Abused Monday
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hairspray; that'd be John Waters.
Amber hated Mondays; it was the day she had to practice her moves. Practice her moves so that she'd be able to show up Noreen and Doreen and Darla, and especially Shelley. She knew that she wasn't a gifted dancer; she knew that she had two left feet. That's why she had to work harder than the rest. Blood, sweat, tears, pain just so she could be the star on a Baltimore TV show that was only shown locally. Amber's mother always told her that all she had to do was get on Mr. Spritzer's good side--the man had major connections. Amber hated the show, she hated her mother, and she hated Mondays.
Link's mother died on a cold Monday afternoon. She was racing along the slick road, trying to get to his baseball game. His mom was always late, and he'd always complain: "Mommy, you're never there when I hit a homerun!" So that day, she was desperately attempting to get there before the game even started. She was running a bit late, so she sped up a little. Not much. That couldn't hurt, right? She slipped off the road and smashed into a tree. Link gave up baseball and opted for dancing instead.
Seaweed's dad left on a Monday. Just packed up and left. Didn't even write a note, didn't even leave an address behind where Maybelle could find him. Why would he? He needed to get away; Seaweed was always screaming, running around the house, and his father couldn't handle it. He didn't even want kids in the first place; Seaweed was an accident. A huge accident, that's all he was. Wasn't even supposed to be here. Mr. Stubbs had to take up another job just to feed the little brat. So he left. He didn't need this; he was young, he didn't have any responsibilities. He didn't want any responsibilities.
Mondays were running days in Tracy's PE class. She hated it, hated it, hated it. It wasn't just because they had to run two miles in twenty minutes, although that was a major reason. She hated how she was the only one to be covered in sweat, be red in the face, be completely winded when they were finished. Everyone stared at her, silently saying: "Wow, the fat ass gets tired easily." Tracy could barely speak afterwards, her legs got shaky, her thighs cramped up. Everything hurt, and she wished, just this once, that she could be like Amber, who was always the first girl to finish. But just this once.