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Talk With a Cast Off Woman (short story/fiction)

Updated on June 27, 2011

UPDATE: I have edited this story to try and comply with rules and guidlines that caused it to be removed by the staff of HubPages.

Oh shoot, this ain't bad. And I ain't educated, but I'm smart'a nough to know there's more'n one kind'a prison. Heck I signed my own self in here. I can walk out that door any ol' time I wont to. But I'm in here 'cause I figured out what's wrong with me, and one of these days somebody else will too.

Besides that, nobody never even noticed what was goin' on with me. Hell, I notice ever single thang. Even jackasses that caint see past their own noses should'a seen somethin'. Somebody's bound to have seen somethin'. I don't know.

See, it ain't that I feel sorry for myself. It's just weird. Ya know? I quit feeling sorry for myself when it dawned on me how weird the whole deal is.

I tell you what. I can walk down any street in the country and tell you in a snap, (and believe you me, I been to alot of places), who is and who ain't on the brink. And it ain't about money neither. Even if they thank it is. 'Cause money don't buy love. Just like that ol' song says. And it's always about love. I guarantee it. 'Cause you can love anything. So even if you love money. It's still the love. Even if it's weird love. You know?

Shoot my family was just a mess. Growing up, us kids didn't know whuther to shit or go blind! And ever one of us is a little nuts around the edges, some more'n others, if ya know what I mean. I'm purty sure my dad was really insane. Manic depressive I think. I read all about it. He never got help for it though. So you never knew if he was revved up or in a rage 'til you got a few feet from him. Then either way, look out!

Mama was whupped from the start, almost, I think. So us kids didn't have much more'n a fightin' chance from the time we hit the ground. So two of the boys joined the service. One of 'em's still in. The other one's dead. Both my sisters had the good sense and the heart to get married and stay that way.

And good for them. 'Cause one of 'em's crazy. Smart but crazy. And her husband really and truely gives a crap. He loves her anyhow, and kind'a just baby's her along when she's off in "La-La Land". And the other one's always just worked her ever lovin' her tail off, and so's her husband, and they're just happier than pigs in a woller! They got married when they were just 15 and 16. Neither one of 'em had a education. But they got a nice brick home and drive nice cars. Still together.

It's the love thang. I admire my brothers and sisters. But they don't have nothing much to do with me. Wish they did. But that's a love thang too.

Ever body said I bawled and scawled the first 2 years of my life. I was a twin and my twin died at birth. We was real little. Who knows why I cried all the time? But I bet like heck I got on ever body's nerves.

But I guess I finally got over whatever was eatin' at me, 'cause I remember bein' real little and hidin' from ever body. I just don't remember anybody lookin' for me. Ya know? Like callin' me, or playin' hide and seek or something. Besides ever body seemed awful busy all the time. Farm life is full time.

Ain't it funny how you remember yourself as a little kid. Like you see yourself standin' by the flower bed and you're wearin' little white shoes. But the inside part of that little kid in the picture is the real you, and it still is now. And you know the thang that's missin' is enough love.

I mean your thoughts are immature, but you just kind'a know stuff. Shoot, little kids keep wishin' and wishin', and wishin' 'til their little butts turn green. Then they find out wishin' is a sack of manure. And the only thang that really changes about a person is that they find out what they always knew cain't be wished away.

Some people cain't except that.

I thank I quit eating good 'cause if I didn't feel love, food just didn't matter. I don't thank I understood that when I was a kid. I thank I got it when I noticed myself gaggin' tryin' to swalla' something I'd just chewed up. Heck, I was hungry. But ya really don't live on bread alone, now do ya? And some people just need more'n they ever get. Especially if they never got much in the first place.

None of us girls were ever drop dead beautiful. But one of my sisters had real purty eyes. Dreamy. The other one had a really purty figure, and she carried herself real nice. Nobody ever notice that kind'a stuff about me.

Up until I was 15 I was the odd ball out. At home and at school. Ya know? The girl that kind'a hangs back and ever body ignores. Not the girl that gets made fun of, or the girl ever body's afraid of. But the girl nobody ever looks for when they're grown, to see how she's doing or whatever happened to her. The girl in the ol' yearbook you have to go over to the edge and read about to remember what her name is. The lonely girl.

