Cuts, Kisses, and Cigarettes

Chapter One

                       You tend to look at peoples wrists more when you have cuts on your own.  Wondering what is a cat scratch and what is a "cat scratch".  I sip my tea and just look at my book.  I've looked at the same page over six times without reading a single word.  What is this book even about?  The girl on the other side of the cafe just keeps taunting me and she doesn't even know it.  That little cut on the side of her wrist, was it self inflicted or a complete accident?  She probably doesn't even think about it as much as I am right now.  But she's wearing short sleeves.  Perhaps she cuts on unseen places like the top of her thighs, but she couldn't get to those places.  She was just having a mental break down and- slash!  On her wrist.  

                          Oh God, I'm loosing my mind.  I sip my tea, pick up my book and quickly leave.  There's about four feet of snow piled up outside.  It's very warm and the sky is blue.  And it's February.  Welcome to New England.  The section of the country where the weather makes no sense.  And most of the people don't have a funny accent.  Talk all correctly and whatever.  Don't talk like; "Howdy ya'll", "The gil pak'd da caar in da gaa'den", or "OhMyGosh!".  I personally am from Vermont.  I don't have an accent, but I'm not grammatically correct like people in Connecticut.  My name is Marilyn Hunter, I don't have an accent when I talk, and don't have much to talk about.  I'm 23 years old and work as a waitress at Texas Road House.  

                           "Honey, I'm Home!"  I cheerfully call as I walk into my trailer.  I put my book and bag down on the couch.  Nobody answers my greeting.

                              "Oh.  That's right.  I'm not married."  I bitterly laugh and sit down besides my book.  I push my cat Zoey off the end table so I can reach the answering machine and listen to any messages left for me. 

                               "You have zero new messages".  The lady in the machine monotonely reminds me of how popular I am.  

                              "Did you hear that Zoey?  One more message than yesterday.  Maybe there's hope for me!" I sarcastically speak and pick up my fluffy kitty.  "I could be popular by tomorrow".  Oh, what a dream I never possessed.  My life goal isn't to make people love me.  Hell, I don't even like myself. 

My future:  An old bitter cat lady who came into this world alone and will die alone.  

                             A shot of Jack Daniels for me and one for Zoey.  I throw back both of them.  Put my old Beatles album on the record player and just wait for the clock to hit three and time for me to leave for work.  Maybe 2:45, I need a new pack of cigarettes.

                              I do a lot of my big thinking in the shower and a lot of my cutting.  Short and deep cuts cover my upper legs.  I stopped cutting on my arms years ago, such a stupid place to do it.  Right there in the open for everyone to see. 

                                 Why do you cut yourself?  I have my reasons.  How long has this behavior been going on?  Since I was ten.  What goes through your mind when you do this to yourself?  Absolutely nothing.  Have you thought about seeking professional help?  I had it as a kid, can't afford it now.  What about medication?  Can't take it.  You're not supposed to take pills with alcohol.  

                             In the shower, the annoying shrink lady in my head asks me all the popular questions.  I just want to pour alcohol through my ears and flush her out.  She needs to get laid or something and calm down.  Maybe the hungry fat man who controls my diet can do it.  Sounds good to me.  

                            I grab my towel and wrap it around me.  Take about five steps to my bedroom and slide the door shut.  Drop my towel on my bed and look at my naked self in the full length mirror I have nailed to the back of the door.  Observing myself from the top down.  Long, thick, voluminous, curly dark brown hair.  Perfect curls around my waist.  Nice even dark eyebrows, that make my eyes pop.  My oval blue eyes with naturally thick and long eyelashes, filled with nothingness and hatred.  My nose kind of sticks out and has a few black heads on it.  A little chub on my cheeks.  Pale face.  Tiny body frame, I'm petite, only 5'1 and a half.  I have boobs.  Their not big or anything but it's noticeable that I carry boobs on my chest.  A long thick scar across the bottom of my stomach.  Arms; faded scars, can clearly see when I have a tan or you look closely.  Flat stomach with curves.  Flat ass, check.  Scars covering top of my legs.  Conclusion: abnormally small feet that match my freakishly child size hands.  That is my naked body folks. 

                            I dressed myself in my uniform (Jeans and a black T-shirt) and pulled my hair back into a loose pony tail.  Applied a little make-up to my eyes and coated my lips in dark red lip stick.  When it comes to my outer appearance I live by one rule;

Don't let anyone see what a mess you are on the inside by the way you look on the outside.

                              I make myself look really pretty and elegant and cover up my scars.  You would never know.  

                                 Forget being a waitress, I should be an actress.  But the only acting experience I have is from my freshman year when I took dramatic arts.  I'm just society's actress.

                                 Another round of Jack Daniels for Zoey and I, then I'm off to work.  To wait on some smelly hillbillies and loud families with kids they should have given to the orphanage.  So glad I didn't go to college.