the ride

at the truckstop debbie had struck me as one of those unbearably perky types: she seemed happy with her existence as wife to a sadist asshole and mother of three bellicose pieces of shit. in the car she became quiet, and her face settled in a way that looked like it was being tugged down by the weight of her misery. her mouth, when not active, formed a definite frown. debbie seemed lonely and defeated.

from time to time as he drove, ron would interrupt the din of backseat hand-to-hand combat with a slam on the steering wheel and a promise to "bitch slap all three of ya" if they kept it up. i was seated behind ron next to max who spent most of the ride bent over the back of his seat pounding his fists against his brothers and calling them faggots. codi and benji sat behind us in an indeterminite tangle of limbs. i kept as much distance as possible between myself and the sibling violence: i sat with my forehead pressed against window and made a game of blurring my vision enough so that the trash on the side of the rode morphed into pretty blurs of color.

half an hour after leaving the truckstop benji began to complain that his stomach hurt and that he needed to go to the bathroom. this really ticked ron off. he was "trying to make good time." he smiled when he informed benji that there was no way in hell he was going to pull off the road and that he better learn how to hold it. benji fell silent. then he started to cry. codi and max giggled at first, but soon they were calling out to their mother in high pitched whines "mommy he's gotta go! make him stop!" here debbie attempted to reason with ron. she said it was her fault that benji felt sick because she let him eat to much at lunch.

the next thing i knew, ron was pulling over onto the side of the road. he slammed the brake and we all jerked forward then back again. ron snapped around in his seat, "i told you i wasn't gonna pull off of the stinkin' highway, benji. what are you a baby! you gotta go so bad? get out of the car. if you gotta go so bad you're gonna go right here on the road in front of the whole world! go you big baby! get out of the car!"

we were all silent except for debbie who only managed to blurt out one pleading "ronnie-" before he told her shut up. benji sat behind me whimpering. finally ron said that benji had until the count of three to get out and do his business, otherwise he was getting back on the road for good and benji would just have to shit himself. benji got up and made his way out of the car in silence. he tried to obscure himself from the view of passersby by crouching down on the shoulder side of the car, but ron barked out the window that he was to go around to the rear bumper so that everyone could see him as they drove by. benji weakly complied.

his face was bright red and streaked with tears when he reappeared at debbie's window asking for tissues. she handed him a brand new purse pack of kleenex. ron didn't insist on making him walk back to the rear of the car to clean himself up so benji just stood there by his mom's window with zombie eyes and set to work. the shitty tissues came to life as he dropped them: they blew around the ground at his feet with each car that whizzed by. when there were no more tissues left, benji pulled up his pants and got back into the car.

in defense of abortion:

the smithfields drove a fully loaded blue chevy trailblazer. debbie had been the one to offer me the ride. i could tell from the beginning that ron wasn't really hip to the idea. he wasn't exactly discreet about rolling his eyes and huffing "gimme a fucking break!" when debbie suggested that i ride with them. in the parking lot debbie and i tried to keep up polite conversation while ron crawled ino the car and swore a lot while he tried to figure out how to get the extra seat set up. eventually debbie had to do it. this really pissed ron off and he slammed the door extra hard to make sure we all knew not to fuck with him. when he accusingly asked why i wasn't in school, i made up a lie about a family rift between my mother and her sister. i said that i was trying to mend the rift by travelling to my aunt's deathbed. my mother forbade my going, but i was determined to get there by any possible means. debbie (the archetypal nurturer) was really impressed by the tear-jerker aspect of my story and pressed me for details. her eyes filled up with empathetic tears. thankfully i had recently watched "beaches" when i was bored out of my brains on a recent home-for-hooky afternoon. otherwise i would have been hard pressed for facts: there is no illness in my family, and both of my parents are only children.

