(possible typos ahead)
shampoo.
A hair product that has no problem running into your eyes at 7:30 in the morning, causing you to cut your shower short and nurture your flame red eyeballs with a dry towel and some of your mom's eye drops. It was officially the villain of all hair products. For me, at least.
Marie Samuels was the type of woman who spent her 3 week vacation sleeping in till noon and then binge watching soap operas and daytime talk shows like Steve Harvey and Ellen DeGeneres. She was also my mom.
And she was the type of mother who did anything in her power to make sure you were, good. This included trash talking the love of your life to all her friends over the phone, at the dinner table, or anywhere else she saw fit. It made me highly uncomfortable, but she was a mom, & I learned to accept it.
" I bet she'd never be able to cook like this" She criticized, as she whipped the egg she'd been beating for the last five minutes one last time. I sighed an agreement. Not because I actually agreed, but because I basically had no choice. I'd be criticized and given a lecture about how important moving on is, and that would undoubtedly turn into a lecture about how I should have moved out when I was 18.
"So, what's new?" She inquired.
Nothing. There was literally nothing new. Still I strained the intermost parts of my brains for a better answer.
"We got new pens at the market," I managed. "Blue's this time."
She sighed. "No new women?"
"Work and Home, Mom. No time for small talk."
"I'm sure there are plenty of pretty girls who pass your register all the time."
I scoffed. "Mom, I only work register once a week. Most times I'm hardly ever out if my office."
"Well, there'd have to be some fair maiden or two that's asked to speak to the manager."
"You're right." I agreed. "But I never see any. I tell my employees to give them what they want free, and usually all is well." I half-joked.
She gave up. A few moments later she was packing my plate with pancakes, sausage, and egg, and wishing me off to a good day at work with a kiss. I sealed the plate in plastic wrap and headed upstairs to get ready for work.
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"Bout time you got here" Roberta sassed. "It's cold out here."
"Roberta, it's Florida, and it's 70°, if that's freezing then maybe you should show me the real definition of hot." I yanked the keys from the crooked rear-view mirror and tossed them her way.
"Usually I'd come at your neck for talking like that," she threatened, "but I'm too cold to mess around this early."
I started up my engine again and park my car around back. I plunge my sneaker into a puddle of black muck and groan as I try and get it out. The substance is like gum & tar, but so close to being quick sand that I feel like I'm pulling my ankle off while trying to force myself from the goo. I can feel Roberta having a good laugh at my efforts. Eventually I find myself having to untie the laces and slip my foot from the shoe. I plant both feet opposite each other on separate sides of the thick shoe-trap and pull with all my lethargic might.
It doesn't budge.
I remember the worn out pair of work boots in my employee locker and huff at just the though of having to walk around all day in those toe-smashing, heel burners.
"Need some help there, Bud?"
"Actually, if I had so comfortable shoes, I wouldn't have to be doing this right now" I say without looking up.
"I could run in the store and buy you some new shoes, I think they just opened"
"I know they just opened, and trust me, if you buy me something that cheap, you might as well tear it apart before you give it to me. I work there, I would know"
I plunge into the drivers seat in defeat and watch as my light blue sneaker stands out against the tough shade of black.
"Well aren't you gonna look up at me?"
I raise my head slowly to reveal a blonde girl in a short leather jacket and pants, with sneakers way cooler than the *one* I had on.
"Sorry, do I know you?" I ponder. "Should I know you?"
"Not really," she starts "You probably see about 200 people a day in there. You rang me out yesterday. But that's not why I'm here, if it wasn't for your crys of defeat I wouldn't have walked over here" she jokes.
I don't even smile. Although I should've, my face muscles are a little tired from all the straining.
"What do you want then?"
"Dammit" she laughs. "Ok, Cruello De Vil. I dropped my ID yesterday and I came to see if anyone had found it."
Without thinking I point her to the manager's office. "He'll have it if it's been found" I say, full of certainty.
"Thanks" she says. "Oh, and.." she pulls out a lighter and sparks the flame directly into the black goo. The substance goes up in flames and I let out a little yelp befores the smoke clears and reveals a totally unharmed blue sneaker.
"This stuff is flammable. It burns around anything inside of it... don't ask me how I know that"
She places the lighter back into her back pocket, and I'm still sitting there stunned, as if some kind of goddess had just came down and rescued me from a burning building, with a burning building. Then I realize something.
"Hey, wait!"
She turns, smirking. "I was waiting for my thank you. I thought you were gonna let me make it all the way to the door"
I squint at her, "Last time I checked i told you I didn't need help"
"Ok Ursulo. Sorry for the mistake" she laughs, holding her hands up as if I'm crossing boundaries.
"Stop with the male-making of female disney villians" I bark.
"I thought I'd be better than plain old 'Drama Queen'." She barks back. "But now I'm starting to see which one suits you more"
For about 5 minutes, I'm going back and forth, playing dog with a girl I just met, who saved me from a shoe crisis when she only wanted her ID.
"Why don't you go and get a damn ID made!"
"I might as well, better than trying to get my shit back from an asshole like you!"
She yanks my shoe from me and tosses it across the parking lot.
I stand up abruptly, ready to call her every name I have inside of me.
"Go fetch" she says, right after kicking me on the nuts.
I'm lying on the ground, holding my baby keepers, watching her walk away with so much sass, there's an 's' on her derrière. If I had enough strength to grab that stupid ring, It'd probably skip over all the other colors and be flame red. From anger, and pain. I groan and roll over, facing the white hot Florida sun as the customers start to pull into the parking lot.
It's been a really long time. Like really, really long. And I feel horrible. Hopefully you're still reading. And if you are, and that's a big 'if'. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'm going to try and update soon. But it's going to be really hard, especially now that I'm getting adjusted to the whole being in high school and actually having homework that matters so you can't update as much thing. But I really appreciate your reads and possible votes and yeah. Go sailheart!
xoxoJay
