The Home Depot(NF)

I was walking into wal*mart today.  As I passed the garden center the smell of fertilizer, freshly water plants and humidity in the air reminded me of my days working at The Home Depot.

I always enjoyed summers the most while working as a cashier.  The garden center would fill with people eager to get started on sprucing up their lawns and various gardening projects.  The Vegas heat was brutal but it was a fun environment with happy customers and the open air. 

Working as a cashier in the garden center provided the most freedom.  We’d self administer our breaks and lunches.  The outside lot attendants would often hide behind the swamp cooler to escape from the sun.  Cute guys to chat with were an added bonus. 

 There was a watering hose that we used to water the plants on display in the front of the store.  Once I saw a lot attendant turn the hose upside down and spray himself under the falling water.  All too tempted by the idea of a cold shower in the hot, hot sun; I waited until he left and did the same thing.  The falling streams of cold water were such a temporary relief from the heat. 

Seemed like a good idea at the time but ended with me fully clothed, wet and sticky for most of my shift.   The answer to this dilemma, well get wetter of course!   It eventually became routine.  The lot attendants and I would take turns soaking each other while playing with the outside garden hose. 

After one of our many soaking sessions we’d duck behind the air of the swap cooler to feel the breeze on our wet clothes.  But sadly our summers had to eventually come to an end and we’d go back to business as usual. 

My usual job was working returns on the close shift.  While it didn’t allow me to have much of a personal life aside from my days off; I rather enjoyed the people I got to work around. 

To date, my store manager from my time at The Home Depot was the sexiest manager I’ve had the pleasure of working for.  At the end of my shift I’d have to take defective material to the receiving department as part of my closing tasks.  He was always willing to help and I was able to enjoy a few private moments with him.  At 19 a simple hello from him would make me blush.   I recall once after closing he walked me back to my department as we talked.  I hung on his every word not paying attention to where I was walking.  I was headed straight for two windows on large carts; by the path I was taking I might have barely grazed them.  Suddenly my manager grabs my hip with his left hand and pulls me close to him.  I can feel the length of his fingers grabbing my side, his breath on my cheek and his palm so close to my bottom.  I was so taken aback by this I don’t realize my head is resting on his chest.  He says quietly, “You have to be careful with those, the edges are sharp, I didn’t want you to cut yourself.”    A few moments later we reach my department. “I’ll get those windows out of your way,” he adds with a smile.  Then he releases me.  

Fair-old poetry(F)

Webster’s dictionary told me fair means

Free from favor; just; what is right and proper

And I said, “I knew it!”

So now I have my case

See my mommy’s a lawyer

So I’ve heard that a million times over

So it’s now my turn

To take my teacher to trial

I’ll build my case

It’s time to get started

I’ll interview the boy with the smelly shoes

And I’ll surely win this trial

With a few more witnesses

I started to gather some questions

Cuz tomorrow I was gonna interrogate the teacher

My mommy walked by to say good night

Instead she looked like she wanted to fight

And asked what the hell are you doing

I said I am going to take my teacher to trial

And I file suit in the morning

Why on earth would you do such a thing asked my mommy

I said mommy it’s not fair

Mommy she doesn’t care

She gave me lunch detention

 And why did she do that

Cuz Anne Marie didn’t believe me

When I said my frog Joey died

So

I took his body

And put it in her cubby

And at the end of the day when she went to put on her jacket

Oh no, you didn’t

Didn’t what mommy anyways

She found a little surprise in her pocket

Mommy she is such a wuss

She screamed so loud

And then the teacher started to frown

Cuz she knew that I was to blame

And then I got in trouble

Well,

No mommy you don’t understand

Anne Marie called me a liar!

It’s not fair I can’t go to recess after lunch anymore

So now my teacher’s going to trial

Honey I think I’ll tell you a story to help you understand

Sweetie do you remember what happened to grandma

Sure she’s dead

They laid her on a fire bed

And now she sits on the mantel

Mommy started to cry

And said good night

And when she woke up the next morning

She said listen here

I would try to explain

But you’ll understand when you’re older

You will drop your trial

And go on to school as normal

But mommy then I am letting an injustice go unpunished

And it’s just not fair

If you continue with this trial

You will march up to your room with a smile

And be grounded for 2 months and a week

Fine I guess I have no choice

But just to let you know

You are committing a serious crime against justice

And I really should go tell the police

Would you like to be grounded for 3 months and 2 weeks

No mommy I’m sorry

So you see the moral of my story is

Fair means justice for grown-ups

So you need to be real sneaky

When filing suit you see

 Cuz now I am bringing trial against mommy

But I gotta clean my room first

Night, night kitty I’ll hide you in the bathtub

Tomorrow we’ll have another surprise for Anne Marie

With the mouse you caught for dinner

Do you believe in MonSters?

