spring colors during the fall season? Ew. 

My resting bitch face was perfected at 9 weeks. My mouth was cast down into a grimace and my eyes spoke hints of irritation. Some refuted that it wasn’t a resting bitch face but it was an at work bitch face. When a perfect scowl developed on the sonogram my mom and dad assumed it was an error, maybe a cloud or a gas pocket. But was it, parents? Was it a gas pocket?

No, this was no mistake; this was no vegan forgetting to bring reusable bags to Whole Foods; this was the beginning of an era: the bitch era. More specifically, my bitch era (not to be confused with yours).

December had fallen at our fur lined boots. My birthday was four steps into the calendar decorated with snowflakes and candy canes. This year, my mom would probably have my party on a Saturday and she would give me invitations to give the whole class. We usually wrote the names on them the night before at the dining room table. I would not be inviting Natalie Rosetti this year. Not even if my mom told me I had to like last year. If she did I would ‘accidently’ throw her invitation into the gutter by the bus stop. No one would know and I’d tell mom that she had to go to church or something. But I’d have to tell her when she was busy, she knew my lying face too well. My smile would take over before she even had time to think about believing my lie.

Natalie was getting on my last nerve. At recess she hit me with a dodgeball ‘by accident’. I saw her out of the corner of my eye, her white shirt that said “$POILED” rippled and moved towards me. She thought about doing it for a while, I could tell. She was just jealous because my mom packed me Lunchables for lunch, while her mom packed mayo-drenched sandwiches that smelled even worse than they looked. She laughed when she threw it. I heard it; I know I did and this was it. As the textured red rubber ball impacted my cheek, I knew her ruling. UNINVITED-with no chance of parole. I held my cheek, looking for Mrs. Feldman, but she was inside the classroom.

After weeks of enduring Natalie’s loud breathing and her smell of mayo, she uninvited herself to my birthday party, really. She did this to herself. I’d even sacrifice a potential birthday present to take her down.

I returned home from school with a huff. Grandma Ellen’s car was parked by the curb in front of the house. I ran up the gray concrete steps and forced myself through the heavy navy blue door.

“Hiya, honey” Grandma said. Her hands lifted from her tea cup and drew me to her.

Her smile beamed. I knew I was her favorite. She only had my brother to choose from and he was awful.

“Do you know where your mom is today?”

“Nope” I said, looking for spare oreos in the pantry. I thought my mom bought a new package just for me.

“She’s having a baby, dear. You’re going to have a new baby sister” she said, placing her teacup on the warped wood table.

I thought my mom would have given up the idea. She already had me; what more did she need? Okay, I was there for the baby shower and I have seen pink folded onesies waiting in a corner of the spare bedroom, but still.

A sister. I did want a sister. But I wanted a twin sister. Mom stopped telling me that was impossible months ago. I needed a Mary-Kate to my Ashley Olsen. I was definitely an Ashley. The color pink had a magnetic effect on me and anyone within a five yard radius of the playground could attest that I was no tomboy.

This sister would come out like a baby, like John did. If she was anything like him, I prayed for an alien abduction or something simpler like a baby swap at the hospital.

As the milano cookie’s chocolate coated my teeth, my mind discovered something, something deeply, deeply troubling. My forehead wrinkled, “Grandma, what about my birthday party?”

She took a long sip of her tea. I almost repeated the dire question, in case she did not hear me.

“I’m sorry dear, but no party. Your mom will need her rest and my help with your new sister.”

Strike one, sister.

I wanted to scream the key phrases dad used in the car. The ones he yelled at that rollerblader moving too slowly through the crosswalk on Portion Road.

This new sister was already ruining things. I already had my birthday dress picked out. I was going to wear my hair in pigtails like Britney Spears. She was stealing my birthday and they were letting her do it.

How could I uninvite Natalie if there was no party to be invited to? She had to pay for hitting me with that dodgeball. Mary-Kate would never steal Ashley’s birthday; she would be too busy playing soccer with in the backyard to care.

“Do you want to go watch TV, honey?” She stood up, putting the cup into the filled sink and starting the faucet.

I contemplated what good the TV would do. I would not forget this. I never would let my mom forget either. I was robbed. Robbed of presents and cake and being the birthday girl. They would have a Dateline special on me this Friday. A girl who had everything taken from her.

I would not be speaking to my mom for some time. She would see. She would learn about what she had done. Dad would be my favorite parent now. I started drawing him pictures and even wrote I love you on the white computer paper he used to print out receipts and train tickets. No, that wouldn’t last long, Dad being my favorite. I’d do something terrible like use up all his computer paper he needed for work to draw pictures and he would scream into my face. I’d cry uncontrollably and run into my room and then it would be all over. I’d be a little orphan child with a red afro and red dress and no favorite parent.

Grandma hung the chunky white phone up on the wall.

“They’re coming soon!” She beamed, starting to wash the dishes piled in the sink. Mom hated when she washed the dishes because she left crumbs on the plates and the cups would taste like soap for days afterwards.

I didn’t tell Grandma not to bother because maybe she could be my new favorite parent substitute. Yes, this could work. I clapped my hands together and formed a triangle in front of my face like a fashion designer stepping back to marvel at his models.

“Honey, can you get me another washcloth from the linen closet? This one is too wet.”

I nodded. I would think more. If they were coming back soon, what could I do to really get mom back for leaving me to die, birthday-party-less and alone? I had to send a message.

I handed grandma a new towel to soak up the bubbling dish water. The clock in the living room chimed and I heard the bolts and gears work. John ran laps in the kitchen, passing again and again over the puddle forming by the sink. Grandma didn’t stop him and I was glad. Maybe he would fall and break his annoying little neck.

I looked out the window and into the backyard. Little piles of snow were melting in the late afternoon sun. Dad filled the birdfeeders up yesterday and they were already empty, even though I couldn’t see any birds. Maybe John was eating the birdseed again, weirdo.

The shed waited for me to notice it, a treasure calling to the house for me to come inside and join it for an early dinner. PERFECT. PERFECT. I resolved my plan. I would hide out in the shed and make EVERYONE think that I ran away! My stomach lifted, powered by the pure joy of a good plan.

I had to do it when Grandma wasn’t looking. She couldn’t be in on it either. She would think I was some kind of baby, hiding just to scare everyone. I could wait in there for a couple of hours. I searched for provisions in the pantry.

Grandma turned off the faucet and wiped her hands on her smock shirt. I waited with my eyebrows raised.

“Enough, John” she grumbled and moved into the living room where her crosswords were. She would be occupied by numbers and words for at least a half hour.

I opened the backdoor slowly, carefully. My motions were seamless. I was a surgeon ready to perform a life-saving procedure on a sick patient with no options left.

The shed was colder than I expected. I shut the door but I could feel the winter chill from underneath my purple parka. I sat on the lawn mower and looked at the wood floor. I should’ve brought a book out here. I looked at each line of the wood floor and counted. I wouldn’t go back until I heard sirens and cries. They had to cry for me to go back. I’d say I was kidnapped by a man with a long white beard and overalls. Mom would have a birthday party for me everyday just to make it up to me, her precious child that was almost taken from her.

I tossed a tennis ball in the air.

Maybe I should go to sleep.

Maybe I should see if they’re home yet.

I crept up and could see out of the shed’s screen window. They were sitting at the kitchen table, grandma, dad, mom, and a little blanket ball in mom’s hands. THEY HAD NO IDEA I WAS KIDNAPPED BY A SANTA CLAUS LOOK ALIKE.

I swung the door open and trudged up the deck stairs. What kind of horrible, EVIL parents didn’t know when their child was KIDNAPPED?

Nothing. I edged my big toe onto the puddle of milk spreading over the floor. The gallon jug was so light. 

I KNOW IT WASN'T FUCKING NOTHING WHY CAN'T YOU JUST BE QUIET I'M ON THE PHONE. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I WISH I COULD JUST LEAVE YOU HERE WITH YOUR MOM. 

Saturdays suck - I drew on my palm with a black pen. 

"What's wrong? Why you locked up in here?"

