Sing Goddess

Part 7

When I got home, Lizzie and Nell were perched on the kitchen counter, eating hot dogs rolled in sheets of white bread.  The rest of the house was lit only by the rusty light of the now enormous moon.

Nell chuckled when she saw my wet hair. “Got a dose of the Holy Water, hey kid?  Did she pull out the Lourdes or was the Garden Variety Blessed Aqua good enough?”  

“The Lourdes.  But at least she had Mr. Bailey drive me and the Tool of Satan home, which was nice, I guess.  The way she carried on I thought she was going to throw the board in the fireplace.”

“Praise Jesus and pass the bacon!” Nell chuckled, wiping ketchup from her lips. 

"Where are the ‘rents?” I asked. 

“It's Friday night, Ry.  And where are they usually on a Friday night?”

“At a party?”

 “Bingo. The way those two party, it's a miracle the two of you didn't pop out more mutated than you are, with two heads and webbed feet. By the way — speaking of mutants, guess who's hiding out in your bedroom?” 

“Who?” 

 “Guess...” Nell ordered, shoving the remainder of her Wonder Bread dog down the garbage disposer.

Before I could venture even one name, Lizzie erupted. “Susan LeBon! And wait till you see what she’s done to her face!” 

“I know what she did to her face. Why is she here?”

“Because the LeBons are out partying with your folks and Mrs. Bonehead didn't want to leave little Suzie Q home alone. So your mother said ‘Riley would just love to have her come spend the night.’ Wasn’t that nice of your mother?  The little turkey had a snit after they left and ran off to your room.”

“I told her she’d better not touch your Beatle pictures or you’d beat her up!”  

“Thanks Lizzie.”  I could have killed my mother.  What a cruel and wicked thing to do.  Invite Susan Le Bon to stay in my room, knowing how I felt about her.  I vowed to never ever do that to one of my children.  Never in a thousand years.  

“I’m glad you’re home,” Nell said. “I have study group.” She grabbed her books and headed for the front door.  “Don’t let Squirt watch Hitchcock, no matter how she begs and pleads. And don’t eat too much sugar.”

As soon as Nell was out the door,  Lizzie and I made ourselves a pan of Betty Crocker extra fudge brownies with chocolate chips and nuts — the works.  We didn’t cook it all the way so that it was more like molten chocolate.  We liked it that way —  so gooey you had to eat it with a spoon.  The smell even drew Susan out from my room.

“You want some?” I asked.

“I hate chocolate. I just want a butter and sugar sandwich.”  

No wonder she was such a freak.  What teenaged girl doesn’t like chocolate?  It’s against the laws of physics or something. 

“Maybe if you ate some chocolate you’d be normal.” 

“I don’t want to be normal,” she whimpered.  “I just want a butter and sugar sandwich.”

 I thought of giving her some more advice, sort of like Jerrie Bailey was always giving me.  Mostly stupid things like, if you had more pimples you’d be more popular, if you changed your name from Riley to something cute like Bobbi-Jo, if you stuffed your bra.  At first I was so desperate for her to like me again that I told kids to start calling me Riley Jo but that only made me feel more pathetic.  “That’s exactly what Jerrilyn Bailey wants,” Nell’d explained, “to make you look pathetic ao that she could justify the way she treated you.  Sort of like the Nazis shaving the heads of the Jews so people would think they were animals and not human beings and therefore deserved the way they were treated.  She wants to justify the way she treated you. ”