do you believe in MonSters
have you seen one before
do you know what they look like
do you know where they live
do you know where they hide

I believe in MonSters
I've seen one before
I know what they look like
I know where they hide

but we're not talking about me here
I want to know about you

did you know a MonSter haunts me every day
he's always there, always around
sometimes I forget he's mine to carry

my MonSter hides inside me
he sneaks about and waits for the right time to pounce
my MonSter trips me at times
I've seen him sit on my hands, legs and feet until they fall asleep
he even hugs me so hard it hurts

sometimes I wonder
am I stronger than my MonSter
can I outsmart him someday
will I ever win our little game
or will he always be one step ahead
leaving me two steps behind

I haven't seen my MonSter in months
and that worries me
because I know he's not gone
I know he hasn't left me
so I'm just waiting for him to attack
with all his hate and vengence

I can't forget about my MonSter
or he might get the best of me

Gina's monologue(F)

I've been neglecting a story that I'm hoping to have finished and published by the end of the year.  It's very difficult to write so I have to admit I often neglect it intentionally but it needs to be told.  I wrote a monologue for a character in the story as a writing exercise to give me some direction.  Its funny, my theater teacher said that there are some people that are viewed as good actors because they're so good at story-telling.  I like to think that I fall into that category; I'm a story teller but I often think like an actor when approaching my writing.

Hi I’m Gina.  And my sister…well my twin sister committed suicide 3 days before our 15^th birthday.  I learned a new term today in therapy.  It’s something called “non-touching sexual abuse.”  What the fuck does that mean?  I couldn’t tell you, but apparently it describes me and my fuckedupness I have going on in my head.  So basically, I’m here, before the anniversary of when my sister swallowed a bottle of pills and slit her wrists, telling you I’m fucked up cuz of what “might of, could of possibly but never did happen to me,” but did to her. 

My sister was raped for Christ’s sake.  Honest to God raped.  That’s such an ugly fucking word.  But it’s true, it’s what fucking happened.  Jesus.  I was so mean to her.  They say, it wasn’t “technically” rape because of no penetration or some shit, but that’s exactly what it was.  Our aunt…fuck, seriously.  (Beat)  My uncle’s wife, now ex-wife molested my sister, raped my sister. 

(Beat) I can still feel her with me.  Charley’s been dead for 5 years now and I can still feel her; as real as this scar on my hand.  (Smiles)  We are…we were identical twins.   When we were little Charley broke a glass pitcher of milk and it shattered in her hands.  She was always such a klutz.  She was on the kitchen floor crying; she had a cut on her left palm and right index finger.  I sat with her, covered my pj’s in milk, and tried to make her feel better.  I took a piece of glass and cut myself in the same two spots and told her, “See we’ll always be the same.” 

I can’t help but feel her when I look at these scars. (Beat)  I was so close to her and somehow I lost her, I failed her.    

My story, well a piece of it...(F)

I'm trying to write my story and turn it into a Young Adult (YA) novel.  I have bits of it written out but I'm still unsure the direction I want to go with it.  This is a fictional story inspired by a few of my actual experiences that had a strong influence in how I see the world.  The lovely thing about writing is that I get to change my ending; I can re-write my story and give myself a stereotypical "happily ever after."

I was asked to the prom today… This boy, Edgar, from my Antamony/Phys class asked me, and I said no…  Maybe I should start with the beginning. 

Edgar is lead point guard on our school’s basketball team.  All the cheerleaders are in love with him.  He’s been trying to talk to me since the first day of school.  Day one in the lunchroom he comes up to me, in front of everyone, and asks for my number.  I’ve never had a boy call my house before.  I don’t want a boy to call and have her answer the phone… So I told him I wasn’t allowed to give out my number and I was a little mean about it.  It’s so awkward.  I just want to sit here alone.  I was invisible and now all the cheerleaders are giving me the death stare.  Creating enemies on the first day at a new school; this could only happen to me.  Also, why is he talking to me?! 