He wasn't bad. He didn't hit me or kick me out or make me work on a farm. He didn't desert me at my graduation or prom or national  honor society ceremony. He made me scared. He made me fearful of being yelled at even at the age of 25. He made me remember the sentence "Life's not fair". He made me a mouse. He made me happy. He made me wish I was dead. 

"Wake the fuck up." 

A flash of light hit the room that was so small she had to duck when walking in. 

Justine stood there, happy to see Rose's discomfort.

"I won't have you sleeping in here all day."

She flicked her cigarette and sent ashes onto Rose's face.

Rose raised her arms to defend her face. She brushed the ashes off and black smudge painted her skin. 

More sunlight hit her. She felt the slap of the morning and it stung her eyes.

"You're pathetic." With that, Justine walked out as fast as she came in.

Intrusive bitch.

Rose shifted under the sheets and pulled her dress from last night down past her hips. She flung the blue fabric across the room and it rested in front of the window. Dead like she wanted to be right now.

She looked around her bed for her purse. She needed something to help her get up.

She grabbed the silver chain and dragged it over.

Rose's shoulders ached.

Her outstretched arm was covered in bruises. She couldn't tell you from who or where or when. They would fade soon.

"I don't hear you moving in there!" A threat called from the hallway.

"I'm on it." Rose grumbled and unzipped the bag.

A small Ziploc fell onto her white sheets.

White on white, how beautiful. What a beautiful day for a snow shower. Rose smiled at her own joke.

By her dresser she had the perfect mirror. A long oval shape that she looked down onto while she snorted. Her black curls mingled over the white mound of coke. She lightly pushed them away. The mirror's edges were gold scripted little carvings with birds intertwined in the vines. Her father brought it back after his last tour from Germany.

She dumped out just enough for the morning. She had to make it last and have more for later tonight. She couldn't go to the party sober, that would be ridiculous and childish and something she hasn't done since going to Jen Smalley's roller rink party in second grade. Bobby Mullens grabbed Rose's butt every time he circled by. Dad saw and grabbed him by the throat. Jen Smalley's mother cried when dad threw Bobby down. That was the last roller rink party Rose went to, but Jen had them every year.

The day could begin now. She danced to the window and pushed out the screen so she could see the magnificent earth. The screen landed on the perfectly circular bush below. Justine had those bushes trimmed every Sunday at 6am just to spite Rose and wake her up from her magnificent, drugged slumber.

"Hellloooo friendsssss" she called out. Her arms outstretched and poised like a ballerina in the Nutcracker. Dad took her to see the Nutcracker a month before he died. Rose wore white stockings to his funeral.

She waited for bluebirds to stand on top her fingertips.

"Fuck it who needs you."

She turned to the wardrobe and pulled on black sweatpants and her red college shirt. Let's see what Justine would say about that.

-------

"Justine, I just don't know how you do it. All that stress at home and your face is flawless. You should see the women that come in here." Bernardo brushed her hair from over her cheeks and spun her chair to face his mirror. Bright bulbs bordered the mirror and had a buzzing sound if you listened close and turned the blow dryers off.

"Well, it takes a lot of effort not to age, Bern" she pursed her lips, "And of course I have you" she giggled.

"Yes, you'll always have me, my dear"

He danced around her chair towards his silver briefcase, full of vials and injectables all the housewives salivated over. Moving to this town was the best choice he ever made. Meeting Justine was by chance, at some gala for world peace or some bullshit. But since meeting her, he didn't have to go to Dirty Harry's for his long hours of handjobs. Pathetic, red poised dicks of the town’s closeted businessmen. Calling out for Bernardo and forgetting their wives named Betty or Patricia or something else ordinary and dull. He would take facejobs for rich cougars any day. Nothing was going to send him back to Dirty Harry's now that he had Justine.

"Now what are we doing today?" He asked, grinning into that malicious ice queen's weathering face.

"Well, you tell me Bern" she cocked her eyebrow up "you're the professional."

Bernardo felt his chest freeze under his vest. She didn't know anything you moron, keep going.

"Yes, of course! I have just the thing for you this fine day" He looked into his briefcase, fresh from Amazon.

Remember what Julio said, it's all about the confidence. These gold diggers don't know shit. Put it right where the wrinkles are, it's not rocket science, nino.

"Okay, perfect" he slided over to Justine "I have just the thing for my favorite client."

Justine smiled, showing each porcelain tooth under her red lipstick. Her smile always unnerved Bernardo. There was something so wrong about it, like a dog walking on two feet. Her long black hair rested over her silk bathrobe.

"So, what is it?" she pushed her shoulders back and clasped her hands. Her hands were the only thing on her that spoke her age. The brown spots clustered over blue veins, speaking decades of life on earth. Making people miserable no doubt.

"Well, a new recipe" he jumped up and down in his black Christian Louboutin loafers "I hear this is what JLO uses!"

"Oh YES!" The smile crept back up "You just never let me down, baby. Wait until Grace and the girls at the club see this."

"You'll have them GAGGING."

"I already do, but this will KILL THEM, darling."

Bernardo picked up the first vial. The liquid sloshed behind the glass with little bubbles rising over each other. Nice and easy, you're a pro.

He closed his eyes and inserted the tip of the needle in. Pulling the liquid up and up into the syringe. He turned to Justine, who thankfully and most ironically, had a fear of needles, so her eyes were closed so tight. Her false eyelashes twitched with anticipation. Bernardo could see the glue was still wet.

"Here we go" he pushed the needle in beneath her cornea. Pumping the liquid through.

"Next we have the cheeks."

"Mhmmmm" Justine tensed, waiting for the moments to pass and lead to her looking into the mirror and worshiping her reflection.

"Okay, mi amor, almost done."

"Bern, honey I have a question for you."

He froze in front of the bulbs. The light blinded him but he didn't turn away. He would rather be blind that be back in Dirty Harry's.

"Yes, my lovely, anything" he swallowed down and balled his fists tight.

"What do you think of Rose?"

"Rose? Your stepdaughter?"

"Yes, if you must call her that." He praised God that her eyes were still shut, so she couldn't see his obvious discomfort.

"She's pretty. I hear a lot of compliments about her at the saloon."

This was true. The other women in Justine's circle would go at great lengths to describe Rose's beauty and awe at the fact that she wasn’t scooped up by one of the rich playboys or CEOs. They also yapped about how Justine tried to compete with Rose's looks. Buying the same dresses as Rose, but more expensive. Dying her hair jet black like Rose's natural color. Applying that red lipstick Rose's lips were known to naturally appear. Justine tried everything she could to be Rose. Bernardo would never say that of course. That would land him right onto the curb and without any clients.

"Oh, compliments about Rose?" He could see her lip twitch in disgust. That was more like it, Bernardo thought. A scowl was natural.

"Yes," he thought of anything that could redeem himself "they talk, you know those women."

"What kind of talk?" With that, her eyes opened and addressed Bernardo's apparent paralysis.

He felt sweat drip into his loafers. The loafers that cost him more than last month's rent.

"Well, of her natural beauty" he gripped the vanity, looking into the drawer for anything to distract Justine, "what about we plump those lips today, what do you say?"

"Sure, yes I think the last one is wearing off."

She pouted her lips out and drew her index finger over them.

"What sort of compliments?"

He covered his sigh with a cough.

"Her lips... her cheeks... her eyes."

"Yes, that could be appealing."

He prepared the next injection fast, hopping her fear of needles would drive these questions away.

"Bern, honey" she sat up straighter and smoothed out the top of her raven dyed locks, "would you say Rose is more beautiful than me?"

The syringe went limp in his grip. Ever since childhood Bernardo feared lies, how great they could become. How they could spin and send you places you know you had no business being. Like injecting whatever he purchased online into Justine White's lips at her home saloon at 12pm on a Saturday.

"Incomparable! He cried.

He heard the buzzing of the bulbs and felt the heat on his skin.

“Well?”

“You’re asking me to compare Elizabeth Taylor with Kesha, dear.”

Justine giggled, peering into the mirror with an intense gaze, like she was reading the scripture off the reflection. Bernardo checked to make sure there was nothing written. She had a habit of reading her face for hours.

