Sylvia felt that she shouldn't be surprised that Dallas got sent to reform school. He'd told her casually enough, just off hand, not looking like he gave a shit about anything. Not about going to the reform school and not about her.
He was already gone. He'd left that day. Sylvia stared at the ring he'd given her, a high school ring and a real expensive one with a fancy stone. It wasn't his, really. He'd jumped some senior to get it. She twirled it around her finger.
She missed him already and felt mad at herself for it. He sure as shit didn't miss her. She kicked the ground with the pointed toe of her high heeled shoe and lit up a cigarette.
"Tramp," A soc girl said as she walked by her. Sylvia was leaning against the wall by the entrance to the school. She'd cut her last class, too upset about Dallas to pay attention. Now everyone was leaving.
"Fuck you!" Sylvia called after her. Damn socs in their 100 dollar dresses and stuck up little noses. Fuck them. She dropped her cigarette and ground it out under the heel of her shoe.
She walked home slowly, sadly, thinking of that damn Dallas getting sent to reform school again. What was it this time? That he cut school half the time? That he was drunk when he did bother to show up, that he beat up that kid in the parking lot? She had told him not long ago that they don't fucking send you to reform school forever.
"Sooner or later, "she had said, "they send you to jail," Dallas had shrugged. He'd been in jail at ten for stealing a car or something. She didn't really know.
When she got home her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, a full glass of gin and an empty bottle of gin in front of her. Her mother had the sallow complexion of a woman who only went out at night. A Virginia slim was slowly turning to ash between her slim fingers.
"Sylvia," her mother said, her name slurred around the edges. Someone who didn't know her would not be able to tell that she was drunk. But Sylvia could tell.
"Your father switched jobs again," her mother said, and took a long swallow of the gin. Sylvia knew what this meant. He did it all the time. Once child support caught up with him he switched jobs and then her mother wouldn't get any checks until he filed his taxes again.
"So what, mom, who gives a shit?" Her mother shrugged and shifted her gaze slightly so that she was looking beyond Sylvia and out the window. Sylvia turned and looked out it, too. Dirty window because her mother never cleaned it, never cleaned anything. She saw the crappy houses and the weedy lawns and the litter in the street. She hated her house and she hated her neighborhood but most of all she hated Dallas for getting in trouble again and leaving her alone.
When the sun went down her mother put on her tight whore red dress and blood red lipstick, grabbed her little purse that didn't have any money in it because all those drunk men at the bar bought her drinks. She left and didn't say goodbye. Sylvia didn't care. She had plans of her own.
She didn't bother to change her clothes. Her tight little mini skirt and tight little halter top would do just fine. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror and reapplied her make up. Sylvia put on makeup like a warrior, it was her war paint, her defense against the world. Crimson lips and blue eyelids and streaks of blush applied in such a way that her cheekbones looked higher, like an Indian or a super model.
From her mother she learned that she didn't need money when she went to a bar. Men had money and that was fine. Her mother went to The Club Car, a swanky bar that played Elvis. Sylvia went to The Brick, a honky tonk bar with slouchy drugged out cowboys and juvenile delinquents. She'd met Dallas there and was in love with him before the night was over. He didn't grease his hair but he was so cool he could get away with it. His hair was so blond, like a child's. And his eyes, always narrowed in anger, that strange shade of blue.
She marched out of the house, protected in her make up and spike heels, and she slipped Dallas' ring off her finger and into her pocket. She always had worn it on the third finger of her left hand like it was a wedding ring. Her mother had noticed it one day and didn't ask her about the boy who gave it to her.
"Know why you wear it on that finger?" her mother had said in her creepy way. Sylvia shook her head no.
"There's a vein in that finger that goes directly to the heart," Sylvia had just gazed at her with wide eyes, and her mother got up and quietly puked in the other room.
The bar welcomed her with the music and the smoke and all the people crowded together, the buzz of all the conversations creating its own unique sound. The bartender and owner was a short, beer paunchy, ruddy old guy that everyone called Hair Bear. Hair Bear had kissed her once, a forcefull and sloppy kiss that made her panic, dreading he would do more. But he didn't, just smiled drunkenly at her with his chipped and blackening teeth and he told her how cute she was.
She liked to look at the boys in here, cowboy hats slung low over their eyes, muscles visible beneath thin tee shirts. Strong square fingers circling beer bottles. She liked to look but she didn't so much like them looking at her. She could feel their eyes crawling over her body like bugs, lingering too long in spots so that she wanted to crawl away, curl up into a ball...
