Clementine - 1

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WARNING!! THIS BOOK IS GIRLXGIRL OTHERWISE KNOWN AS LESBIAN! ALSO, THERE WILL BE HOMOPHOBIC REFERENCES FROM CHRISTIAN OR GOD PEOPLE!! THIS IS IN NO WAY GROUPING ALL CHRISTIANS, ETC. TOGETHER! I HAVE GOOD FRIENDS WHO BELIEVE IN GOD AND LOVE LGBTS! 

Clementine

     Sometimes the world seems so small and close minded I can barely breathe. The dusty roads of brown always seeming to make my town seem less like the America others know. cattle groaning, roosters crowing-even the occasional ye-haw is heard. It seems like every passing year sends my little place back fifty. Unless something else brings me out of this endless circle, I feel as though I'll scream out to the world my secrets. Why won't-

     "Clementine! For the love of all that's holy, where is Clementine?" I set my pencil down and secretly hide the journal under a loose wooden board. 

      Walking into the kitchen, I clasp my hands together, "Yes, momma?"

     "We're leaving for church, sugar. Now slip on that dress of yours and wake your father."  Momma sets the pot of beans we'd eaten most of on the ground for Hank, our dog, to clean. Turning my back quickly, I grimace. Why must I wear a dress? She should be grateful I even go to church at all, much less wear a dress! And my pops?

     The rough wooden door of my poppa's room is partially open, and I already know what I'll see when it opens. 

     Creak

     There, sitting with a Budweiseer in his right hand  (with two crunched ones on a nearby table) likes my Poppa watching some rerun rodeo or something. Above him rests his most prized poster: BEER! Helping ugly people have sex since 1862! 

     "Git that! Git 'er done! Whoo!" He yells at the TV, swinging a cowbell around. Now. 

     "Hey, Pa?" Usually, my "rude interruption" is cue for his responses of: "Shut it", "Shut the hell up", "I'm busy" or my personal favorite, "Tell that bitch to shut the hell up."  Then he would give me a look if I didn't leave, as if to ask: Well? Why are you still here?  

     But since he had apparently just won some sort of bet to himself he turns to me with raised eyebrows.  "It's time to go to church," I state, careful not to say that mother told me to tell him that. Their relationship was a little shaky. Okay, it was more than shaky - volcano warning shaky.  I was pretty sure pops wouldn't even be here except for the fact that he didn't have anyplace to go that would be without prying eyes and listening ears. That's the problem with a small town.  Everybody thinks that everyone else's business is theirs. Gossip, gossip, gossip. Small places means little action which means any new is the news. People have had their suspicions about my father being an alcoholic who neglects his family, but they have no proof. 

     "Okay," I hear him grunt and sigh with relief. However much I hate going to church, making up new excuses for Poppa's absences is getting tricky. Without a word I slip back to my room and grudgingly crawl into momma's new dress.  Dresses humiliate me, even if no one else cares. Well, they'd care if I wear what I want to wear. Yes, things were old fashioned here in my little old place. The townsfolk could (and still do) run people outta town - tar, feathers - the whole deal if it's justified. 

     I consider myself lucky they haven't found out I'm lesbian. 

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