Her giggle came to a harsh stop, “Well, I hope you mean YOUNG Elizabeth Taylor.”

“Of course! Amor, how could you question your beauty?”

“I don’t know Bern, maybe I’ve been thinking too much lately.”

“Ah, relax. How bout I pour you a nice prosecco?”

Justine turned her eyes to the grandfather clock, “it is past noon.”

“Settled!” he poured fizzing champagne into the gold rimmed glasses that were waiting. The bubbles were ominous, waiting to pop and flatten the drink.

He knew this conversation would never be over, as long as Rose was so close by. Under this roof, somewhere. He never saw her during his visits and he had many visits. Mondays were eyebrows, Tuesdays were fingernails, Wednesdays were facials and massages, Thursdays were keratin hair treatments (and every second Thursday would be the dye), Fridays were fat freezing on her stomach, thighs, ass, and arms, Saturdays were injections, and Sundays, Sundays Bernardo rested in his studio apartment on 4th and Lex with James. James loved hearing about his days spent at Justine White’s, it was his personal soap opera, spilling with drama.

He lifted her glass, smiling as well as he could manage, “to you, my love.”

She drank it in, like she always did.

----------

It was too nice a day to be in her room. The dust made her sneeze. She pinched her nose, hoping a sneeze wouldn’t come.

“YES A LOVELY DAY FOR A WALK!” She shouted to the wallpaper, peeling off at the corners. It used to be a princess mural. With these gold flakes crusted in the pearly white. A princess danced in the middle of her room. Her long pink dress billowed in the nonexistent wind. She was frozen onto the wallpaper, dad said, for talking back to her parents. Only her prince could save her and he was miles away in a castle. White horses kneeled before her feet.

The moccasins were still wet from yesterday’s walk. It was drizzling yesterday, but she didn’t care. She had to go outside and run and stare down at the town from the hill on the north side of the forest. She went to that hill since dad died. She found it right after and pitied the fact that he never saw the hill she found. Or maybe he did and just didn’t tell you, her mind jabbed at her ribs sometimes.

Dad did a lot of shit without telling you. Like giving Justine the house and your room and your car and your whole fucking life.

“GEEZZZZZZ you sound like you’re a little too sober, ROSE” She yelled into the trees. She crossed her arms and felt her ribs. She liked to feel the dense bone. She liked to have proof she was alive and walking and full of bones and blood and nerves.

The sun was hidden in the tree tops but she bent her neck back to find it. The dirt smelled so whole and magical. She lowered to the ground and grabbed a fist full. The rocks and grains fell through her fingertips. Her palms were stained by the earth.

She took off into a run, kicking rocks and tossed branches. Birds wings sounded over her, the flaps beating the sky and pushing past leaves.

Pants came out of her chest. She could feel her heart bouncing back and forth under her red tshirt. And there she was, at the top of the hill where no one could see her but she could see all of them. She could see the cars in the distance rushing off to some dreaded appointment. The buildings like ant farms holding people walking up and up and up into their office cells. She saw them all but no one could see her.

She made sure to slow her breathing here. To sit down on the wet grass that would dampen her clothes. She took her shoes off and laid down, wondering what would happen if she just laid there forever. What would take me first?

Her stained palms crossed over her slowed heart.

Hot air pressed against her cheek. The warmth felt nice.

“Hello?”

The nice feeling was gone and her eyes opened and met two blue eyes.

Rose sat up quickly and brought a softball sized rock into her hands.

“Whoa, whoa. Just checking if you’re dead.” He motioned for her to drop the rock onto the grass with her imprint on it. He was ruining her place. The only place she had in the world.

“I’m alive. Your work is done.” Rose stood up and scanned his face. He looked so confused like it wasn’t normal to just lay on a hill on a Saturday morn----afternoon.

“I’m glad. I don’t see too many people out here. So I thought the worst.” He grabbed the hunter green straps of his backpack and repositioned them on his shoulders. His grey t shirt was stained with sweat around the color.

“It’s nice not to see people.” She coughed and smoothed out her pants. Dead lives clung to the fabric.

His eyes met hers again, but this time she wouldn’t jump. He wouldn’t scare her. He had a kind face and his smile felt true, like he didn’t just smile for the sake of doing it. His brown hair waved with the wind. She could tell he felt her staring. He cleared his throat and smiled again.

“Looking for solace, are you?” He looked out onto the same city she looked at everyday, “this is one of my favorite views.”

She panicked. It wasn’t her secret. She thought of the miles of city dwellers traveling to her peak for a look at what Yelp deemed “the best views in California.”

“Your view?” She pushed her shoulders back and in her mind scoured frantically over the legal books she read that one semester in Stanford “you’re on private property, so it’s not your view...Mr…”

“Stevens” he laughed “my name is Will Stevens.”

“Okay, Will.” She looked at him hard.

Dad said the sure way to get what you want is to act like it’s already yours. Look at people and be sure, Rose. Don’t second guess anything. Don’t hesitate. Stick to your story and it will be true. He was a natural born salesman, turned soldier. He got Rose anything she wanted and it came so easy for him. It would be his game.

“Well, these two acres are protected by the White National Wildlife Fund. You can google that on your little Iphone in case you don’t know what it is.” She circled around him, imagining his strong calves wilting away under her kicks. Maybe I should just push him off the peak, that would end Yelp-mania. They all would hear about the death that happened and wouldn’t dare coming here in fear of the killer the police never caught.

“I have heard of it” he brought his backpack down from his broad shoulders.

Stop looking at his bodyparts, Rose. Your happiness is on the line.

He unfolded a map and pointed on the middle section.

Anyone could just point on any spot on the map. That didn’t mean shit.

She waited, her arms crossing her chest. Shit, I didn’t put a bra on. She folded her arms tighter. I’m failing dad. Never cross your arms. Never bend your body and appear inferior.

“Well here is where we are” He circled with his finger, so sure, “and here is the protected land you just said we were in.” His finger traced a line away from their spot. Her spot.

“How old is that map?” She cocked her head to the left, “where is it printed?”

“It’s pretty old actually, it was my brother’s.” He folded the map and zippered it away into his backpack.

“Listen, I don’t want a law suit. But…” she placed her palm on the tree’s bark behind her. The trees gave her strength back “If I have to make one, I will.”

“I don’t want trouble.” He laughed, “No one else knows about this place and I intend to keep it that way.”

Relief puffed into her chest. She exhaled and hoped he didn’t see she was bending her will.

She couldn’t imagine losing her spot. The peak being captured on instagram and captioned with a quote from Wild or whatever shit the poor socialite was into at the moment. Mirages of marriage proposals, dog shit, litter, and bands of baby strolling moms looking for fitness outlets.

“Okay. I’ll look for another spot. I can see this place means a lot to you.” He retreated his steps further back. “I do hope I see you again, though.”

Her cheeks felt hot. She raised her right hand up over her skin. She would go first. Today’s trek was over anyway. She needed to shower. She nodded her head and put her moccasins back on. The ties were loose but she didn’t dare tie them now. She started walking back to the right. She would take a different path home in case he was some sort of murderer hidden behind a handsome face. There was that Craigslist killer.

“Wait” she heard his voice boom over the bird chirps, “what’s your name?”

Should I tell him my name? How many Roses are there in California? It’s not like he’ll find you again. Before she could decide on a name, her mouth took action and decided for her “Rose” she called out and broke into a run.

-----

“Are you ready bitch?” Courtney ran lipstick over her mouth. The fancy metal tube of lipstick she bought just to spite the bitchy cashier at Mac who thought she couldn’t afford it. Courtney paid her in cash. The thick bills exploded from her wallet and pressed firmly onto the glass counter. Courtney smudged the glass with the fingers, drawing lines and squiggles into the glass. “You better Windex that, sweetie” she said with a grin. Rose loved every moment of it. The red embarrassment rushing to the woman’s face. The thrill of being unpredictable. The thrill of going against someone’s conceptions of you.

“Ready, so ready” Rose zippered the side of her dress. The metal pulling together over her skin. She could feel the high she was going to get. She could feel the thoughts drift down and down into her drain.