"Hey, sweetheart, want a drink?" A redhead, but not that awful crinkly orange red hair. His hair was a sleek dark red and his brown eyes looked to be the same color as his hair in this light. Sylvia licked her top lip and nodded.
He got her a beer and that was fine, mixed drinks hit her too quick and Hair Bear didn't even know how to make half of them. She thanked him softly and took a long swallow, still hurting over Dallas but she knew enough drinks would take the pain away. They always did. She lit a cigarette and stared at the kid's red hair. Two more drinks and she'd touch it. Right now she didn't dare.
Music, music, music. She could feel the pulse of it somewhere deep inside and the beer and the cigarettes and the music combined to make her feel better. Fuck Dallas. So he left, so what? This kid was right here.
"What's your name?" she said in her breathy voice, her little sexy voice.
"Austin," Oh fuck. Trade one city for another, it was all the same. He had freckles but not the garish ones some red heads were saddled with, just a light dusting across the bridge of his nose.
He bought her a new beer every time she had a few sips left so before she knew it she had drank four. She reached out and touched his hair, it was as silky as it looked. She tried to guess his age. 22? 26? 30? It was hard to tell and it didn't really matter.
She was halfway through her fifth beer and she had smoked so much she could taste ashes in her mouth and he grabbed her hand.
"C'mon," he whispered right into her ear, sending a little chill up her spine. The alcohol had dulled her already dull senses. She didn't protest. Just followed him through the crowd and to the door that lead to the stairs. There were rooms above the bar, it used to be some sort of hotel before Hair Bear bought the place. Now it was a different sort of hotel.
The rooms were small, with bare light bulbs swinging from ropes over the single beds. She'd been in the rooms before.
Austin started kissing her and she tried to set her beer down on the little nightstand but couldn't quite manage it. It tipped over and the beer ran down the side of the table. Still kissing her he walked over to the bed and she stumble backwards until her legs hit the bed and she sat.
"You're pretty," he said, and she could tell by his eyes that he was drunker than she had thought. So was she. He pushed her back so she laid down and she felt unable to fight. She didn't care anyway. It didn't matter anyway. Dallas was gone and who knew for how long?
He started taking her clothes off and she closed her eyes and let him. Nothing mattered anyway.
He was already gone. He'd left that day. Sylvia stared at the ring he'd given her, a high school ring and a real expensive one with a fancy stone. It wasn't his, really. He'd jumped some senior to get it. She twirled it around her finger.
She missed him already and felt mad at herself for it. He sure as shit didn't miss her. She kicked the ground with the pointed toe of her high heeled shoe and lit up a cigarette.
"Tramp," A soc girl said as she walked by her. Sylvia was leaning against the wall by the entrance to the school. She'd cut her last class, too upset about Dallas to pay attention. Now everyone was leaving.
"Fuck you!" Sylvia called after her. Damn socs in their 100 dollar dresses and stuck up little noses. Fuck them. She dropped her cigarette and ground it out under the heel of her shoe.
She walked home slowly, sadly, thinking of that damn Dallas getting sent to reform school again. What was it this time? That he cut school half the time? That he was drunk when he did bother to show up, that he beat up that kid in the parking lot? She had told him not long ago that they don't fucking send you to reform school forever.
"Sooner or later, "she had said, "they send you to jail," Dallas had shrugged. He'd been in jail at ten for stealing a car or something. She didn't really know.
When she got home her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, a full glass of gin and an empty bottle of gin in front of her. Her mother had the sallow complexion of a woman who only went out at night. A Virginia slim was slowly turning to ash between her slim fingers.
"Sylvia," her mother said, her name slurred around the edges. Someone who didn't know her would not be able to tell that she was drunk. But Sylvia could tell.
"Your father switched jobs again," her mother said, and took a long swallow of the gin. Sylvia knew what this meant. He did it all the time. Once child support caught up with him he switched jobs and then her mother wouldn't get any checks until he filed his taxes again.
"So what, mom, who gives a shit?" Her mother shrugged and shifted her gaze slightly so that she was looking beyond Sylvia and out the window. Sylvia turned and looked out it, too. Dirty window because her mother never cleaned it, never cleaned anything. She saw the crappy houses and the weedy lawns and the litter in the street. She hated her house and she hated her neighborhood but most of all she hated Dallas for getting in trouble again and leaving her alone.
