Dirty Girls

Lip Service

I’ve doubted plenty of things in my life, life my location of conception. Should I really believe that my mom conceived me in the back of the Cadillac after a shot at the Venus Butterfly? I guess my dad knew what he was doing down there…

Bastard.

And then I doubt school, like how the hell am I supposed to know what I want to do for the rest of my life? I for damn sure didn’t want to spend another year measuring aliquots of solutions into test tubes only to drop the damn thing after measuring it out.

And then there are guys.

Boy do they take the cake. Not only do they take the cake, but they steal it and eat it until its gone forever.

Of all the places to stop and talk he picked the park with its half bolted merry go round, barely existing swings and sad excuse of a slide painted bright red to keep the kiddies coming.

I cut off my engine and admired the sound of it purring, something between a sputter and a quick put put before it actually turned off. Impatiently my badly chewed nails, tinted with the latest version of purple chipped nail polish and magenta pink tips tapped against the steering wheel. Sure we could have rode in the same car, but that would have required more time and energy to retrieve mines after we were done with this “talk.”

If I knew Bobby, which I kinda didn’t, his talk would consist of, “Baby, please don’t give up on me.” And some form of groveling that would increase his chances of getting into my panties.

But the feeling wasn’t so strong, like anything could have happened you know? I just leaned against my head rest, fully loving the whole broken in feeling of the cushions underneath my butt and waited. My car had made it there before his, but as I took another breath and looked out the window his little black kia slid beside mines and parked smoothly. It didn’t sound like it was dying either, that kinda pissed me off because my barely red Taurus had a way of clunking and sputtering.

I turned my head to the side, peered through the blinding sun though it bounced off my rear view mirror mirror and hit me in the face. As I blinked through the light he appeared, his fist poised for knocking on the window and my hand….almost reluctant to let it down.

Me and Bobby have unstable history that dates way back to middles school when I was a chubster and he was the awkward skinny boy with the buck teeth and flat top. You could say that he was a bit of a bully, and I? I was the fat girl who cried and ate in the corner as the skinny popular people pasted notes like ‘fat ass’ and ‘thunder thighs’ on my raggedly jansport satchel bag, on the back of my too big pleated skirts and just about wherever they could put anything. Yeah I was that girl…not that I was too fit six years later, but hey most guys are into healthy hips right?

Well whatever, I couldn’t give two fu---

“Seriously?” I rolled my eyes, white balls circling up under the soft flesh of my lids and then back to stare at his hopeful face.

The squatting position had become unbearable and the wind was starting to pick up enough to blow me to the ground. I sat down, pressing my palms into the crunchy hard grass and half falling back to rest my bottom against the hard grass and press the heels of my tennis shoes into the ear as I sat in a crab like position.

Beside me Bobby rustled about, rearranging his gym sack on his back as he lowered to the ground and considered me with distant eyes. I had to be honest, Bobby had grown up a lot since middle school, he’d gained weight, while I lost, and buffed up while I slimmed down…and he was…

Whats a good word to describe someone you secretly crushed on for six years? Hot? Sexy? Fine? Or perfectly imperfect in every way?

“Yeah, I’m serious.” He chuckled and through my peripheral I could see the way his body moved in response, the way his bare arms vibrated and how his chest shook against his cut off tee.