They're Just Words

ACT 1:

I rubbed the back of my neck but it didn't help. This was a feeling that would not be dismissed so easily. I began to think that I was hyperventilating at this sight, but that was a conclusion too soon to arrive at. She wasn't wearing anything exceptional or expensive, but something latched me. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't stop staring at her.

It took me an entire minute before I realized I had looked away, left the building to my Honda, and now held the sleek handle that I already gave a futile tug. Click, went my car keys as I smoothly slid in.

If I wasn't breathing more than usual now, my dry mouth and moist armpits proved otherwise. It felt like a thousand emotions rushed at me. I had done nothing wrong, never have in my life. But this girl, those people, they suddenly looked at me like I was the ruffian. I was defending myself.

I needed to clear my head, and a trip to the mall would have been preferable. But of course, Mom and Dad prohibited me from going anywhere without them. Last time I went alone somewhere, I was shopping, and they returned nearly all of the jewelry I'd bought. Dad hated 'wasting' his money on finery, even if there was so much of it. Previously, I could go with friends on late nights, but now, I had a more strict curfew.

That was the only reason I had the car: school and back again. Nothing more.

*

When my debilitated dad came through the door, it didn't take him to long find me in my bedroom, caressing the new dress he and mom bought me. Caught unawares, I was powerless to oppose his request that I follow him downstairs to the kitchen. He could never say a word against me in my domain, but down there, I'd be in real water. But I should be fine, they're just words.

"So let me see if I have this right," Dad said, tossing his gray blazer on the kitchen chair as I stood on the threshold of the merged kitchen and living room. "A girl assaulted you, and you fought back?" 

He was immediately arriving at the issue, which was typical of him, yet startling this time for me. I blinked, hoping this would be dealt with faster than was needed. "Dad it was self defense, alright. And it happened yesterday, nobody was hurt. But, that bitch has been in my face all goddam year."

Dad raised his brows at me, but remained poised. "Well, I got off with your mother, and she says you've been provoking this little lady for some time now. If you mean to say she's been observing you without saying anything, then she's done nothing wrong."

I retorted. "If by 'little lady', you mean thug or bitch, then yes. She's been asking for a fight since I met her and her thugs. But don't worry, it's over now."

Resting his hands on hips, he took a moment to concoct a proper yet smart response. "Well your mother is actually visiting him now to clear up this mess, blame it on the bullies. So I just wanted to make sure we're both on the same page about this year-long problem. Guess that's answered now."

I perked up, but halted, analyzing the flatness with which he delivered his assurance. He was pissed, no surprise. But was it simply all them? Was the answer really as simple as I thought?

"So, I guess I'm all go for the party tonight. Mom will drive me when she gets bac-"

"Yep. It's been a hard week, all your friends deserve it." He said grinning, as if to dismiss his split second interruption.

As I went back upstairs later, the ordeal, my dad, and the dress all undulated in my mind almost in coordination. For the first time, it appeared, Dad instantly believed my side of the story. No amount of honesty over the years could debilitate his silent necessity for evidence. Not this time however.

When I went downstairs to see mom about the incident, she appeared stressed, but then claimed it was due to her schedule and was happy to see me. She told me to pay no more attention to this matter, and focus on getting ready for my friends party.

I am one lukcy girl, I said, noticing the dark humor in the thought. Something about their abrupt trust of my testimony made me wonder. I wasn't lying of course, but perhaps my dad was right: I may have provoked this incident. While I was simply responding against their hostility, this fight raised a glaring flaw in my nature: I was putting them down to get on top.

*

I decided to earn someone's approval for a change and, assuming of course she as coming to a party as important as this, understand her. Apologizing for my retaliation entered as a thought, but dad told me never to show weakness, let alone be hospitable with this ruffian. This girl had sent me over the ridge, provoking me to do something I never thought I would.

The young student's party was a pleasant turn of events. I'll admit that it wasn't on an entire High School scale, but the glamor here would only make Prom night look all the more be faultless.

