Part Twelve A [I]Strip Away the Ugliness that Surrounds
Me[/I]~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"No."
"Come on Liz, please?!"
"I said NO."
"Just try it on."
"The no is still standing."
"Funny, I thought it was sitting down actually."
I roll my eyes and stay silent.
"Ok, yea, that was lame, but come ON! You know you want to."
Oh, yes, you got me. I really DO want to prance around like some Kate Moss wannabe idiot. Oh, and um, the peer pressure thing? Not going to work. Sorry.
"Pu-leeeeeease??!"
Or maybe I'm not so sorry. Argh! What part of no doesn't the girl get?
"Maria! No, no, and NO!"
Is it the N? Is it the O?
She gives off a frustrated sigh. "Fine! I'll just put it away then." She shoves the revealing bathing suit top back into her bag.
Ah, progress. It's a beautiful thing.
Not for the first time, I'm wondering what I'm doing here. See, I'm over at Maria's house before she drags me over to Isabel's. Its nice and everything (her home I mean). Spacey and whatnot. I'd comment on the décor except that thing's never really appealed to me. And plus, I frankly don't care.
Frankly. Weird. Where did that word come from? Some guy with an identity crisis? '"I don't mean to be frank but." Or maybe the guy's name was frank. And yes, I say guy. Only the male species would come up with such a concept.
What's the female version of chauvinism?
Maria's still grumbling to herself, cramming in sunscreen and sunglasses and other knickknacks (knickknacks.sheesh. Damn the maker of the English language) at her colorful bag and scowling at it.
Why you ask?
Let's just say the bathing suit top? The one that would fit a five year old?
Maria wanted to put it on ME. Yes, ME.
Like I've said before: Psycho.
She jerks her head up and scrutinizes me with her olive glare. "I don't see why you wouldn't just."
"No."
".try it on, I mean.."
Sigh. "NO!"
".would look really."
I can't take this anymore. I groan loudly and smash my face into Maria's fuzzy pillow. "NO! A hundred times no!"
I hear her sigh in exasperation but thankfully she remains otherwise silent.
Well, for now at least.
"O-kaaaaay, but I'm just going to bring it in case you change your mind."
Again with the eye rolling. "Whatever." As long as you leave me alone about it. Though like I told her, I am NOT going in the water, and I am NOT putting on that sorry excuse for clothing. I have my reasons. And your evil glamour ways are not going to sway me.
For a second I think I see a devious Maria style grin cross her face, but just as I spin around to take a closer look at it, it's gone. Hmm. Probably imagined it, seeing how's that particular expression is common as far as Maria's concerned. She hoists the bag on her shoulder and smiles brightly at me. "Ready to go?"
As I'll ever be.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Slamming the door to the Jetta shut, I apprehensively look up at the house.
Its enormous, yet cheery looking. Like people have lived here all their lives. As I peruse it, I contemplate its history, and the fact that Max can't bare to take a step in here if not needed to. Curiosity bubbles within me but I push the inquisitive side of me away and move towards the door. I'm already on the porch before I realize Maria's not behind me. Whipping my head around I glance back at the car.
Maria's rummaging around in the backseat, trying to cram everything that fell out during the drive back into her bag. I shake my head at her head in amusement. "Do you need some help?"
Her blonde mane jerks up in surprise at my abrupt shouting and contacts with the ceiling of the car. "SHIT!" She rubs her head and glowers at the Jetta, mumbling about stupid vehicles and mother's. Suddenly remembering that I spoke to her she turns distractedly to me. "No thanks Liz! Just ring the door bell to let them know you're here and walk on into Izzy's room to dump your stuff."
Uhhh.
Right, because that would be ok and everything, me barging into someone's home. Especially Isabel's home. I gulp.
"Are you sure Maria? Because I can wait for you or even."
Yes, yes. I'm stalling. Now if Maria would just take the hint.
"No, that's ok, just knock or something."
Damn. You just had to be oblivious to the inner workings of my mind, didn't you? Sigh. Well the girl's not entirely that perspective. No one is. I've got to start making my plans and attempts at thwarting the inevitable clearer to the unknowing public.
