Confused Musings of the Confectionary Kind
Amanda has to work with the wicked little girl she met at summer camp and endures torture of the psychological sort. (Amanda Buckner/Wednesday Addams)
Amanda Buckner wasn't ready to meet a girl like Wednesday Addams that fateful afternoon at summer camp. She wasn't expecting to harbor a deep seated hatred for that girl and leave with burn marks that she secretly hoped would stay on her skin forever as she touches them in afterthought.
Wednesday was everything she was not: morbid, sadistic, frightening, sarcastic, grim, dressed in all black with skin paler than any expensive porcelain her mother spent money on with two slick pigtails that hang down, perfectly straight and symmetrical. Her deep black eyes filled with nothingness and terror, boring into her soul every time she remembers them as she lies in bed dreaming. Amanda should be repelled by her, want nothing to do with her, yet she wants everything to do with her. She touches those burns Wednesday left on her with relish, remembers those cherry red lips twist in a sadistic smirk as that wicked little girl of her memories light the match, dressed like a war-driven Pocahontas of death and destruction.
She never went back to that camp; her mother made sure of that. They leave to the suburbs where she started a new life in a prestigious private school, hanging around little boys and girls that looked like her, came from backgrounds like her, and blended into one entity of blonde hair, blue-green-brown eyes, and tan skin, be it natural or in a can. They filled her prepubescent life with boring droll about what girl wore what, who liked who, who had the most money, and who was a loser. She'd sit at the head of the popular crowd, eating her expensive lunch and watching the Joel's of her school get bullied, feeling sympathetic, but doing nothing to stop it. She lets them, hoping for her Wednesday to come to the rescue, lead a rebellion, and rescue her from her monotonous life before she ends it with the sleeping pills she stole from her mother's medicine cabinet.
Her first job was at a candy shop. Shy of 16, her mother plopped her in that god-awful candy store that reeked of sweetness and told her that hard work would look good on a college resume, even though both of them knew Amanda would get in anyway because of her parents. So she plays the part of chipper cashier and candy connoisseur, scooping up pound after pound of confectionary sugar and fat to bratty kids, obese parents, and the occasional asshole who needed a little sugar to balance out the bitterness. She serves them all and gets paid half of what her parents give her as chump change, and pretends to be grateful for the piss poor payment. She's living a normal life, living a life free of those black pigtails and sarcastic quips…
She wonders if Wednesday tastes like black licorice.
She meets the object of her hidden affections one chilly afternoon when she strolls into her shop, dressed in all black with a parasol meant for funerals. She assesses the environment with the curl of her lip and the tightening up of her body.
"Bright colors…everywhere. Disgusting." She places her shades back on.
"Hello, are you an employee of this establishment?" she asks Amanda. Her heart beats at an alarming pace; she bites her lip and tries to regain her composure.
"Why, yes, I am. I'm Amanda." She smiles at her. Wednesday holds out her hand.
"Hi, my name is Wednesday Addams. I'm looking for…for…a…job, at this establishment. Mother's orders. I was shooting for the medical examiner job, but apparently you have to have a degree to dissect corpses. Tragic."
She may not have known, but Wednesday unintentionally made Amanda Buckner's heart soar.
She'd been blessed.