I hoped everyone would forget the spilled drink and just enjoy their time. As I made my way through the hordes of trios, the girls looked at me. But they did so without a single trace of scorn. Many of them came to see me, and talk about their school years and plans for the future. The only possible judgement came from the frequent inquiry of my silver glittered dress.

"My dad bought it for me, 'literally the best thing available' he said." I said to one friend.

"Can't believe you let that steely nark shop for you. Come with us next week, we'll get us all new dresses for prom."

I shook my head. I reminded them of my dad's policy on my car. It was a privilege, not a right. They all rolled their eyes, but not at me. It took me moment to notice how surrounded I was by my friends, some of which I'd never met. I presumed that they were outsiders who were invited to the party, but something told me that this was a sign.

In the middle of the crowd, shuffling with grace like the others, avoiding the rambunctious flailing of the boy that had too much, I meditated in this energized embrace. Why had everyone forgotten the incident so easily.

I was told the fight was like any other, but I seemed to be the only one who saw a distinct difference in the event. In a typical encounter with those bad kids, I said something clever, and their sensitive minds were offended. (God, they really have nothing better to do), Then, they attack me, pointing out my 'flaws' and attempting to make me look like some selfish bitch. It always involved those two steps, never further.

But something was different this time, I retaliated.

The glamorous event began to exhaust me, like many things forced into my life. Even the most adored bird can't be scrutinized every minute, and as I headed for the bar, I thought about the incident once again. A bird can't change its colors, I said out loud softly, but does it ever feel regret from stealing to fighting other birds to become more furnished. Do animals feel remorse?

Leaning against the red wood, which had yet to be spoiled by liquid rings and scraps, I related the thought to my unpleasant experience. Then, upon realizing I was drinkless I moved to the barman when I was again caught by surprise when another girl approached the bar simultaneously.

I saw her carrying a purse, which startle me beyond belief.

ACT 2:

I rubbed the back of my neck but it didn't help. Why would it. I screwed up again as always. As I sat in my seat, I reviewed the day. My friend had threatened that entitled princess, and she retaliated. That was probably the first time I ever saw her lift a literal finger against anybody. Naturally I defended my friend who never meant for it to go as far as it did. 

I've been caught in the crossfire or ordeals like these many times this year, but for some reason this one looked like it would have consequences. I just had to make sure they were given to those who deserved them. 

By this point in my musings, I strolled along the supermarket, throwing in a bag of apples, some ground beef, and potato chips. My younger brother said he wanted them, and to be honest, I did too after a long year. Our mother was busy working two jobs, but with summer approaching, we could all pitch in on errands.Then, making my way through the fruit stands, I reached the check out line. Easy crowd easy run, I thought. 

I reached for my phone when I suddenly remembered something. Rather than assure my brother that I'd arrive home soon, as I dashed to my car as quick as I could. Shit Shit Shit; this day was really gonna cost me it was going to cost me. Circumstances had gone from clubbing to puncturing me.

I might as well have taken the latter when I ran into the school office to find Raymond, alone, and mutely disturbed by my presence. I wanted to feel relived knowing that the girl's parents, and vice Principal Vernon weren't here. Everything would've been worse.

"Glad you could make it...30 minutes late Sloane. Everyone already left so how about we keep this blunt. That seems to be your style." He said, and I nodded, closing the door behind me.

I didn't sit for anything. There was no point. Raymond said exactly what I knew he would say, what I didn't need to hear again. He began with a typical repeat of our schools 'holy mission', and progressed to the incident at school. I only ever spoke to defend myself once, but after Raymond reverberated my shortness back at me, so I let the conversation become a speech.

"Whether it was you or anyone, don't do this again." He finished. I nodded and burst through the door, not caring if he shouted another order at me. I had bigger assholes to worry about than Principal Raymond.