Um, scratch that. I've got to start making them clear to the people of whom I want HELP from in thwarting the inevitable. There we go.
Once again I would be stalling. Shift my bag, because you know, I wouldn't want to end up in the same predicament as frazzled Maria over there.
No, actually, yes I would. Anything to give me a little more time.
Ah, time. Dear old friend. Has forsaken me once again. Well, that's life. Full of disappointments. And let downs. Even by figurative metaphors about Time.
Sighing when it becomes apparent that I can't very well procrastinate much longer, I punch the doorbell, steeling myself for what is about to come.
A few minutes later Isabel pulls the door open. She has one of those diet soda thingys in her hand. Me, being the brilliant person I am, I just stand there and look at her.
She looks back.
Taking a long swig and glancing behind me at Maria, she beckons with her hand. "Come on in."
Like it's no big deal. Like we're FRIENDS or something.
I don't know what to think. On one hand (I've always loved this analogy. Picturing this massive idea of two arms, different decisions lying upon the palms) I still want to see what will happen next, where Isabel's newfound kindness (ok, that's stretching it. Where her newfound.tolerance.I'm working on that thesaurus) will go. But on the other hand.
On the other hand, I don't really want to set myself up for more humiliation and pain.
But.
I'm not really going to get anything done sitting like a loon on her front porch.
Inhaling deeply I step inside.
Maria follows shortly and she fills up our silence with chattering about how lucky Michael was going to get for that serenade. I smirk and to my utter disbelief, Isabel catches my eye and smirks as well.
We get into Isabel's room, and I'm a bit surprised. It's.artsy, with geometrical shapes and bold colors. I thought the Princess would live in fluffy pinks and purples.
But then again, you learn some new, random fact everyday.
Maria plops down on the bed while Isabel takes the desk chair, so I tentatively follow Maria and sit cautiously on the bed. Isabel and Maria start to gossip about so and so, and I basically tune them out. I've never been into that sort of thing that seems to bond your typical teenage girls. I spend this time to scan Isabel's room. Even if she's not my favorite person, something intrigues me about her, and I wonder what really goes on beneath the crown of blonde curls.
Hanging on her pegboard are the usual certificates and awards, except, it looks like Miss Evans has enough for the entire population of New Mexico (not that that's saying anything).
Ok. So she's a volunteer fanatic. So what.
Odd. I wouldn't have pegged her as the caring, giving type.
Again with the random facts. And yes, to all those wondering, I made a little pun there with the pegging/peg board. Har de har har har.
Suddenly I'm aware that they are both staring at me. I swallow. Uh oh. I turn my head to meet theirs and what I see makes me apprehensive. Veeeeerrrrrry apprehensive.
Maria coughs and I see her hide a devilish smile. Her patented "mwahaha I'm gonna get you" smile. Shitters on a brick.
Isabel tilts her blonde mane at me and stares. Have I mentioned how uncomfortable it is to have people boring into you like that? Where they seem to pierce your soul and everything that's there inside you? I shift on the bed.
Now see, if I were smart, I would get up and make an excuse, like "I'm about to piss my pants, so please kindly move," or something and bolt, but I'm not. Smart that is. S-M-R-T.I am smart.
Not. But then you know this. And since you're all oh so intelligent, you know I just sit there like a log (except logs don't really sit per say, they're just sort of THERE, dead and.)
Please make them leave. (That sixth sense kid aint got nuthin on me) The voices.make them stop. They are perturbing.
But wait, wouldn't that mean, [I] I'm [/I] perturbing?
Lets not go there.
While I'm having this self-analyzing moment, Isabel says something to me. But I'm sure you could guess I didn't quite catch it.
"What?"
Isabel and Maria share a look and I feel dread bite the pits of my stomach. This is not good. Deep breath, and steel yourself Liz.
Isabel pierces me with her blue eyes again and opens her mouth. Where there was once hesitation, there is now only pure icy resolve, princess style. Here we go.
"I really think you should exfoliate."
.?
"And if you'd like, I have some hair dye in my closet that I think would look awesome on you."
Huh?
Somehow this wasn't exactly what I was expecting.
"What?" I say again.
