Loving Life

Chapter 1: Mattie

Hey there! It's a note from me, Brit. This is my first revision, so it's probably really bad. If you have ideas/comments about stuff I should put in/take out, comment and I'll see what I can do!

Plus, I'd like to tell you that this is an opinion piece too, where too-little clothing draws the wrong kind of attention. I was raised that too little clothing drew the wrong kind of attention. If you are okay with keeping your fashion sense, I'm totally okay with that!! We're all different, and that's pretty cool. There are no two of the same. I will respect your opinion if you respect mine.
--Brit

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Part 1: June 15th

My family and I are sitting down when there is a knock on our front door.

            "Mattie, why don't you get the door?" My father nods in the direction of the door. I shake my head and push myself away from the table. Out of the corner of my eye, my mother smiles. She knows I am at that I'm-old-enough-I-can-do-whatever, and is proud I still obey them, even at seventeen, going on eighteen.

            The visitor knocks again while I reach for the knob. A girl of about twelve years, brown hair lightened from being out in Oklahoma's summertime sun stands on our front steps. She wears an overly large shirt, stained by use and the years, and frayed denim shorts ending halfway down her thighs.

"How may I help you?" I look her over with a scrutinizing eye before realizing something seems off. "A young woman like you shouldn't be wearing a shirt that big, hanging off your shoulders. If you want, I can alter it for you." I reach out to pull the seams in, but her hand swipes mine away.

            "Listen. I can't help whatever condition my stupid shirt and jeans are in. Maybe a snot like you shouldn't be wearing a shirt that fits, but has a super low cut. Maybe a snot like you shouldn't be wearing shorts too short and skinny like those."

            "I can't help Oklahoma's hot weather."

            "But you can wear better clothing." She sighs, heading down our landscaped sidewalk, sneering, "Listen. It's been a long day and I can tell you won't help me. Thanks for your  fashion statement."

            I catch a little of her mumbled sentence and rush off down the drive. "Wait, what did you need help with? You can't judge a person based on first-time appearances."

            "You really want to know? Before I start, I must warn you." She places her hands on her hips and starts babbling, "You may think this world is made of your goddamn lazy and rich folks. Newsflash for you: there are people who work their asses off day and night. It was my idea to do what I'm doing, and I had to figure out how to go around Edmond and ask residents for their 'hard earned' money for those who are less fortunate. Let me guess. You can't help me. You're too careful about who to give money to, as long as it's for another stupid shirt. And you know what? God have mercy on my soul. I hope hell breaks loose on you." She whips around without another word. I stand there, too shocked to move. A few feet behind me, I hear the shuffle of feet and a hand resting on my shoulder. They had to have heard that heated discussion.

            But they act like it was our neighbor instead of a little brat. "Who was it, Mattie?" my mother's sweet voice asks.

            "Some insolent kid," I mutter, casting my glance elsewhere than them and the girl stomping down the street. Deep down, I know she is right. I just do not want to admit it like I always want to do. I am careful with my money. But I have had people hate me based on one glance because of my wardrobe, too.