Contrary to what I was thinking in the store, the demands of this last school month, and the unresolved nature of our conflicting itinerary were beating me and my family down to bones. 

*

I sped back home to check on my brother, when I woke up from my deliberation. That self-righteous bitch got away with having to put up with any consequences, and it pissed the hell out of me.

Pulling my car up to the lot, I saw my mother had not arrived yet. I practically kicked door open, with bags in hand, to see my brother, waiting for my on the dinner table. Out of fatigue, I dropped the bags and fell into the adjacent chair throwing the potato chips in front of him. It seemed we were silently in agreement that this was a much needed break. I barley got to talking before he tore open the bag and looked at me with such ebullience, which of course meant he was grateful.

"How's your day? Schools going great. " He beamed, offering me the bag.

"Fine. I think that's all the food we'll need now." I winced.

He made a deadpan face for a moment, that carried more emotion than words could describe. Then his leer returned. "I know it's been hard. You and mom work hard, and you deserve a break.

I couldn't stop the smile escaping. As opposed to most other brothers, and in spite of his youth, he recognized me and mother's daily sacrifices and labor to help ourselves. He was too young to assist in any meaningful manner, but he sure as hell loved to hear about us.

"Excited for tomorrow? I saw your dress."

Going to the party was something I never would've considered if not for Mom getting of work on Friday, and encouragement from my brother. Plus, some of my friends would be there, and a social like this was a welcome relief from this drudgery.

"Hm," he said, munching another chip audibly, "Ever wonder why certain foods are so addictive? I mean, I suppose it depends on both the maker and the consumer." 

I didn't think too hard on his question. "They manufacture them with enough salt to keep you interested, I guess. Still good." I snatched another large triangle from the bag.

"It's fine. And yes, I think it should be fun." I hopelessly dissimulated, taking another chip and letting its infinitesimal crystals dissolve on my tongue. It tasted like the sea, beckoning you to swim further than you knew you could handle-- That's when it hit me.

*

The party, much like the guests, oozed a certain calmness to it. A spell was over the crowd. There were smiles all around, with arms and bodies shifting uncoordinatedly in a slow rhythm. Not as exciting as my friends let on, but sure did make everyone dance though.

I barely danced myself. Only merging with the crowd to ask a friend something or to talk to them. What was I thinking, I thought after I exited the rumble to a seat nearby. Every girl I met there all stared at me, as if I was to blame for the problem. As opposed to most parties, everyone was aware of the pariah.

One of them, Sharon, was the perfect example of the mood of the party, and to a greater extent, their sentiment towards the incident.

"Hopefully we don't have any more accidents. Claire should be fine, but on another note, I hear Prom is gonna be sweet, and plus..."

This was the third slice of shit she said after I asked her what she was doing for the summer. She obviously ignored me and was speaking to the other students, nice girls, but girls who didn't have the stomach to stand up to pricks like Claire. I protected my friends from her scorn and mockery, and for what. Now I've become more a criminal because of her than I was before.

"So yes, I did play that game, but I was so busy watching Dan play on Friday. So yeah, I'm busy here. I think I should go now."

Talia, another girl whom I protected, was the only girl here who got even close to answering my question about summer activities appropriately. I initially asked about what sports they were doing for the semester, not intending for the conversation to tangent to a discussion of boys.

As I absorbed the gossip of my fellow students, and newbies who came to judge without knowing, I could feel the night slipping away. I made no effort to reinvigorate it, though. There's only so much one girl can do to defend herself. Besides, they're just words, they can't hurt you. I came here to get the daily dose of shit from the students at the school, and relax. I hoped it'd be satisfying, but it turned out to be neither high nor low.

Despite not meeting everyone, I had made what use she could of this party and decided to have one more drink. Before I did, I rubbed the smooth paint for a while. I let my eyes close to allow the one singular sense to take hold. It was often my pleasure to isolate a single sense so as to strengthen it.

My brother's idea, but still interesting.