This is your brain. This is your brain as a broken record. Over and over and over. Any questions?
"Please Liz! It will be so much fun. Like chick night," Maria pleads.
Chick night? Exfoliate? WHAT?
Isabel's walking over to her closet in that sure fire way of hers. She pulls out a box of hair dye. On the cover is a picture of a nauseatingly happy perky girl whose smiling broadly as if to say "I chose this brand and you should too!" Her hair is illuminated in a way that you can tell they just put studio lights on it.
But.
Its sort of decent looking. It looks black until you look closer and it's actually a deep chocolate. It looks somewhat like my old color, only more deeper in a way.PRETTY. Something I never was. Never will be despite what Isabel and Maria think.
"So what do you say Liz?" Isabel says to me, her blue eyes unreadable. She shakes the peppy model "look at me, look at me" box in my direction.
Uhh..
"Uhh."
Maria flounces up and puts her arm around me. "Trust me. It'll be fun!" She smiles dazzling at me. Trust her she says. Trust her.
"I." Answer God damn it. Don't just stutter like that poor kid in Billy Madison.
Couldn't possibly.
Not right now.
Maybe later.
Not a chance in hell suckers so fuck off.
Anyone of those would be good.
"I don't know." No! 'I don't know' means you half say yes and half say maybe! They are going to latch onto the yes and suck it out of me! And then probe me with cosmetics! Ah! I have found out who the evil aliens of Roswell are!
Lookie at melodramatic me. Wheeeeeeee!
I look up into the mirror and bite my lip. Isabel's watching me.
"Aren't you ready for a change Liz?" She asks quietly.
Change? Isn't what my aim was when I put the hideous red there? It would have looked cool if I did it right, if I had cared. But I didn't. I just wanted to look how I felt. [I] I don't care.[/I] But the horribly funny thing is I DO care god damn it.
I study my reflection. Yuck. I still jump every time I look in the mirror. It's like who the hell IS that girl, and what the hell happened to her?
And then I remember.
Change?
"I.I guess." I finally whisper, my eyes still locked on the pitiful girl in the mirror. And the funny thing is, that girl?
She smiles.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Screw the girl in the mirror. She is so not smiling right now. Instead, her face is contorted into a painful grimace.
"Ow!"
Make that VERY painful.
"Shush."
Oh yea? How would you like it if I yanked your strands out one by one? Huh princess?
"OUCH!"
And I thought the damn exfoliating was bad.all gritty on my face.but this??
"Quiet!"
God damn it Isabel! "Why are you pulling my hair out!?"
Her face looms over me as she ceases the assault on my poor tresses, her fingers smeared with dye (My head looking the same no doubt). I long to snap my neck up from the tiny bathroom sink and bolt out of the chair that's propped against it. Screw the whole process.
Isabel's frowning. "If you would just hold STILL I could finish this a lot QUICKER."
So much for pleasantries. I tug the towel that's serving as a shirt over my white bra (since my shirt is elsewhere, avoiding the mess of the dye for now) closer.
Maria bursts into the room, her arms loaded down with everything from mascara to lip liner. Is she planning on auditioning for a circus clown? Because there is no way she could use all that make up for herself.
I'm thinking she must have robbed the nearest drug store. Hey, wouldn't put it past her.
"Hey Maria.?" I ask feebly as Isabel mutters "there, all done," and lifts my head up from the sink.
Maria tosses a towel at me and Isabel snatches it up and starts squeezing my hair with it. "Yea?" She inquires.
"What's all the makeup for?" I wince, as Isabel's treatment of my hair with the towel is not much better than her hands were.
Maria smiles amusingly at me. "For you silly!" My mouth drops open with horror as she rummages through her bag after depositing all the makeup on the counter. She gets that same mischievous look on her face again and closes it, seemingly satisfied.
Crap-ola. "I'm.I'm sorry?" Please tell me I heard wrong. Please. Please. Say you're donating it to charity. Say you're planning to use it on Michael as a joke. Say you've picked it up for Alex and that he now has an "interesting" announcement to make. Say ANYTHING but.
"We're just going to give you a little makeover Liz. Don't be shy. I have this lip color that would look GREAT with your new hair."