I got on one of those web sites where you can find out how many people had searched for you. Zero.

We moved the summer I was 15, to a little bitty school in Back 40 Podunk, and I made up my mind I would not be the lonely girl there. I would have friends. But my plan went over kind'a like a turd in a punch bowl at first, 'cause I wasn't very good at actin' popular. That kind'a blew over though. Shoot ever body had to purty much be friends with ever body else there, 'cause there weren't enough kids to be too choosy about. I figure that upped my odds alot too.

But I found out boys liked me that year. Well, I found out boys thought I was sexy that year. But you know what? Ever babstard that ever told me he loved me was just a liar. I mean in the long run. But that's just part of it.

I have often wondered if there's some kind'a "you gott'a eat so much crap" quota, I need to fill. Ya know? Like there's this cosmic number that has to be leveled up all the time, and I'm the one who can withstand the proccess. Like if it was left up to somebody else they would crumble up and fall right into it, and a dung bettle would come along and roll 'em away with the crap. Get the picture?

That has been some kind'a weird comfort, if you can believe that. Like I'm helping some body out there, somewhere, and they don't even know it. But I'm keeping the quota filled up for 'em. Have a nice day. I mean there is the balance of power. When you get it, it all makes sense. But who knows for sure?

After boys had tried for about a year to get in my pants, I decided they were all nuts. I had a older friend that put out for ever body. Heck, she took all comers. And that's not just a joke said behind her back, either.

I knew right quick that wasn't what I wanted. Oh I liked boys to hold me tight and kiss me crazy. I liked gettin' aroused. But I got a hicky on my neck one time and Daddy nearly beat me to death. Piss on it!

Plus, I had this teacher that talked alot about college, and talked real straight. I thought maybe I had a chance. And I knew if I had a kid, it would be next to impossible to ever go on and use my brain. To get outta the same ol' rut my folks were in. To go somewhere else.

See, I got the naggin' idea that if I just found the right place to be, I'd be happy. Somebody would love me.

Bein' the youngest, I was told to get away from.... who ever. Brother, sister. I wore Mama out, and her main goal with me for a long time was to keep me quiet. Daddy whupped my tail over any little thing. Nobody hugged me up and told me I was sweet. Nobody said "you did good". I was a mouth to feed. A body to clothe. A chore. A respondsibility. Heck, people even give their dogs shots.

Daddy took off when I was 16. Mother had a belly full of raising kids and bein' mistreated by her husband. By then I guess anyway. She managed to divorce Daddy, and started tryin' to talk me into gettin' married to this boy I barely knew.

She finally managed it, and it was a joke.

I wasn't married but a couple of months before she married somebody too! Our neighbor's boyfriend. My brand new husband dumped me right about then, and my stepdaddy wouldn't let me stay with Mama and him.

I kind'a caught wind several years later that dear ol' stepdaddy had paid my first husband a couple a hundred bucks to marry me, then paid for the divorce he got too. Ain't that a load of horse crap?

But guess what? Mama didn't have to try to "take care" of me anymore. Not legally anyway. So "bye-bye", and drop by once in a blue moon. "Good luck". Screw it. There ain't crap I can do about it, now is there?

I ended up waitin' tables at a pool hall, and met a guy I thought I loved. But to tell the truth I thought he loved me too. That was the best part of it. He was so much fun to be with. I was so happy when I was with him. So I started having sex with him. But when I told him I loved him, he never said it back. And after about a year of him never saying it back, I tucked my tail, and stopped hangin' out with him.

I met another guy though. He did say he loved me. So we lived together for 3 years. 'Til I found out he was on drugs, and he told me I was just a body he got used to. Boom! That nearly killed my soul. But it felt even worse when he kicked me out of his place right then and there, 'cause a stripper was movin' in.

But at least by then I had a car. So I got in it and drove to another city.

I used to always work in bars. I waited tables for about 3 or 4 years, then I started tendin' bar. I made a boat load of money. Tips ya know. The pay wasn't ever that great. But the tips were usually real good.

See I found out guys like waitresses and bar tenders to be really sexy, quick, friendly, and just outta reach. So I would doll up, show a little belly, and wait tables or pour drinks like a mad dog, but still duck from a hand headed toward my butt, with a tray load of full glasses, or a bottle in my right hand and three glasses in my left hand, smiling like a possum eatin' buggers the whole time. So gobs of money went home with me ever night. Heck in my hey day I made more money waitin' tables than I ever did after I started managing bars.