As I sat at the ornate bar, another girl glided towards me in a dress that made her look like a moderate budget Cinderella. As I saw her fluffy red hair, I didn't know whether to feel surprised or worried.

Didn't matter. One more fish to fry before I go.

ACT 3:

Claire carried herself with a certain hubris that was not foreign to those who prided themselves on being her friend. The girl still at the red-wood bar turned around to see her stopping before the stool.

"Is that dress too elegant to sit on, or are you worried that I'll spill a drink on you?" She asked in the most unwelcome fashion, while shifting her gaze slightly, avoiding Claire's whip of hair to one side.

Claire, not unaccustomed to the gossip and mockery of jealous children like this one, payed no attention and took a seat beside her. Come to think of it, she didn't know whether this girl was jealous of her or not. As much as she hated to admit it, she had no sure label on this person, friend or hater.

She decided to break the ice. "So, you're Sloane right. The girl who's friends with the losers. Got to be honest, I thought that someone who's always defending guys like that would have more to say."

Sloane was busy ordering a drink for herself as Claire spoke. She turned right ways to her with an absentminded countenance. "Claire Standish. Well, I was expecting a sweet belle at school to respond to jokes with tact and grace. It seems we're both falling short of expectations. Not unlike this party."

Claire blinked at the last remark. Then she fixated her gaze on the sizzling bubbles of beer in two glasses. Sloane shifted one to her, and grasped the other. Claire drank beer before, but only when her father was with her. One glass, she thought, like this conversation, was going to be short and sweet.

"Beer's good." She said, "You look nice. I never pictured you in a dress, but it suits you."

Sloane eyed Claire with surreptitiousness. She said nothing and took another seemingly unhealthy gulp. Claire watched in amazement. This girl obviously was no stranger to the vandal cuisine.

"Mine's hardly different from yours, but it's the best one I could get. Not prom material, but still beautiful" She said, wanting to prompt a conversation that would lead to a swift, but clear, conclusion of understanding.

"Ah, so you do shop." Sloane said, setting her mug down for a moment. Claire cocked her head in confusion.

"Well, I mean, of course you do. Plastic models like yourself probably do it every goddamn day. What would you be without the respect of your fellow ladies."

Claire couldn't see where she was headed, if anywhere; but she could sense sarcasm. "Actually, no. My dad rarely lets me out by myself, unless with 'trusted' friends. It must be the purpose of fathers to get in our way and deny us nice things."

Sloane wanted to giggle. If this was her attempt at making friends, Sloane couldn't believe she ever left her goddam house except for parties. Still, exploiting a flaw like Claire's could extract an apology, maybe even relatability. Unlikely, yet possible, she thought. She deliberately held her voice, knowing that silences following daring comments were very glaring.

Claire, taking notice of the passing 20 seconds, filled with the low rumbles of the DJ at the dance floor, and the indistinct din of the students.

"Look, I'm sorry I spilled it, alright," Claire started with a sigh, "If that's the kind of bullshit it takes for you to enjoy better things in life." She said, attempting to replicate the girl's sarcasm.

Exasperation fell on Sloane. "First off, my friends shouldn't have provoked you. Second, what's the hell does that mean? I'm getting treated like some cold-blooded crook here, by my own friends I might add, when all I'm trying to do is relax. Third, I'm not the one who's demanding an apology."

Claire who was hunched over the bar, preparing to take a sip, began to sit up. "I never asked for your apology. I'm being nice you prick. What law did they pass for you."

Sloane scoffed, clearly unimpressed with Claire's lack of back-talk experience. "Oh, on the contrary, your majesty, I'm complimenting your elegance. Doesn't that make you girls happy. To know we're adoring you. To know boys waste their time jerking off to you, and we spend every waking moment jealous."

An abrupt wiring coursed through her muscles, and before she could tell what to say next, Claire was overtaken by some force. Perhaps that was it! The unknown answer to the question she asked herself when her dad easily forgave her. When everyone forgot about the incident and blamed it on those ruffians without a second thought.

