Brighter

I am really into the idea of skinny dipping, but I don’t know if I’ll ever do it. I remember watching all of the other kids at summer camp jump in Lake Canopy one night without any swim suits – like they had never even heard of snapping turtles or leeches. One kid, Ham we called him, would get a running jump off the dock and pull his frog legs into a little ball in the air and reverse flip, smacking his eleven year old frame against six feet deep water. I can still hear the camp counseler’s angry whistle rattling as I sit in the middle of aisle 18 of this grocery store, the section with all of the kid snacks. I got lost again. This time in the cartoon surfer on a box of Capri Sun.

I lose a lot of time staring at boxes like this. Sometimes I think it is because the packaging reminds me of the ticking clock in my chest. I need to live, be free, beautful, active, healthy, compassionate, selfish, lively, humble, confident, natural, colorful, sexy, nurturing, voluminous, hairless, experimental, open, but not my pores, they need to be closed tight – sealed. My instinct when I list these must-haves for society contributing humans, like myself, is to become overwhelmed by it all, like it has to be all of it or none of it. But I can’t think that way anymore, it’s not good for me.

My doctor told me that I can’t get highly stressed like I have been, or it could trigger my blood pressure and, you know, the other stuff. But I am finding that harder and harder to do lately, especially now, when the balding man in front of me in the self check out line finds it absolutley necessary to scratch his hairy neck only feet from my face. It is like a thicket in there. Knowing my luck a lice will pop off, land on my head, and create a replica of Philadelphia on my scalp.

Actually, he is really not that hairy. I am exaggerating, I do that quite a bit. In fact, that bit about the skinny dipping at camp that I told you earlier, not true. I mean that Ham kid really did that flip, but we were all in our bathing suits at like three in the afternoon, and the whistle I remember was from a lifeguard. I don’t know why I lie like this, but I always do.

I know that I always do this but I make sure that other people have been able to pick up on it; I never lie about anything big. I read this book once where a young girl lied about her dad being dead so that she didn’t have to admit that he left her mom and ran off with some lawyer that was on vacation in her tourist-ridden hometown. Her goal was to control her presentation to the world as sad girl worthy of pity instead of townie, which I think is a tad dramatic, there are worse things, promise.

I guess I just like the idea of being able to control my narrative, have an insiders look at myself. That is why people like movies so much, right? We all get to find out the happenings of the main character’s life in unison with the “truth” that the director shows to us. Except for those annoying people who try and figure out the entire plot of a movie about thirty minutes in, which I totally do by the way – and I do it in twenty minutes – and I am usually right. For the most part though, we all get to watch the unraveling at once, lies exist in the script, sure, but there is no satisfaction without an audience that feels like they just listened to the coolest, juiciest, most action packed secret around.

I think about my little secret hiding in between the side of my underwear and the side of my ass. Covergirl eyeliner and mascara: black. Honestly, I can afford it, but don’t feel like paying for shit I have to put on my face daily in order for my male coworkers to consider me people. I’ve only been stripping for six months now, and I have learned a lot of practical things so far, how much you fit in an elastic thong and how much you can get away with if your tits are hanging out, for instance. I am putting both lessons into practice now, as I casually scan the GMO peaches code for my juicy, soft, organic peaches in my basket.

I’m lying of course. Well, I am definitely stealing this make up but I am not stripper, at least not today. I don’t really know what I am. My dad told me that I was a bright kid when I was younger. I always noticed his use of the word “bright” and not smart. I wish he called me smart or that I was actually smart, I am not sure which one I want more. To me, bright means having a particularly shiny, enigmatic energy. I’m not sure thats me either.

The lady on the Safeway touch screen can frame this for me. I have had enough self reflective thoughts for today. I’ll just stare and wait until she comes up with something. The people behind me have three other places to go play “cash register” with. Oh! Here she goes, with her sassy tech voice,
” Wilda, is a woman of no other. She always pays with cash, and that means she inherently deems only herself resonsible to protect her belongings, herself. She does not do this out of protest of corporate banks, but out of love of posession, and probably lack of trust. She could probably work through these issues and learn to trust a little more if she would simply-”

“SHUT… up.”  Bitch. Let me shove this cash down your electronic throat you fucking bully. Sorry. I just. I wanted to hear something different. Something I deserved. Everyone in this grocery store thinks everything is about them. I am not yelling at YOU GUYS, geez. And plus, I am probably having a really terrible day! Huh, you ever think of that? My brother could have died today, if I had one. Fuck. I hope the world finds a way to get over themselves soon.
I know. Shonda will tell me. Yes, I named my car after Shonda Rhimes. Yes, that is probably why I have already gotten in about six accidents since I have driven her – she lives in the scene of climax. Speaking of climaxing, I might do that about now. There is only a bush in front of me, and no one will look in, probably. I have been horny all day.
Shonda, sing to me. Yes. This. I am dancing – to that song. “You’ve got issues, I do too”. I have worked up a sweat, partly because there are lights all around me, and partly because I have been dancing for hours. Waiting. I can feel someone cover my eyes. The hands are soft. I feel them. YES.
BUZZZZZZZZ.
It’s Casey. Not good.
“Hello?”
“Dr. Dasi -”
“Please, call me Wilda honey.”
” Wilda, I am gonna do it. I feel like I have to cut.” Shit. Keys. Ignition. Drive.
” Casey. Hey, I am coming over. Put the razor blade down, and let me talk you through this. Im going to help you.” Fuck.
” I just – I’m so fucking stupid! Worthless! A piece of shit! ” She is crying with her nose which means she hasn’t done it yet, good. But she still has it in her hand, I have to speed this up.
” Casey, honey, I love you. You are smart. You are beautiful. You are worth everything. You are not your demons. Put. It. Down.” Come on, Shonda, drive faster!
Ugh it’s so hard for me to wait ten seconds, but last time I kept talking I couldn’t hear her mouth crying, which means she is cutting. It’s been 10 seconds of silence. Oka-
“Dr., I mean, Wilda.”
“Casey. You put them down and no one will hurt you. No one, not even you. No one can hurt you now. You are okay. Casey, I promise. I will be there in four minutes.” Fuck this red light, I am getting there in three.
“I put it down. I am not going to do it. Please don’t be mad at me. I just – Thank you.” Oh thank god.
“Honey, Casey, honey. Thank you for calling me. That is what we talked about, and you completely, confidently, amazingly followed through on our deal. You didn’t cut. I am SO proud of you. I am still coming to make sure you are okay.” Shonda, drive fast. If I don’t come by she will cut for sure. Also, she probably lied.
Fuck! I just realized, I forgot to take my pills today, again. I can’t decide if I like it better this way, but I do feel brighter.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s