And I'll tell you one dern thing. My feet have hurt like the dickens most of my workin' life. But I can wear any kind'a shoe in any kind'a situation. Funny, ain't it.

I wanted to get married so bad. I listened to a thousand drunk guys tell me they wanted to marry me in those bars. Then one night I believed one of 'em. I started dating him and about a year later we got married. But before the first year rolled by he beat the living daylights outta me while he was drunk. Screw that!

Oh, he was so sorry the next day when he sobered up. I could hardly move and just layed on the couch hurtin' inside and out. When he left for work the next Monday, I loaded up and left. I just took off and didn't look back. Every city has a bar. I always knew I could make it on my own.

I never got into drinkin' myself. Oh I tried it like ever body does. But it made me sicker than a dog. And that was all she wrote for me on drinkin'. I never got into hard drugs either. I was just scared of 'em. I smoked alot of pot though. I guess I feel like it helps.

I tried to kill myself a few times. I cut my wrist. Took a bottle of anti-depressants. But I lived. And glad of it. But when I was in the hospital over the pills, no-one came to see me except my landlady. She was so mad at me! Aint that a hoot? I patched up my own wrist.

I took a paintin' class once. I'd go to different bars on my nights off and dance sometimes. I went fishin'. I volunteered at Headstart, and Meals on Wheels. But no-one ever invited me to any part of their world outside the free job I did. When they found out my real job was in a bar they just kind'a looked down their noses at me. Oh well.

Look, I'm 32 years ol' and I ain't got a family. I got some relatives, sure I do. So freaking what? I ain't got a picture of any of 'em that's less than 10 years ol'.

No matter what I do, I'm still the kid sister no body's interested in. It's still "outta sight outta mind", with Mama, and where the heck is Daddy anyhow? Maybe I'll give him a call. Okay?

I'm still the lonely girl.

But here? Some of these looney tunes listen to me. I can sit here and make crap outta paper and glue and one of these numb nuts in here'll thank it's made outta gold when I give it to 'em. Ya know why?

It's all about love. They want me to love 'em. They want you to love 'em.

So just take these freakin' strapes off of me, unstrap me from this freakin' hard bottomed chair, and let me go in there and talk to 'em while I make 'em some more paper and glue crap!. Would ya please? I've told you all this ol' stuff a million times.

Now please.

Well, will one of you at least give me a freakin' hug?


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    • profile image

      Just Life 6 years ago

      Carlon Michelle, I would love to hear all about it! So I will be reading more of your work to find glimpses of you!

      Thank you so much for the comment!

    • Carlon Michelle profile image

      Carlon Michelle 6 years ago from USA

      This story was so well done. It was strange how much of this character's story I identified with at one time or another in my life. Scary actually. She should have got on anti depressants and saw a shrink for a few years and I think her ending would have been a lot different. LOL. Mine was. Doctors and pills can work. Anyway, nicely done. Cool ending.

    • profile image

      Just Life 6 years ago

      Poohgranma, Thank you so much for reading and commenting!

      I think it is the job of the fiction writer to bring the reader into the situation being writen about, and cause the reader to believe that situation. Your comment makes me think I accomplished that with this story!

      Some stories have happy endings, some have sad endings. I wanted this story to have a bit of a "twist" at the end, and wasn't sure what it would be for awhile.

      Also I wanted to exploit the "lonely girl" aspect of the story by having no names, or second party responces to her extended commantary. I also wanted to "hear" her speaking in a "dumbed down" way, while at the same time exposing the reader to her intelligence, and insanity.

      As far as my inspiration for this, we all have moments of being lonely. But to take a human feeling or emotion and streach it, sometimes to the limit, is (I think) the basic point of fiction writing.

      Thank you again for the great comment and for reading!

    • Poohgranma profile image

      Poohgranma 6 years ago from On the edge

      Between this and Good-bye Emily I almost can't believe there are not some serious scars somewhere in your heart and/or mind. If you can connect with this kind of pain without having experienced it to some degree, I'll say it again, you absolutely need to get hooked up with a publisher.