Well, anything but that.
Um, I'm sorry, I missed the memo that said [I] "Liz Parker, you are now a just my size Barbie doll. Have fun in the corporate minded hands of Maria and Isabel: Roswell's Beautiful People. Ciao!"[/I]
It's obvious that Maria forgot to take her crazy pills this morning. You know, the ones that make her.not.
I shake my head vehemently. "No. The fun stops at my hair."
Maria pouts. "But I PAID for all this! You HAVE to use it!"
I apparently missed some sort of a contract too.
Isabel plucks up a round tube and opens it. Rolling the top over her hand, she then peers at the shiny goo that came out and smiles. Looking at me she says, "This is perfect," and proceeds to walk towards me.
I would back away, except there's a sink wedged against my back. "Isabel."
"What?" She comes closer, her brow raised.
Eyeing the tube, I answer, "No."
"It's just lip gloss."
And hell is just a sauna. (Poor Bianca.no wait, poor me.)
"I don't need lip gloss."
Isabel's now in position. "Come on Liz. It will just make your lips nice and shiny. There's barely any color."
"Then why don't I just lick my lips? That'll get them nice and slick. And it's free." And fruitylicious-less.
Maria and her just share a sigh and a look, and Isabel puts her hand on her hip. "I'll stop after the gloss and mascara I swear."
Um, no, but thanks for playing. And hold up, I said nothing about mascara.
Maria imitates Isabel's stance and whines. "Please Liz? Let us have some fun. It'll wash off in the pool anyways.well except for the mascara. I got waterproof. But even though it SAYS waterproof, doesn't guarantee."
[I]It'll all wash off in the pool.[/I]
WHY BOTHOR THEN?
And excuse you, I'm not going in the water. Not here, not now, not EVER.
"Please?" I make the horrid mistake of looking up into Maria's imploring green eyes.
Why does it mean so much to you? Some sort of charity?
But then, Maria's not the type to do things like that. For one is that she's lazy.
I love Maria, really I do.
What the hell. Its not like they can do anymore damage anyways.
"Lip gloss ONLY. Ok? Maria? Guys?" My words are lost as Maria squeals and grabs another tube thingy.
Lord.
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut.
Tell me when its over.
I feel a funny fluttery sensation on my eyelashes that sort of tickles and a wetness on my lips. When they're done, I rub my lips together. Ooo! Texture. Slippy slide. Nice. I have a feeling I'll be getting a kick out of that the whole night.
Simple minds and all.
"OK, Maria hand me the tweezers." My eyes snap open at the sound of Isabel's words. I immediately shoot out of the chair.
"Liz? Where you going?"
"Nuh uh, this halts now. I'm gone once you start bringing out the scalpels and whatnot."
"Liz, its just an eyebrow tweezers, not some sort of torture device."
Define torture.
It's a TWEEZER. It TWEEZES things. I need nothing tweezed right now thank you. Urgh, too painful to contemplate.
"You said you'd stop after the lip shit and the mascara. Now where's my shirt." (Ooo, dirty.) I hug the towel closer to me, suddenly very self- conscious. Well, more so than usual anyways. I'm certainly nothing compared to these er.BLESSED gals over here. I'm puny. Ugly. Projectile vomit inducing.
Maria gets that devilish look again as she reaches for her bag. "Oh, could this be it?" She asks innocuously, the revealing red skimpy bathing top dangling from her fingers.
Sneaky little.
I glare at her. "NO, that is NOT it. Come on Maria. Where is it?"
Isabel suppresses a smile and I round on her. "Isabel! Where is it?" I reiterate. Oh, this is so not funny. So very not funny.
Conspirators. They must die.
"Its safe, yet inaccessible. So why don't you put on this lovely top." She plunges her hand into the bag and pulls out the even skimpier bottoms. "And this matching bottom and meet us in Izzy's room."
Bottom. Ha. It's more like a thong.
Ok that's stretching it. But it's certainly along those lines. Like those spankies that cheerleaders wear. Not that I know of course. Lets just say there was an incident in the girls locker room, including a gym bag and klutzy me. Not to mention the pissed off cheerleader.