“I fucking hate you, you know.” Ashley looked Rose up and down.

Rose shrugged and tossed her black hair over her shoulder. She could never see what other people saw. She hated the gaze. She felt helpless under eyes. “Let’s go.”

The silver chain rubbed over her shoulder bones. The cold metal felt like night. She lived for the dark nights at Bellow’s. The sticky floor. The tall tumblers of booze and too much ice. The bouncing lights and the stereo kicking in.

She felt a tap at her arm. Concerned Linda peered into her face. Something was wrong.

“Rose, don’t come back.” Linda swallowed.

“What?”

“ROSE COME ON!!!” Courtney called from the cab. Rose hoped she wouldn’t honk the cabbies’ horn. She would hear about that from Justine for weeks.

“Miss Justine hired someone to drug you. I’m sure of it.”

Rose laughed and put her keys back inside her purse, “she’s not that crazy.”

“Rose, please listen to me.”

Rose hugged Linda, “I have to get going, Linda.”

“Please!”

Rose left Linda at the welcome mat.

------

Justine heard the basement door slam. The chandelier drifted back and forth slowly. So slowly that Justine wouldn’t have seen it unless she was looking. “Thank god” she muttered to her vintage collection of Hermes dresses in front of her. She felt the cool silk of the hangers.

She walked to her dresser, aligned with small bottles of sweet and sexy smells. She raised her favorite, Lusty nights, and sprayed her wrist. She brought her wrists together and rubbed. The smell filled her with euphoria. She wore that smell the night she meant Henry.

“Fucking Henry who left me with that bitch daughter of his” she spoke to her bottles and picked up her champagne glass from Bernardo’s visit. She filled it three times since he left her. That little shit actually relayed compliments about Rose to her. How dare he come in my home and complement that cunt to her face.

“Pardon me, Miss Justine.”

Justine turned to her door where Linda, the housekeeper cowered. She gripped the molding with her hands.

Get your fat hands off of the molding, Linda. She inhaled her hatred for stouty Linda and answered in a tense “yes?”

“Miss Julie is here to see you. She has that thing you wanted.”

“Oh, yes!” Justine untied her hair from its ponytail, “tell her I’ll be right down.”

“Yes, Miss Justine.”

Linda’s feet sounded heavy even on the carpeting. I have to fire her soon. It’s too bad I can’t just have her deported like Sonia.

“Justine! Looking beautiful as EVER!” Julie called out from the foyer before Justine could even see her pathetic face. She needed that chin implant and she needed it fast.

“Oh Julie, stop it!” She rolled her eyes and clasped Julie’s clammy hands. Justine hated touching anyone. But you had to grin and bear it in this town.

Julie kissed both of Justine’s cheeks in a quick rhythm. And stood poised on the camel colored carpeting Justine had flown from France last month. The threads were to die for. It’s the little touches that count. The little touches made Justine appear in Beverly Luxury for two issues. If it wasn’t incredibly tacky she would’ve had her spread hanging in the living room, but she settled for clip outs in her jewelry box instead.

“So…” She cleared her throat and revisited Julie’s too anxious gaze “Linda said you had something for me.”

“Do I ever?” Julie motioned to the couch.

“How about we go upstairs into my husband’s study. It’s very business” Justine walked down the hall before Julie could answer. She would follow like a dog, she always did. Look at her here now, jumping at the chance to be in Justine’s good graces.

The lighting was dim in the study. Big leather chairs sat on the opponent's side of the desk, while his chair was monstrous, giving the power Justine loved and needed.

“Brandy?” Justine asked, bringing her champagne to her fuller lips “you look like a brandy drinker, my love.”

Justine knew it would put Julie in her inferior place. The place Julie belonged. Only big, bulging men with receding hairlines drank brandy out of short chode glasses. Dreaming of women they could buy between gulps.

“No thank you” Julie wilted in her chair. The leather would stick to her thighs. She should be sweating. Sweating into my husband’s coveted chairs. Justine scowled, I’ll have them cleaned by Linda tomorrow. Right before I fire her.

Julie ruffled her damaged blonde hair. Over dyed by Julio, no doubt. He wasn’t as good as Bernardo. Who knows where he learned how to dye hair.

“I found someone downtown who would do it tonight. I just have to call her once you give me the go ahead.”

Justine had thought about doing this long enough. Today was the last straw when Bernardo babbled and handed her champagne just to change the subject. No one was going to stop her. She had enough. It’s been years. Years of the gossip, the compliments from her friends, the men who dated her only asking about Rose as time went on. She would have no more of it. And who would miss Rose? Justine was her only relative left. She did the research just to make sure last weekend.

“I already told you. I’m sure.” Justine poured brandy from the decanter into the chode glass Julie belonged in. Liquid courage was what this cunt needed. Justine was so sure but Julie would be the only one preventing this from going on.

Justine was positive that Julie was desperate enough to follow her every plan. She knew Julie’s dreams of Saturday hair appointments and galas and balls and a chair on her charity, the White National Wildlife Fund. Justine made it her business to know just how weak Julie was. And boy, was she weak. Julie didn’t even have a first, second, or third husband. She had no children, no french decor, and certainly no spreads in Beverly Luxury. If Julie was lucky she would be covered in the Beverly Hills Pet of the Week.

“If you’re sure. I’ll call her now and confirm. Rose left already, right?”

“Yes.” Justine clenched her teeth together. Julie could make me break a tooth I swear to fucking god and now I get a lifetime of her following me around on my coattails.

“The girl knows who Rose is and the stuff works. It’ll be two hours tops, and she’ll be gone.” Julie dug in her fake Chanel for her phone. Frantic. The most pressure she’s ever been in, I’m sure. The fund should have a gala to save Julie from being even more pathetic, but they don’t do hopeless causes. What was the point?

“It’s me. Do it.” Justine listened to hear if there were words on the other end. She wanted to hear confidence. The voice of an achiever. Not some strung out slut that Julie found in an alley.

“Yep.” The voice returned and the dial tone sounded. That was all the girl needed.

“Now, what shall we do about you, Julie?” Justine stood up from behind the desk with her glass in her hand. She heard Julie’s heart beating, beating. She could picture beads of sweat populating under the tacky blazer Julie wore. Julie’s off-brand deodorant rushing to her defense but failing, miserably.

------

“Dance, you slut!” Courtney’s hips rolled back and forth. She bent and shook her hair, thrashing the golden mane with the music.

Rose closed her eyes. The high was just hitting her. She felt her limbs tingle. Her eyes couldn’t focus on anything. The lights formed lines over the mass of people crowded on the dancefloor. The drink in her hand kept slipping down, longing to crash onto the floor.

She felt a sudden rush. A beckoning need to jump and swing and tear and crash. She wanted to take her dress off. She wanted to stand naked and unseen. She wanted to lay on the floor and be stepped and kicked and blended into the black tile. Rose jumped and held Courtney’s hands. The beat made her move with the sea of sweating bodies. Their arms waving and their elbows piercing the sides of their neighbors. The lights colored in her skin, doodling and highlighting her freckles. She stared at her illuminated hands and longed for the brightness.

“MORE DRINKS” Courtney grabbed her by the forearm and pulled. Rose felt weightless and drifted into bodies, unknowing that they were even touched.

Rose waited behind Courtney. Her hips still moving like they never left the space. She shifted in her heels. The tight straps would leave red lines over her snow skin. A map of her nights with blisters and bruises and cuts and thirst.

She looked forward at Courtney, talking to some tall blonde girl with a glittering gold dress. The light played with the glitter, bouncing over her and then back across like a piano.

“Rose, this is Amanda” Courtney’s hands held Amanda’s shoulders. Amanda didn’t look happy to be touched. She didn’t look fucked up at all. She sipped her vodka soda through a small black straw.

“Hi” Rose said, swallowing and aching for her next drink.

“Amanda has some friends she wants us to meet” Courtney screamed over the bass and handed Rose her drink. A drink she definitely would never pay her own money for.

