Outliers

Chapter 10: Deborah

Deborah loved to babysit. Most others, they would volunteer with a grudge - and a deal including money. But Deborah could have done any gigs you'd throw at her (but please don't) for no money, and no arguing. Usually people imagine babysitting as a tedious job that including screaming, spoiled brats and the babysitter quietly weeping in a dark corner.

But that wasn't the case for Deborah. In fact, kids always adored her. They behaved as she told them to,  and in return she did as they wanted - in terms of having fun adn playing. Sometimes she was crashing Matchbox cars into each other, and other days she was squishing her bottom into a beat up plastic chair, sipping imaginary tea from a pink, plastic cup.

They made her feel better about herself - that she wasn't fat, bruised, or that she was the wrong skin color. Children had an innocent perspective on the world, big blue eyes looking at anyone as a god/godess. They only saw you as you acted, not by your hair, nor your eye color, not even your skin color. Sometimes one or two children pointed out her dark, swollen bruises with stout, chubby fingers. Depending on the day, and the child, those small, frail fingers would be covered in paint, or chalk, or even marker.

And now Deborah was sitting in a cushy recliner now, as a small 6 year old named Taryn took a nap on the couch adjacent to her. Deborah let her eyes float to the young girl's blonde hair, running down her face and into her gaped mouth. A hand was balled into a fist, the other hanging off of the plush, velvet couch.

Deborah watched as her eyes fluttered open slowly, Taryn's big brown eyes locking into a gaze with Deborah's own brown eyes. She gave the kid a smile, and Taryn sat up clumsily, as only a younger person can do in an adorable way.

"Hi Debby," Taryn mumbled, wiping drool off of her cheek with a thin, pale wrist. She sat up and waggled her legs to wake herself up. With a cheeky smile Taryn hopped off the couch and over to Deborah. "What you wanna do now? Could we get snack? 'Cause I'm hungry." She ran thick fingers through Deborah's hair, and Deborah looked at her apathetically.

"Well, we can get lunch. And it can be something healthy because you need to eat right and grow up properly." Deborah poked Taryn's belly, and Taryn gave a loud giggle with another cheeky smile. Deborah giggled too, and Taryn climbed back off of her lap so Deborah could get up.

In the kitchen, Deborah batched together some Mac&Cheese, with chunks of bologna boiled and mixed into it.

* * * * * * *

After snacking, Deborah sat at a coffee table with Taryn, coloring on a giant, crisp, white sheet of paper. Taryn started humming a soft tune, and Deborah found it familiar. Was it some kind of Disney tune? Whatever, she kept drawing a picture of Taryn's name, graffiti style. Deborah couldn't draw for nothing, but she could write in graffiti like a boss... Yes, she just used that term.

A sudden, light tapping on the front door made both Deborah and Taryn jump, and Deborah crept up off of her knees and tiptoed over to the white, wooden door. Luckily it wasn't at all a see-through door, except for one of those peep holes at Deborah's eye level - and only the inside could see out.

Looking out, Deborah saw a young boy, about Deborah's own age. She scanned his groomed dark blonde hair, and when he looked up she caught her breath - his eyes were a begging, light green. Pale hands were stuffed in corduroy pants, and a to-his-elbows green sweatshirt (that matched his eyes) was loose on his chest. With a bored look on his face, the boy went to ring the doorbell again.

Deborah opened the door a second after, and gave him a flirty smile. He shrugged it off quickly with a glance, and Deborah's cheeks flared in embarrassment at how he must see her. Bruises filling her face in patches, and scratches along her arms and hands - and with a terrible attempt to cover it up with makeup.