December 16, 1998

Days, then weeks, and then months have passed with the usual morning meetings at the church parking lot across from school. More often than not we all skip school to get buzzed and listen to the boys play on the decks. When I’m at school, I am always in the principal’s office listening to Mrs. Buchanan’s speech about what a bright young lady I am with lots of potential. That I need to quit chasing after the wrong crowd. I just smile and agree, trying not to laugh as her massive fiery orange hair, stiff from too much hair spray, bobbles around her head as she speaks.

“Yes ma’am, I do need to straighten up. No ma’am you don’t need to call my mama this time.” I say to her. 

On the weekends, other than tonight because Mama wouldn’t let me out, I either stay over at Lola’s to get to a party, or I plot a way out of the house at night to see Thomas. It is so much harder sneaking out at Mama’s since she went and nailed all the windows shut. Isn’t that like a fire hazard or something? When I stay at Lola’s her mama, Patty always covers for me when Mama calls trying to check up on me. Tells her us girls have gone to get pizza, or she sent us out to the store. And yes, she would have me call her back. 

Mama really doesn’t like Patty. Says she is plain white trash. I don’t understand why Mama has to be so stuck up just because Patty is different from her. We live in a trailer, too. She can be so judgmental sometimes against anyone that isn’t like her. I told her at supper that I would be damned if I grew up to be anything like her.

 

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