When the sun went down her mother put on her tight whore red dress and blood red lipstick, grabbed her little purse that didn't have any money in it because all those drunk men at the bar bought her drinks. She left and didn't say goodbye. Sylvia didn't care. She had plans of her own.
She didn't bother to change her clothes. Her tight little mini skirt and tight little halter top would do just fine. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror and reapplied her make up. Sylvia put on makeup like a warrior, it was her war paint, her defense against the world. Crimson lips and blue eyelids and streaks of blush applied in such a way that her cheekbones looked higher, like an Indian or a super model.
From her mother she learned that she didn't need money when she went to a bar. Men had money and that was fine. Her mother went to The Club Car, a swanky bar that played Elvis. Sylvia went to The Brick, a honky tonk bar with slouchy drugged out cowboys and juvenile delinquents. She'd met Dallas there and was in love with him before the night was over. He didn't grease his hair but he was so cool he could get away with it. His hair was so blond, like a child's. And his eyes, always narrowed in anger, that strange shade of blue.
She marched out of the house, protected in her make up and spike heels, and she slipped Dallas' ring off her finger and into her pocket. She always had worn it on the third finger of her left hand like it was a wedding ring. Her mother had noticed it one day and didn't ask her about the boy who gave it to her.
"Know why you wear it on that finger?" her mother had said in her creepy way. Sylvia shook her head no.
"There's a vein in that finger that goes directly to the heart," Sylvia had just gazed at her with wide eyes, and her mother got up and quietly puked in the other room.
The bar welcomed her with the music and the smoke and all the people crowded together, the buzz of all the conversations creating its own unique sound. The bartender and owner was a short, beer paunchy, ruddy old guy that everyone called Hair Bear. Hair Bear had kissed her once, a forcefull and sloppy kiss that made her panic, dreading he would do more. But he didn't, just smiled drunkenly at her with his chipped and blackening teeth and he told her how cute she was.
She liked to look at the boys in here, cowboy hats slung low over their eyes, muscles visible beneath thin tee shirts. Strong square fingers circling beer bottles. She liked to look but she didn't so much like them looking at her. She could feel their eyes crawling over her body like bugs, lingering too long in spots so that she wanted to crawl away, curl up into a ball...
"Hey, sweetheart, want a drink?" A redhead, but not that awful crinkly orange red hair. His hair was a sleek dark red and his brown eyes looked to be the same color as his hair in this light. Sylvia licked her top lip and nodded.
He got her a beer and that was fine, mixed drinks hit her too quick and Hair Bear didn't even know how to make half of them. She thanked him softly and took a long swallow, still hurting over Dallas but she knew enough drinks would take the pain away. They always did. She lit a cigarette and stared at the kid's red hair. Two more drinks and she'd touch it. Right now she didn't dare.
Music, music, music. She could feel the pulse of it somewhere deep inside and the beer and the cigarettes and the music combined to make her feel better. Fuck Dallas. So he left, so what? This kid was right here.
"What's your name?" she said in her breathy voice, her little sexy voice.
"Austin," Oh fuck. Trade one city for another, it was all the same. He had freckles but not the garish ones some red heads were saddled with, just a light dusting across the bridge of his nose.
He bought her a new beer every time she had a few sips left so before she knew it she had drank four. She reached out and touched his hair, it was as silky as it looked. She tried to guess his age. 22? 26? 30? It was hard to tell and it didn't really matter.
She was halfway through her fifth beer and she had smoked so much she could taste ashes in her mouth and he grabbed her hand.
"C'mon," he whispered right into her ear, sending a little chill up her spine. The alcohol had dulled her already dull senses. She didn't protest. Just followed him through the crowd and to the door that lead to the stairs. There were rooms above the bar, it used to be some sort of hotel before Hair Bear bought the place. Now it was a different sort of hotel.
The rooms were small, with bare light bulbs swinging from ropes over the single beds. She'd been in the rooms before.
Austin started kissing her and she tried to set her beer down on the little nightstand but couldn't quite manage it. It tipped over and the beer ran down the side of the table. Still kissing her he walked over to the bed and she stumble backwards until her legs hit the bed and she sat.
"You're pretty," he said, and she could tell by his eyes that he was drunker than she had thought. So was she. He pushed her back so she laid down and she felt unable to fight. She didn't care anyway. It didn't matter anyway. Dallas was gone and who knew for how long?
He started taking her clothes off and she closed her eyes and let him. Nothing mattered anyway.