Before Rose could answer they were traveling far from the masses with their drinks. Rose drifted. She was in a tunnel. A rat in a tunnel looking for anything to feed on. Her heels moved without her and the back door of the club opened, releasing them into the night. It must’ve been late. The line was gone and Boomer wasn’t checking for ID.

“My friends have a ride, if you’re down.” Amanda jingled keys in her hand and left the glass on the dumpster’s cover.

“We’re always down.” Courtney answered for both of them. She always did that.

Amanda nodded and started walking.

---

The car was in the back parking lot. The streetlights avoided the car, concentrating on the sidewalk and the dumpster they just left. An Audi. Rose knew Courtney was excited. She gripped Rose’s hand and giggled.

Amanda opened the door for them without saying a word.

Two men were waiting. One in the driver’s seat, one in the back seat. All Rose could see were his big hands and his dress shoes. No one wore dress shoes to the club. His hands grabbed Courtney and pulled her closer.

“Amanda, got some lookers huh?”

Amanda was gone. Rose couldn’t see her glittering gold. She couldn’t see anything. The car started and crept into motion.

“Now girls, we’re about to have some fun.”

The man in the driver's seat turned around. Rose could see his faced, a thin triangle of light from the dashboard showed his grin.

They were heading to the parkway. Rose looked to Courtney. She was cuddled next to the man in the seat. She wouldn’t be paying attention to Rose now.

“Where are we going?” Rose’s voice felt like clumps of dirt. She felt a sickness run over her.

“You’ll see” the driver turned on his blinker and merged onto the bare parkway.

They past more and more green street signs, designating sleeping towns and unlit homes. She felt herself drifting into the seat. “Take some blow, honey. It’ll make you feel better” Courtney’s suitor lifted a vial to her nose. Courtney took some before her. She slumped back and smiled, nodding for Rose to do it too.

Rose took the vial into her own hands. She dabbed it into her nose and inhaled. Whatever was going to happen tonight, she needed something. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe they would let Rose stay at their place. Maybe she wouldn’t have to go home. Maybe she never had to see Justine again.

She turned to the window. The power locks jumped into the locked position. “Safety is our priority” the driver laughed and went on. He turned the jazz music up and beat the steering wheel with his hands.

Rose made out the sign for White National Park. 3 miles.

The trees could be the same people from the club. They clustered and danced in the wind that Rose couldn’t feel on her own. She wanted to feel the wind. She wanted to stand up with them.

Rose looked at Courtney. Courtney’s head laid on the man’s suit shoulder. She could see a stream of blood fall from Courtney’s nose. Her eyes were wide. They weren’t looking at anything. Rose waved her hands slowly, and reached out. The man was busy with his phone. He shook his head. Courtney didn’t move from his shoulder. Rose held her mouth. Her chapped lips could cut her palm. Two men.

She touched the silver lock. The car kept drifting. She felt panic fall down like a blanket over her bare shoulders. In her bag, she remembered the pepper spray she found in Justine’s car. She took it in her purse in case drug dealers tried anything. Courtney and her dealt with weird characters regularly. The navy blue can with red letters she swore she didn’t need.

The man next to Courtney spoke “Yo, we need to hurry this up. Simon’s got something for us to do.”

The car sped down the empty road. Rose’s hands searched for the bag at her feet. She moved slow, inching like the caterpillars she let walk across her arms while she laid on her hill. The can was heavy and she could hear the liquid hit the metal. She held down and aimed for his eyes. The eyes closest to her. He cursed and grabbed his head by his hands, dropping the phone. She aimed quick for the driver and pulled the door handle. She felt her body be taken by the speed.

Rolling, rolling, rolling. The asphalt felt like nothing against her. She was in the leaves. She was in the grass. She was gone. She stood too quickly and hurdled over the divider. The trees welcomed her. She kept running and never turned. Branches flung, trying to grab her and pull her closer and closer in.

She laid at the center of the clearing. Beneath the edge of a mossy log. She couldn’t hear anyone or anything. She listened, put her ear to the floor of the woods.

She felt warm liquid drip from her nose and into her mouth. Her eyes rolled back into her skull and her body went limp.

------

“Hello?” hands grabbed her shoulders and shook “hello?”

Her eyes opened and closed.

She felt her body lifted from the leaves. Her feet dangled down over the grasp.

“Hello?” more hands grabbed her shoulders this time.

She couldn’t open her eyes.

More and more “hello’s” filled her ears.

She looked up. A small room with wooden walls that looked like they grew there along with the picture frames and momentos. Rose opened her eyes wider, looking for anything to recognize in the room. The fleece blankets around her covered a red flannel shirt and pants that were too big on her body.

Rose tried to stand. The boards under her feet groaned in unison.

Anxious footsteps came out from a creaking door. She met a white bearded face. Small eyes danced behind wiry silver frame glasses. He stood over Rose with his baseball hat in his hands, wringing the blue hat out like it was full of water. He was wide and wearing faded overalls over the same shirt Rose wore. She thought quickly about him undressing her and had to run. She had to run.

She tried to move past him and to the door.

“NO NO NO” He held her back, “You need rest now. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here.”

Pain ran from her feet, over her stomach, and stayed in her arms. Her hands were bandaged and dried blood dotted the gauze. Her knees felt weak and she sat back down on the bed. If he bandaged me he must be good.

“Hungry?” He walked to the nightstand and brought a bowl before her. The spoon drifted into the red soup, falling closer to the middle.

She nodded.

Knocks sounded at the door. Quick, impatient knocking.

“Will you stop it!” He called out.

“We just want to know if she’s okay.”

“She’s fine you idiots, now get ready for work.”

Rose grinned. He had the same way of yelling her father did. Stern, but you could tell there was kindness under. She missed his yells for school and the bus and for coming home too late. She wanted to bury herself under the sound.

“Stay as long as you like. We’re heading out soon” he took the empty bowl and walked backwards to the door, “I can trust you won’t steal anything?”

“Thank you, I won’t” Rose laid her head back.

“Tell her we hope she’s feeling better” More yells crept from the open door.

“Let her be now.”

The door shut and Rose felt safe. She drifted back into the dark of her shut eyelids.

---

“Miss?” She opened her eyes and saw a sea of faces. Concerned and scared faces, maybe even more scared than she was. They looked so similar. Old men with long beards and short beards, glasses, and flannel, and kind eyes.

She struggled to sit up. The bandages pulled at her skin when she moved. Everything throbbed. She could use a pick me up. She looked around the room and saw her bag hanging on a small wooden chair.

“Hello” she smiled. The smile made her head ache.

“Now you’ve done it! Now she’s hurt again!”

The man from before stood up in front of the rest.

“Let her be now.”

“I’m okay really, thank you.” She longed for her bag and the pills inside. They would think she was a druggie. No one trusts druggies. She had to wait.

“Water?”

One of the men lifted water to her lips. It felt as good as the drugs might. Nothing would feel as good as the oxy and some coke. She adjusted her body and the pillows under her.

“Thank you, you all are too kind.”

“So, what’s your story?” One called out, rolling up his blue sleeves and crossing his arms.

What is my story? She thought of what felt like weeks before. The club. The men. Courtney. Oh god Courtney. Courtney was definitely gone. Her only friend. She could see the car door hanging open and her body crashing into the forest.

“I don’t really remember” she lied. What if they knew how fucked up I was? They would never let me stay and I can’t go back home. I should’ve fucking listened to Linda.

“We’re having dinner if you want to try to walk.” Dozens of arms rushed to her side. Waiting for her to grab and hoist herself up.

----

“What the fuck do you mean, she escaped? It was a goddamn CAR and she was FUCKING HIGH YOU IDIOTS.” Justine slammed her fists onto her vanity. The mirror waved back and forth, threatening to crash.

“She just did” Julie didn’t dare enter her room, she knew she was finished, “she has to be dead though, she flew out of the car and who knows where she ended up.”

“Did they try running after her? Where did she jump?” Justine hoped the little bitch was dead. She longed to see her lying in a ditch being found by some jogger.

“Yes they know the spot” Julie hugged herself, a weird little tic she had that pissed Justine off even more than her presence, “a cop showed up so they had to duck out. They had her friend in the backseat.”