My eyes widen as Isabel and Maria back out of the room. No! A thousand times NO!
"Maria! You are NOT turning me into Barbie! I repudiate it!" My voice shrieks a little.
"We're NOT turning you into Barbie Liz," Maria thinks this is ever so amusing; I can hear the laughter in her voice.
"Oh yea?" I ask skeptically.
She nods grinning. "For thing, Barbie's suit would be pink."
Argh.
"We'll leave you to change," Isabel says and shuts the door firmly.
Oh God.
I peruse the bathing suit in my hand.
Oh God. This is bringing up way too many memories. One in particular.
STOP! My mind screams at itself to back up and banish the memory but it plunges on through anyways.
Oh God.
Flashback~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~
"Mommy, Mommy!" Ten year old me clamored out of the car and rushed to my mom.
It was the summer before middle school. It was before things got really bad between my mother and father, and before I really acknowledged the fact that I was a social outcast.
Kids are naïve like that. Either that or I just didn't want to believe.
It was a friend of my mother's daughters swim party. She was the only one in my class who had lake access, AND she had a boat.
Needless to say, she was also very popular. (I.E polar opposite of me)
You all remember middle school. Its where the cliques begin to form blatantly. It's when the dumb politics start up. Its where girls are supposed to begin to mature. The key word being SUPPOSED to.
I was so excited. I made my mother buy me a new bathing suit, a purple one piece, and once I got out of the car I had her twist the straps so they looked "cool."
Why did I bother? You wonder these things, but then you remember that your younger self knew nothing of what was about to come.
The minute I walked onto the picnic area that was by the beach (where the party was held) everyone just stared. I had distinctively heard one of Patty's (the "host" of the party) friends whisper loudly, "What is SHE doing here?"
Patty has responded that her mother had invited [I]her[/I].
My face had fallen at hearing that, but I still tried to make myself welcome. When they had a water balloon fight, I tried to join in, only to find that the teams had already been decided, and the water balloons gone. (Even though I was "accidentally" hit four or five times.HARD). Finally after two hours of sitting by myself and watching everyone back away from me whenever I tried to come near, I saw everyone walk onto a nearby dock, taking turns jumping in.
The funny thing is that I had always loved to swim, though I never got much chance to. I scampered on after everyone, not thinking anything would come of it.
Somehow I ended up near the front, by Patty. (Probably because everyone else shifted away from me). She stopped talking to her friend and gave me a disgusted look.
"Hi Patty." I had said weakly, stupidly wondering why she was looking at me so. I was about to say I liked her party or that her bathing suit was pretty when she said suddenly,
"What do YOU want, Weirdo Parker?"
I was shocked, and stung. "I-I"
"I-I" She mocked. "You're so weird you odd ball."
Her friends found this insanely funny. They repeated it and snickered. [I] Odd ball, odd ball [/I]
"I just wanted to." I had broken off, suddenly unsure, and wishing desperately for my own safe house, where I could bury my face in my pillow.
"You just what? Wanted to come bitch about something?" My eyes had widened, not accustomed to swearing yet, still young, still innocent-ish. "Get away from me, you weirdo."
And with that she pushed me backwards. Stumbling to try and regain my balance, my foot caught on an uneven board of the wooden dock. I tumbled downward, the sound of hideous laughter in my ear, and my ankle bashed painfully on the edge of the dock. The laughter was replaced by the sound of water breaking and cold liquid sucked me under as I inundated down further into the lake. All I could think about was the pain in my ankle, and even worse, the pain in my soul as the pitiful pre-pubescent girls feasted on whatever part of me they managed to rip out.
Suddenly finding it harder to breath, I tried to bring some air into my lungs. Instead my throat found water. Too much. Too much water. I started to panic, my arms flailing as I tried to break the surface. But it was too dark. Which way was up and which was down? I had thought I could hear my mother screaming but I wasn't sure.
Too much. Too much. I stopped struggling, too tired. Too much.
And then.light. Air, gaspfuls of air, and noise. My mother yelling as she cradled me in her arms, screaming at Patty for pushing me, and for all the other kids just watching as I nearly drowned.