Was she one of those girls, one of the princesses? She always wanted to be herself. She just always assumed that was being the prettiest. Maybe Sloane was a mirror, or just an asshole with a few things in common. Regardless, she wanted to leave this girl knowing she knew her place, while in reality, she was unsure.

"For your information, I am not some bitch. I know exactly who I am, and what I've done. That 'accident' wasn't supposed to happen. I am admitting I overstepped, but just because I look better than them does not give them the right to peel away at me."

Sloane was already more heated than she was alleged to be. Clearly the princess had her way of concession which wasn't much different from hers. No doubt Claire got that from her father, like Sloane. But if there's one thing her late father told her, it was to pick your battles wisely. She could've thrown another insult, but that would inevitably bring this confrontation to an unaccomplished end.

She did just that. "Perhaps you're right. I'm sure you felt objected, Claire." Sloane said with hidden wry that was undetectable by the clipped girl. "Everyone I met here's been looking at you cross eyed. Especially my friends. So on behalf of them, I apologize to you Claire."

Claire smiled. She was happy to be more level headed with...Sloane. Not the student she was let on to be. More than that, Claire got another feeling, pride. Had this apology been something she earned? It had, and she got approval out of the meanest girl she'd seen in school. It felt good; she needed it; she could get this from every goddamn student.

Their balanced scale that had just been acquired was about to tip. Sloane and Claire took another few gulps form their beers nearly empty. Looking across her shoulder, she caught sight of the crowd of porcelain figures, which had grown smaller in the elapse of their conversation. One of them was Shannon, the one in the blue sequin shoulder.

"See that girl." She said with a new sense of guile. "You know her of course. I don't know about your friends, but my friend told me they recently leaked her Instagram pic of her in the pool. It's a miracle the teacher's don't know yet. But I can't blame their stares at their screens. TBH, I want what she has too. And I have what it takes." .....

Sloane cocked her head. "Well, nothing wrong with a littl' determination. "Ever heard the phrase 'be yourself'. Just forget about Shannon and become your own type of duchess. It's all good."

Claire rolled her eyes, with another sip. "Not likely. If there's anything I've learned, it's that reward like that doesn't comes to assholes. You're never truly good unless you are admired and approved by everyone, or at least everyone worth mentioning."

Sloane sneered. "You mean the ones who have no one to vouch for them, unsupervised loose cannons? Good thing you're not one."

Claire sensed a potential tang of scorn in her comment, as if still grasping onto the animosity she thought had just been dissolved.

"Sometimes it's better to be unsupervised. No one restrains you. The hollow glamor that girls like Shannon have; they're not restricted by their parents, but they try too hard. "

Caught in shifting cross-purposes, Sloane wanted to finish this before it escalated further. "I think you've had too much beer. Why don't you save this for your dad and mom."

Claire took her first unhealthy glug of beer and set it down, whipping her head. "But that's the point Sloane. They won't get this, they won't allow it. To my knowledge, you have no limits, but you don't care what they think. I am still tied, yet I know I'm more deserving than they are. I should be on that floor instead of Shannon. Me."

She finished with whispered of mixed softness and umbrage.

"Well then Claire, you've gained nothing from this." Sloane said in the msot casual manner. Claire could sense it, but knew the words were impetuous. She had learned something. She didn't need to be herself; she knew just what she wanted to be: the most important there was. And no one, not her dad, not Sloane, or anyone was going to stop that.

Across from her, Sloane was oblivious to her epiphany. In her eyes, Claire had gone from ignorant to conceited. But there was no changing it. For a second, she thought perhaps Claire was her friend, but out of one level of misunderstanding and into another.

"What a party." Sloane said finally. "I came here for my friends but it's just so painfully...."

"Average? I know right. See ya, Sloane." Claire said, brandishing her hair, and leaving.