“Show me where.” Justine knew she had to finish this herself. How could she have thought sniveling little Julie with absolutely no style or smarts could pull this off? “Our deal is finished unless you show me the spot.”

Justine sat at her vanity. Thinking through possible ways she could kill Rose if she wasn’t already dead. The thoughts thrilled her. She was more excited than the day Birkin presented her with their rose gold, limited edition bag. The other women in her circle could only dream of being on the Birkin waiting list. But there Justine was, holding the bag like it was yesterday’s newspaper in her hands.

--------

“So, you really don’t remember anything?” Paul passed her a plate of diced potatoes. Butter dripped over the crevices.

“Nothing.” Rose scooped more chicken onto her potatoes. Dad’s cooking came in handy. She added green beans with mushroom. Rose felt bad lying to them. They helped her with everything. They made her feel so welcome. More welcome than in her own home.

The thought of leaving made her sick, so she pushed the thoughts aside with the bowls and filled saucers.

“I can tell you what I saw, if that would help” Harry quieted the rest of the table. They were in the dining room, to the left of the bedroom Rose slept in. The table looked like one of those vintage pieces middle-aged snobs like Justine couldn’t appreciate. It could’ve been carved from a tree outside, Rose wouldn’t put it past them.

The clatter stopped and the other men waited for Harry to go on. He was one of the older men in their group. They owned a wood chopping business and traveled from site to site, helping developers chop where they needed. Rose wondered if they felt guilty, being so buried in nature when they were destroying it during the 9 to 5. She never asked. That would be rude of her to judge. She had nothing to her name but the purse and red dress she came in. Rose liked it, being without anything.

“I was just heading to work on our normal path. The one that cuts through the gorge. And I saw silver. Sun hit this little silver thing and beamed down. I thought it mightve been a bike or something someone dumped.”

“But it was you!” Paul chimed in. He always wanted to do that, take the tension away. Rose learned when they tried to get her to walk earlier in the week. She couldn’t stand yet. She would’ve gotten her bag and her stash if she could stand. They never let her alone once she could. They planned dinners, played her their favorite music, watched the news with her. She felt like they knew and were trying to distract her from her purse, for her own good.

“It was. You were torn up pretty badly. You had so many gashes and scrapes. You wouldn’t move.” Harry cleared his throat, “I thought you were dead but I heard your little heart. Your head just bobbed back and I knew I couldn’t leave you.”

Rose looked down at her arms, healing slowly. She wanted to see under the bandages. She wanted her hurt to be real. She didn’t deserve Paul and Harry and Jim and Ed and Will and Steve and Ted. They were good men.

“I carried you back here and bandaged you up. You slept for a couple hours and then begged me not to call the cops or tell anyone you were here.” He looked curiously at Rose but she was focused on her arms.

“So, you were our secret guest the last week.”

“Thank you for everything.”

“You’ll tell us when you’re ready.” Harry said, “pass the gravy, Ted.”

They nodded their heads and the clatter resumed as if it never stopped. Rose couldn’t tell them because she didn’t know herself. What could she say? I followed a girl to an Audi for drugs but oh wait, my step mother really set it up so men would kidnap and drug me? I couldn’t say that. They would call the cops.

Figure something soon, then.

Rose lost her appetite but kept eating just to put the men at ease.

“How about we take a trip outside tomorrow?” Bill said, “I’ve been dying to show ya our garden.”

-----

The music blared and Rose could see the speakers jump like excited little terriers ready to go outside. She felt the hair at the back of her neck lift and goosebumps spread.

“Come on Rose, let’s get fucked up!” Courtney cried in the middle of the sea. The dancers pushed her. Hands covered her face and pressed her down. Courtney’s arms frantically dug out from the strange bodies.

Rose ran towards them and tripped. She was stuck among the littered glasses and bent straws and stray ice. She pulled herself up but they took turns pushing her back down. They laughed and laughed as she struggled. “Courtney!!” Rose screamed, digging her nails into the arms of the sea. They laughed louder and slapped her down.

“Who’s Courtney?”

Rose saw Bill standing in her doorway with a new pile of clothes for today. He held a white porcelain coffee cup in his left hand. The steam rose up and disappeared.

“No one, sorry it must’ve been a nightmare.”

Bill laid the clothes down at the foot of her bed.

“You gonna be okay?” He wouldn’t leave until she said yes, so she did and he left for her to change.

Their side of the preserve was denser. The trees spread around and circled the path. Dipping hills lead to smaller clearings. She could spot a couple deer, standing in the brush. They were motionless and regal. Then they ran together, leaving Rose alone in the clearing. She couldn’t see them any longer and turned back to find Bill. She could see the garden now.

Something told her to keep walking. The forest pulled her through more trees and over more mounds. She heard water trickling ahead. She ducked under and outlying branch and saw the lake.

Birds left the trees and moved on. Tracing the same path as the deer. It was silent, just the trickling water and Rose. She didn’t know how far her walk took her or if the guys would be worried. Of course they would worry. She was their wounded bird.

Rose heard the click of metal and steps coming toward her. She turned to see and there she was. Justine stood by the clearing with her father’s gun in her hands. Justine smiled and waved. Her finger twitched on the trigger. Rose felt a pierce hit her chest and fell back into the lake. Her eyes closed and she let herself drift back and back into the cool water.

Another round went off. She waded farther out and felt herself being released.

“Who do you like?” Ross flicked the blinker on with his cut hand. He had clusters of paper cuts from sorting the mail. In between the cuts were ink smudges from people’s carelessly-written addresses. The bill address handwriting was always pissy - curt, cutting e’s and pointy y’s.

“I like you.” I looked into the bag to make sure there were no fuck ups. You had to make sure before you got onto a residential street, or else Ross wouldn’t turn back. Then I’d sulk about it and he would probably yell “You really want me to turn around for something that cost 2 bucks?!” And I’d whisper “no” into the car’s window pane and he would just turn around anyway, doing an angered yet careful 3 point turn.

“I hope you like me. We’ve been dating 5 years.”

Everything was in the bag. I stole a french fry from his order, then two more.

“I like my mom too and Vixen.”

“Your mom and your dog, wow.”

“Want a fry?” I shoved one greasy fry into his beard, missing his mouth by a couple inches.

“You’re just not a person who likes people, and that’s okay.”

He grabbed his own fries at the red light.

“I should’ve got a baja blast.”

“Want me to go back?”

“No.” I smiled extra wide to appear convincing.

You see, it’s not a big deal to not like other people. My way is strong dislike or indifference at first. Then, naturally you can prove me right or prove me wrong. What’s so bad about that?

I’m not gonna run around the streets of Manhattan smiling and hugging people. You get shoved inside an ambulance for that business. They would tie my tired ass to a stretcher; smiling wildly and reaching my arms out just for a nice old-fashioned hug? Restraints. Heavy restraints. And I wouldn’t blame them. Being too nice warrants some uneasiness in people. “Here, I baked you a pie, neighbor” Who the fuck would eat that pie?

You have to warm up to people first before you start accepting pies. You shouldn’t have too much gusto in human beings too soon, that’s how you end up poisoned (Snow White, dumb bitch #1) or chained in Buffalo Bill’s basement passing a basket of lotion in and out of the well you live in now because you were TOO NICE to Bill.

Listen, you’re not Maria Menounos. No one is paying you a whopping $500,000 per smile. No one probably will notice if you smile. I’m not kidding. No one takes notes. Only smile when you feel like it for God’s sake. Be bitter, it’s more fun. Does anyone want to be friends with Maria Menounos? Wouldn’t you rather be friends with the Joan Rivers of the world (RIP Joan). Side note: is Maria Menounos really famous enough to warrant her own spellcheck for her last name?

I’ve ranted about a lot of people in my time. I carry grudges like the inner 102 year old Italian woman I am. I forget nothing. Second grade up until now, I’ve been taking notes about the people who have wronged me, pissed me off, or just annoyed me without doing anything, really.

Anderson, Mrs.