All those cheerleaders are so beautiful.  They’re each gorgeous in different ways.  I’m nothing special.  Eevie, the reliable, never says no to anything, simple girl.  That’s me.  The girl that’s not naturally beautiful and must always go out with a full face of make-up; well at least according to my mother. Sometimes I think I’m pretty.  Sometimes I look in the mirror very pleased by my reflection and then I hear her voice ring in my head and that feeling disappears. 

 I don’t want to be the bud of some joke so it’s a good thing I didn’t give him my number.   I’m so grateful when the bell rings so I can head over to my Anatomy class.  This stupid boy wouldn’t leave me alone all lunch.  I’ll have to remember to hide out in the quad tomorrow. 

As soon as I hear that bell I race for the door without saying goodbye and head in search of my Anatomy class.  I’m one of the first to arrive so I get a prime seat in the back.  At least no one will notice me here.  The five minute passing period flies by and the teacher begins by introducing himself.  I don’t even hear what he’s saying.  I’m distracted by a few students arriving late to class. 

“Welcome, glad you decided to join us.  Find a seat” says Mr.  ummm, I’ll have to find out his name later.  Stupid glasses!   I should have sat closer so I could read the board but I really just want to hide back here.  Shit, shit, shit!  Edgar is in this class.  I sink into my seat so he can’t see me.  I must look like an turtle tucking its head in its shell, hard shell to protect me from the world, maybe if I don’t look at him he won’t see me.   No such luck… He touches my shoulder as he takes the seat behind me and whispers, “Hi, beautiful.”   This class is really going to suck.  

Mother's Day Revelations....(NF)

I wonder idly, why am I the way I am… why am I so bitchy, sardonic, and beyond sarcastic most of the time.  Its mother’s day and I want to be a good daughter, amenable and compliant, but everything I utter has a brief hint of disdain… as I dress my mother walks in my room and starts asking questions only appropriate for a clairvoyant.

IE: Do you think the theater will be full? Do you think it’ll be busy?  Do you think we’ll make it to the movie on time? Do you think we’ll get good seats?  I don’t want to go if we don’t have good seats, I just wonder if it’ll be busy.  She keeps repeating herself fishing for my point of view on the situation.  Apparently trying to go to the movies as a family is a “situation”. 

And then my mother says, “You know what I really wonder… I wonder if you can have a nicer shirt than that.” She points to what I’m wearing, looks me up and down.  Then I realize, there it is, why I am how I am.  Always do the exact opposite of what my mother deems appropriate, always try to go against the grain for a reaction or to get a rise out of her.  If I agitate you, will you still love me, if I don’t do as you ask, will you still love me, if I question every choice you make, will you still love me???? 

I enjoy doing my make-up and straightening my hair.  I’m not much for styling my hair because I was never really taught.  I was never taught how to use make-up either.  As a teen I was told, “You’re not one of those girls who can go out without make-up, you need it every day, just face it and that will make things a lot easier.” My only response was, “I do wear make-up everyday and…”  Then I’m cut off, “No you don’t.  I see you slop that shit on in the car and you need to give yourself time in the morning.”  My mother’s a real piece of work now that I can think about it but as a 14 year old girl seeking to always please her mother, I was crushed.  The entire car ride to school I choked back tears not wanting to get yelled at for crying as well.  As a result I don’t do my make-up very often.  If I happen to do my make-up and blow out my hair it’s a rare occasion.  Once I hear a compliment from my mom or even a single syllable about my appearance I’m left fighting the urge to wash off my make-up and spray water on my hair to ruin water style I may have at that moment.  My mothers, “You look nice, you should do that more often” is like a twist of the knife that my heart was stabbed with as a teen and remains there to this day.  

A life in a notebook-some poetry(F)

A life in a notebook

He wrote nonstop

About the girl that changed his life

Wherever he carried it

His words were his weapons

The one that broke his heart

He never left her side

She never saw him

He found amazing ways to hide

Nights camped out in his car

Pages of dates and times

Detailing her day and night events

That he didn’t know where she went

Then the day came

He got his gun

Lucky for her she saw him

Just in time to run

The cops came and now

He is surrounded by padded walls

He screams her name

But she never calls

A lifetime thrown away

Over a bitter obsession

Now every breath he takes

Is watched and evaluated

He is left with nothing

But his intangible dreams

So much is lost

With his life in a notebook