the boys were offensively mocking and violent. the oldest kid, codi, was ten. codi the leader. he ruled with the threat of harm. he strut around the car cracking a yard-long licorice vine like a whip against any available surface. occasionally he would turn to his brothers and say "next time it's your face!" benji, at eight was the middle child. benji had an evil-clownish smear of red on and around his mouth from a cherry sno-cone whose cup he held onto but had long since melted. he mainly used the syrupy remains as a method of keeping his sibling attackers at bay. at one point codi ran past him and cracked his licorice whip on benji's sneaker. benji went ballistic screaming "do it again! do it again, codi and i swear to god i'll put this shit down your pants! then dad's gonna beat the shit outtayou, faggot! do it again!" max, the youngest, was seven. max's weapon of choice was a glow-in-the-dark yoyo that he swung in exaggerated circles over his head like a medieval flail. as much as i admired max for his understanding of lesser known medieval weaponry, he definitely freaked me out the most. his rage was mostly directed at his mother. anytime debbie attempted to address the boys, max would squawk "shut up bitch! shut up bitch!" in what i believe was a his impression of a depraved parrot. i imagine him on trial in ten years for date rape.

debbie was embarrassed. she became quiet. for a second as we pulled out of the parking lot i wondered if these people were planning to kidnap me and force me to participate in some sick, sado-masochistic, incest orgy in an abandoned warehouse somewhere. when i looked at debbie i thought better of it. clearly she had offered me the ride as an attempt at an hour of female companionship.

on the road

first, i would like to offer all of you faithful subscribers a heartfelt apology for my absense. driven by a wave of bleak, bleak feeling, i have spent the past few weeks hitchhiking up and down the eastern seaboard on a tour of decrepit old cemeteries. i went in search of the solace i suspected i might find in surroundings that matched my feeling of hopeless finality. here is my story:

i should say that hitchhiking as a goth is no easy task. as the vast majority of joe-normal americans think i'm "creepy", more often than not i had a hard time finding a ride. at a truck stop somewhere outside of pittsburg, i decided to trade in my goth uniform (black sisters of mercy t-shirt, black lace corset worn over t-shirt, black a-line mini skirt, black and red striped tights and black platform boots), for more cheerful attire. the truck stop convenience store was stocked with a wide variety of miscellany. i bought myself a white t-shirt that had "that's pennsylvania dutch, thank you very much" written across the chest in fake red cross-stitch, a pair of lee blue jeans in a wash i have never seen before in normal society, a pair of black immitation birkenstocks (had to keep it real somewhere!), and a baseball cap with an airbrushed picture of a golden retriever on it (the shop's hat assortment represented most breeds ... i opted for the golden retriever becasue they are the breed most often found behind white picket fences).

i changed into my new "holly wholesome" outfit in the bathroom. i stuffed my real clothes into my trusty bright yellow pokemon head backpack. at the sink i washed off my black eyeliner and wiped off lipstick. before i re-entered the world as a non-goth (not that a truckstop outside of pittsburg is "the world" per se), i checked myself out in the mirror and experienced a feeling that was part nausea, and part amusement. i crossed my fingers with the hope that my disguise would be convincing.

i decided to get a pack of gum at the restaurant counter. i'm not really much of a gum chewer as i am loath to do anything that might be considered cute or cheerleaderish, but the old lady behind the counter interested me, and i wanted an excuse to interact with her. i definitely romanticize career diner waitresses. they are are a bit like mutant humans: able to perform nearly any act of restaurant service with a pot of coffee in one hand and a pencil and pad in the other, all the while flashing a disconnected yet oddly comforting smile. i like the way they pepper their conversations with "sweetie" and "doll" without ever being personal. they commit the detailed culinary preferences of their "regulars" to memory (over easy, dressing on the side ...), but manage to keep them at an emotional arm's-length. this waitress' name tag said "gerry". she looked to be in her mid to late 60s. gerry asked me how i was doing today, sugar? i tried to stretch my "good thanks" into an actual conversation but by the time she was handing over my change with one hand, she was already ringing up the guy behind me with the other, and jokily thanking him for giving her car a jump last week. i envied him. i wondered what type of car she drove, and what sort of decoration she hung from the rearview mirror.

i wandered away from the counter chewing on a fresh stick of gum. amazingly a seemingly "normal" (really miserable) family (three screaming brat boys, and a bickering mom and dad) felt an instant kinship toward my new appearance, and offered me a ride to vienna, virginia before i even made it to the parking lot!

more to come ...