Third grade was my unraveling. The once perfect image I had of myself with curly brown hair, and a perfectly fine smile besides one tooth, was turned over and scribbled on by someone’s good for nothing younger brother. Mrs. Anderson was my teacher.

The same Mrs. Anderson that marveled in making girls and boys sob into their trapper keeper folders. She breathed in deep and closed her eyes, relishing in the sounds of sadness. Some said that her power grew from the tears. Her silver hair would smooth down and curl under at the ends.

No student had seen Mrs. Anderson smile, but there had been rumors in the cafeteria amongst our chocolate pudding packs, rumors that she only breaks her smile out for dire occasions---like death or when a Billy fell on his face into his tray of mashed potatoes in the cafeteria. Anderson was the most feared teacher in this side of town. Parents knew her name from when they went to school and more importantly, they knew and understood when their child screamed at the sight of her name: neatly typed on their class schedules in August. They consoled their child best they could, rubbed their shoulders and offered them a Yoohoo, but they knew it wouldn’t help. A year of torture was before their child, a year that would seem to be a decade.

Calls were made in fury to the Principal’s office, Mothers begged, frowning until their lipstick stuck to their chin, to switch their child from Anderson’s class, but the Principal was prepared, she wouldn’t hear of it---unless she was offered something she couldn’t refuse---like a Coach pocketbook fresh from the Outlets---but that could only work within the first hour of calls.

It didn’t work for my mother. I knew it would be no use. Mom was like me, once told something like “your groceries come out to 1,000 dollars--even though you bought pizza bagels” she accepted it. I did the same. I never saw a point in fighting for something---I never wanted it badly enough---except for NOW. NOW IT WOULD HAVE BEEN USEFUL, MOM.

And so, I was sent to Mrs. Anderson’s classroom on the first day of school.

I spent the morning standing in the way of the school bus’s doors so they wouldn’t close. Mom pried my fingers from the side of the bus, then I would find a new spot to hold onto, and so on. She was getting mad. She was only this mad when I put a tea kettle in the microwave and it blew up. But not even that mad, she said it was okay and I didn’t know it would happen. Now she was not saying it was okay, her mouth and eyebrows were pressed into hard lines, not moving.

“Ange, come on, enough---you have to go.”

“Don’t make me, please, I can stay and I’ll be quiet--you won’t even know I’m home.”

“You have to go.”

“I think I’m sick--I might have a stomach bug, Mom.”

“You are such an awful liar.”

“I can’t go--I can’t!”

“Don’t make me call your Father.”

My eyes got wide. Dad wouldn’t even let me hang onto the bus, he would throw me in and shut the door behind me.

Time slowed. My grip on the bus slackened.

Ester, the bus driver honked the horn. She wasn’t as mad as Mom. Ester knew who I had for a teacher without me even telling her.

“Get on the bus or I’ll call your Father.”

“Please, Mom” those were my last words before boarding the snot-infested bus to third grade. I held my lunchbox close to my chest. Not even a Lunchable and an extra cookie would save me. I was going down.

My desk’s cold surface made goose bumps form on my arms. Michael Maydolo’s sneakers touched mine. He made me want to vomit my Eggo waffles from breakfast that mom made me eat. I wanted pancakes but she didn’t care---and that was BEFORE I was hanging on the bus.

I dreaded doing it, but I looked up at Maydolo the Mayonnaise head. I hated mayonnaise. He wiped his runny nose with his red and blue striped shirt. Why can’t Justin like me instead of Maydolo the Mayonnaise head. WHY? His head reminded me of a watermelon, but not in a good, summery way. He didn’t speak. He never spoke unless a teacher forced him to during her lessons.

He burped.

I kept staring with my top lip pressed to the bottom of my nose. My forehead was carrying worry in the little lines that showed up.

Another burp.

I gave up.

To my right was Justin, the Justin Timberlake of third grade. Everything about him was cute. His puffy blue winter jacket, the way he sat in his desk all the way back in his seat, the way he carried his books when he walked: resting on the side of his leg. He would never carry his books in his hands pressed against his chest like Michael would.

“Angeline,” a hissing voice called from the front of the classroom.

I looked up into a smileless face.

“present” my quivering lips managed.

She went on, not affected by my fear---she was used to it.

“Ashley..”

No answer.

“Ashley? Ashley Timons?”

Still no answer.

She gripped her red pen, holding it up onto the paper.

“Last chance, Ashley.”

A threat. If Ashley didn’t answer now, she would suffer for the whole year. Mrs. Anderson would only see her as the girl that didn’t answer her on the first day of third grade.

My head turned left and right, searching for Ashley in the classroom. I found her in the right corner, her head rested on her fist and her eyes were closed. Oh, Ashley you are in trouble. Pamela whispered something in Ashley’s ear to wake her up. What were you waiting for Pamela? Gosh.

“I’m here!” Ashley called out, her eyes screaming.

Anderson’s pen was halfway through Ashley’s name when Ashley called out.

She looked up, disturbed. You could tell her teeth were clanking against each other behind her lips. My mom made the same face when my brother got in trouble at school for hitting Breanna on the bus.

“Ashley, so nice of you to join us.”

Anyone with a brain could tell that Mrs. Anderson really didn’t think it was nice.

“I’m...” Ashley attempted.

“Now if you’re having trouble staying awake---let’s move you to the front of the classroom, right in the front row next to my desk.”

Her expression never changed, the same smileless face stared at Ashley, waiting for her to move.

“Should I move now?”

The red pen wobbled in her hand, behind her knuckles.

“Now.”

Ashley was exiled to the front of the room. She was lost. Anyone who talked to her would face the wrath. My glossy kitten notebook was all I had.

----

Mom never asked how school went and I never told her. She did make fresh cookies for me, they waited on the counter under tin foil.

Everyday, Ester would try to make me smile. She even tried those knock-knock jokes from the newspaper that usually worked. I couldn’t smile.

----

“Angeline..” a frosty voice called from in front of me.

Fudge. Fudge. Fudge. My eyes opened so wide they began to feel dry.

“Are you with us?”

I pictured myself as an alien, lime green skin and a metallic silver dress. A small red mouth that said “No, Mrs. Anderbitch, I’m on another planet.” My mighty fist would knock her purple lipstick off. I’d have to be on another planet to do such a thing. Her small, black eyes squinted. She knew what I was thinking. I blinked hard in vain, hoping it would erase my memory.

“GUILTY” a booming voice called out in my mind.

“Yes, I’m sorry” I said, rearranging my notebooks to look busy.

“So you say, now since I know you were paying attention, what is 16 divided by 4?”

A smile crept across her face, the first smile I saw come from her lips and I wished I never had wondered what it looked like.

I gripped my Barbie canteen in front of me. Barbie please tell me the answer. Her sparkling blue eyes had no answer. Of course, why would you help me? I had no time to turn to the black Scottie dogs on my red sweater. My cheeks grew a threatening shade of Santa Claus red.

“I’m not sure” I whispered.

“What was that?” she called back, intrigued by the mouse I was becoming. She sat on her long black desk, her legs crossed and poised, waiting for me to crumble. I was a warning---don’t be like Angeline, because I will fill you with terror.

Justin is going to think I’m not smart enough to marry. I didn’t dare look his way. I saw his hands flex on his desk.

I gripped my throat, trying to pretend I had laryngitis.

“I’m waiting....” her fingers drummed against the desk. Long, sharp fingers that would find joy in popping a child’s balloon at the circus. She was definitely a balloon popper. Her gray hair always precise and smoothed down to her shoulders. Her lips always were purple.

Michael the Mayonnaise head leaned closed to my ear. His warm, disgusting breath blew my hair back, “Four” he whispered quickly. His dirty hand covered his mouth so she wouldn’t see from the front of the room.

“Um,” I looked up, hoping Michael was right. I wouldn’t thank him unless it was right.I knew plenty of numbers to shout out too, but I wasn’t going to be wrong in front of EVERYONE.

“Four” I said, that number ate the space of the classroom and appeared in bold, next to her wrinkling face.

“You’re right” she said, her smile disappeared, leaving that still thin line where it had always been.

