Scars

The Town with Pep

I have a lot of them. Mentally and physically. Now being as transparent as possible yes, some of them are bad, or self inflicted. Others aren't. Some of my scars are actually good, left by people I love. Once you meet someone and they become a huge part of your life, whether you want them to or not, they leave a scar. My father left a scar when he died. I still remember the incident like it happened yesterday;

My dad had just bought a new motorcycle he wanted to take on a drive. 

"Come with me cariña!" His bright eyes smiled at me excited as he held out a second helmet.

I was giddy, I loved motorcycles so of course I'd jumped at the opportunity to go for a ride. We sped down West 93rd Street. Dad wanted a hotdog from a vendor we both liked. Dad stopped at the light at the intersection of Central Park West and 93rd. When the light turned green he turned. But one of the cars sped past the red light barreling into us full force. The bike had to be scrapped. I could never remember what happened immediately after we got hit, or even how we ended up in the hospital but the doctors in the emergency room tell me that they found us with my dad wrapped around me. Protecting me from the impact. I went home that night was a sprained wrist, and a fractured foot. My dad was taken to the morgue.  I felt so alone; that was the first night I got a scar on the inside and the out. 

I missed my father every day, but every memory I had of him was a good one. Being a Lodge meant we had money, and we did. But my dad taught me to appreciate what I had, and to work for what I wanted. That was something my cousin couldn't relate to, and I learned that quickly given I had to move in with her, my aunt, and my father's brother after the funeral. 

My uncle Hiram seemed to be against me living with them from the moment I set foot in their luxury home, however my aunt Hermione welcomed me. She was always kind to me, especially since I grew up without a mother in my life. My cousin Veronica and I were nine months apart, and being around her was like a coin toss. Was she going to be my best friend today or give me dirty looks the whole time we're in the same room? I never knew with her. Usually when she was with her friends she would pretend like I wasn't there. It wasn't ideal but eventually I grew to ignore her priss-bitch antics. 

Not even a year after my father's death, my uncle was snatched out of our home by federal agents. He was taken to prison for embezzling funds and most of what we had were taken into evidence. I didn't have much, at least not much that I cared about. As long as I had my photo album, camera, and sketchbook I was alright. My uncle and I weren't that close, but still, that was strike two on bad things to happen in my life. Strike three was when my aunt insisted we move. 

"We can't stay here anymore," she told Veronica and me as she packed her clothes into a bag.

"Where are we going to live?" Veronica was outraged.

"We're going back to my hometown. Riverdale."

~

Driving through the town with my aunt and Veronica I could see right off the bat that this town was one of those stereotypical utopia towns. Everyone knew everyone and their business. Us being the new comers I could tell we were going to be the talk of the town when school started. Everyone in New York knew what happened to my father and my uncle, so of course I thought that the news was going to follow me here. 

Sitting in the back of the car with my cousin I couldn't help but notice once again how different we are. Veronica is your standard rich girl; always wearing a designer outfit with a matching bag, she's basically a mini entrepreneur the way she dresses like she's got a business meeting everyday. I was her polar opposite, always wearing what I was more comfortable in. That usually meant tank tops, a jacket over it that changed from day to day, some tight jeans, and some combat boots or sneakers. Much more anti-dress and skirts than my cousin. On her good days she would drag me into her room and make me be her model, dressing me in the business dresses she thought would look good on me. Yet the minute I even pull out a pair of combat boots she runs away like she's escaping a rabid animal. Those are our good days, and since we'd been spending a lot of time together slowly there were more of those.