She turned her attention to her next victim, Stephanie with her high ponytail. She always sat up so straight in her chair--I bet her doctor didn’t say she had scoliosis.

After class I waited in my seat. My hands shook again. I was at her mercy: the evil Snow Queen of Chippewa Elementary School. In she walked, and every click of her beige, Grandma high-heels made me sink farther down into my seat. Mrs. Anderson finally reached me.

“Angeline, you’re going to have to be placed in remedial Mathematics, you don’t seem to be catching up. I will talk to your parents this afternoon about the matter.”

“Okay” I said, looking down into the beige, laminated desk. Spotlights from overhead formed spheres on its surface.

“You may go.” She stood up and pointed to the door covered in paper apple cut outs.

Apples.

What student ever gave Mrs. Peeface an apple?

I nodded and stood up from my seat. I was defeated. I walked to the bus and kicked small asphalt chunks--picturing they were her tiny, raisin head. I saw her face when I closed my eyes: the wrinkles stretching across her cheeks.

After that day came and went, Mrs. Anderson took to calling on me more and more. She would chuckle at my pathetic broken answers and red cheeks.

“Angeline can you read this passage for us?”

Icicles ran over my body. I turned away from Justin. I had been staring at him for the last five minutes, or the whole day, I couldn’t remember just like Dad couldn’t remember if he just had one cupcake or five when Mom asked him. My throat quivered, shifting up and down, a broken faucet.

She waited at the front of the room. Snow fell in the window pane. I could see the playground with no children from over her head. The red monkey bars where I finally could climb across and back without any help. I needed help now. I couldn’t pretend to be a dummy and have Michael read for me while I moved my lips, could I?

“Angeline. Can you read it? Yes or no?”

I pinched my arm, angered at my own fear. A thin red line formed when I lifted my fingers from the spot. I smoothed out the skin and faced the front of the room. I didn’t even know what page we were on. I turned left and right. Justin was doodling normally adorable pictures of dragons in his textbook. Mayonnaise head looked back at me and mouthed 15. I could kiss him but he was gross so I didn’t. I smiled. I was ten pages behind, god.

“Angeline? Hello?”

Our eyes met. I couldn’t shift mine downwards. Her eyes held mine, ripping them from their sockets.

“I can read it.”

“Well then go” her arms crossed against her chest, rippling her brown, lifeless turtleneck.

My voice began, “Wendy turned the sink off and met her friend, Sally in the parlor....”

“Louder. How can anyone hear you? You’re whispering.”

“Sorry” my voice grew to unnatural octaves “IN THE PARLOR THEY MET OLD MISTER JONES WHO HAD THE BOOK THEY HAD BEEN LOOKING FOR.”

“Are you mocking me?”

I looked up from the book, holding my finger down at the exact spot I stopped, just in case I got the urge to stare at Justin for a few minutes.

“No, you said louder” I whispered, slumping down over the paper book.

“I don’t like your attitude. Get to the front of the room. You’ll be sitting next to my desk. Ashley get up and take Angeline’s seat.”

That was it. I was sentenced to exile. Justin would be four rows behind me, impossible to stare out without being noticed. Mom is going to kill me. AND SHE WAS ALMOST GIVING IN TO GETTING US A DOG! Dad might really kill me. Tears collected in the corners of my eyes. I shut my mouth tight and stopped breathing hoping that would take them away. I lifted my pencil box and textbook, then my backpack from the floor.

“Today, Angeline.”

It wouldn’t do anything if she noticed my tears. She was used to tears. Children’s tears gave her power. I wanted to see her cry. I settled in my seat and began what was the longest year of my childhood.

I'm not really sure if this is much of a secret to anyone else in my life but I just found out I have no idea what I'm doing. I can't even go food shopping without second guessing myself and putting canned corn or fucking mozzarella back in its place. Then, I'll go back and find it right where I left it and put it in the cart. I'll make it to the checkout and now force myself to place all the items on the conveyor. I keep everything on the belt but it's HARD. I'll be judged for putting things back among the candy bars and 5 hour energy shots where they don't belong. Cashiers will roll their eyes and middle aged shoppers will shake their heads. All in unison: DISAPPROVAL. 

Again, I never have any idea what I'm doing.

I quit my new job as a Project Manager after a month. I always thought "yeah, I'm doing this and it'll be so great and I'll be able to get another job like that" but not so much. I'm fucking living on Indeed changing my direction every other day. 

Maybe today I'll be a 

Nurse

Dog walker

Communications Associate

Consultant

Banker

Farmer

WHAT THE FUCK?

No idea at all.

All I know is it's embarrassing - not knowing what you want to do or where you want to go or if you should buy that pound of fresh mozzarella for $7.15. Is it worth seven bucks for cheese?

Up until now at 25 years old, I never second-guessed anything because I knew if I did I would disappoint my parents and be one of those people who wasted their degrees. The people your grandparents relay information about in between pasta servings "that Jill, she went to school for 4 years and now wants to be a vegetable farmer, can you believe it? Her POOR parents!"

I didn't want to be Jill, so I lied and pretended everything was okay and marketing is great and so is life. Everything is awesome! Until it wasn't awesome and I cried on the way to work and on the train and hoped no one was looking. I invested in huge sunglasses and Kleenex and tried my best to look normal. I looked at train tracks too long and wondered about them too much.

It'll be one month on Monday since I quit my job. 

One month of 'finding myself'. I didn't really find anything even with all that time. I've been on interviews. I've put on stockings. I've printed resumes and proposals and plans. I've done the research. I answer questions impressing even myself. But no job. I'm upset but also relieved?

I don't really know anything.

There are two droplet-shaped bushes bordering the driveway. The bush on the right is caved in from my fall. I laid there for a while with my boots swinging back and forth over the curb with my initials carved in it. I carved with my finger into the cement when the construction workers' back was turned. Okay he was driving away. 

The lawn is littered with feel good knick knacks only a mom can buy in Wal-Mart's desperate garden section. The red-hatted gnome at the stoop has a chopped off hand - casualty unreported but mom is seeking justice in the form of Hammurabi's code. 

Squirrels made the lonely tree in the front yard home. I know not from firsthand experience but from my dad's urgent reports. LOOK AT THEM. BABY SQUIRRELS IN THE TREE, ANGE. My milk pours over the pink porcelain bowl and onto the table, creeping through the wood's grain. Squirrels slept in our attic last winter and he wasn't as happy.

I grasp the black iron railing leading downstairs. Mom always repeats the tale that I pushed my brother down the stairs when I was six. His legs luckily caught the railing. He hung just above the tipping point. Any kid tries to murder their brother. I wanted to take it back right after my hands left his polo shirt. 

Groaning creeks follow your footsteps downstairs. You have to look down for the laundry tossed overhead. Tshirts and bundled socks. FOLD THE TOWELS WHILE YOU'RE DOWN THERE.

More milk slides out and onto my hands. The white color is lost on impact. 

OKKKKAYYY ALREADY GOD.

I breathe in.

6 hours until mom gets home.

He's listening for my footsteps so I'm forced to fold those scratchy blue towels with bleach age spots. With my eyes closed, I put the wad of towels over my head. Picturing myself drowning in a sea of fresh cotton linens, the newest Martha Stewart line from Khols. 

Good enough.

THESE FUCKING NEIGHBORS PLAYING BASKETBALL ON A MONDAY MORNIN AT 9AM ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME.

I know by now no response is required.

The laptop screen sheds light on the wood paneled walls. Some of the edges are wider with black creases spreading and spreading. I wrote song lyrics on the panels in Sharpie 10 summers ago. Hilary Duff was a hit. Slanted heart shapes wishing for more.

The futon cries out for help as I sit down. I grab the edges of a washed out comforter. Ink stains and parting threads. The blue feels so tired. I turn on the Today show.

ARE YOU MAKING YOUR MOM DINNER OR SHOULD I JUST DO EVERYTHING.

I can't see him but I hear his head craning over the railing, facing the bottom of the steps with socks and tshirts and a pillowcase. 

YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. The words could stab the walls and the towels and the socks and tshirts.