End Flashback~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Needless to say I haven't swam since. Can you blame me?
I didn't cry that day. It was two days later that my mother tried to run a bath for me and I screamed bloody hell.
To this day I can't stand water. The whole thing where you're feet cant touch the ground just freaks me out. Plus the whole Patty thing.
I curse the bathing suit and fling it away from me.
*DING*
The doorbell rings. Shit. Company. And here I stand half naked with a towel around me. Wonderful.
I hear Isabel walk out into the hall and yell out, "It's probably Max and Michael. Alex said he was coming late."
Ok, WHAT?
Max is coming?
Oh my almighty God.
Here are my options. The sucky sucky options to my sucky sucky life.
A. I could go down there as is, with the towel covering my non-existent breasts and embarrass myself to a point of no return.
B. I could throw on the stupid suit and go down there and embarrass myself to a point of no return.
C. I could stay locked in the bathroom until I'm thirty.
Plan C anyone?
Sigh, I CAN'T let Max or Michael see me in my underwear. It would be just wrong. I would likely send them to their early grave to push up friggin daisies because they had heart attacks. And Maria would drag me out eventually.
Growling to myself, I snatch up the damn top and spend the next five minutes trying to figure out which way ties where. God, its like on of those master mind puzzles that no one can figure out. (WHO makes this?! What kind of sick, demented person.WHO?!) I stare down and come to the ironic realization that this actually covers less than the bra.
Jesus Christ.
I tug on the rest of the suit (after I finally grasped onto which leg goes in what hole.dirty.um, which leg goes into which opening.still dirty.um, you catch my drift. Anyways).
I steel myself and go to open the door.
And I freeze. Oh God. I can't go down there. Plan C here I come.
Might as well see how bad the damage is. I look slowly up into the mirror and gasp.
Whoa. Is that me? It's like who is that girl?
Only this time I don't wonder what happened to her. She looks normal. Decent looking. Almost.pretty? Me? Is that me? I almost like what I see. I almost like the person staring back at me. (ooo, rhyming)
Holy crap. Maybe I'm the one who forgot her crazy pills.
All it is, is different hair, and a touch of the root of all evil (i.e. makeup. See, I have this theory about makeup. It uses the media to make girls believe they aren't pretty enough for the world, and then using some corporate conspiracy, brainwashes them into thinking that they need the newest brand of blush or else the world will end and everyone will die and their lives will be over. This steams the popularity chain, since whoever has makeup will be pretty supposedly, and whoever's pretty will be adored by all. Hey. It worked for evils such as Pam Troy and Patty.). I'm not that different. Am I?
I hear Max's voice waft up from below. Suddenly I WANT to be down there. How psycho is that?
Answer: Very psycho. But for once.
I don't care.
"No."
"Come on Liz, please?!"
"I said NO."
"Just try it on."
"The no is still standing."
"Funny, I thought it was sitting down actually."
I roll my eyes and stay silent.
"Ok, yea, that was lame, but come ON! You know you want to."
Oh, yes, you got me. I really DO want to prance around like some Kate Moss wannabe idiot. Oh, and um, the peer pressure thing? Not going to work. Sorry.
"Pu-leeeeeease??!"
Or maybe I'm not so sorry. Argh! What part of no doesn't the girl get?
"Maria! No, no, and NO!"
Is it the N? Is it the O?
She gives off a frustrated sigh. "Fine! I'll just put it away then." She shoves the revealing bathing suit top back into her bag.
Ah, progress. It's a beautiful thing.
Not for the first time, I'm wondering what I'm doing here. See, I'm over at Maria's house before she drags me over to Isabel's. Its nice and everything (her home I mean). Spacey and whatnot. I'd comment on the décor except that thing's never really appealed to me. And plus, I frankly don't care.
Frankly. Weird. Where did that word come from? Some guy with an identity crisis? '"I don't mean to be frank but." Or maybe the guy's name was frank. And yes, I say guy. Only the male species would come up with such a concept.
What's the female version of chauvinism?
Maria's still grumbling to herself, cramming in sunscreen and sunglasses and other knickknacks (knickknacks.sheesh. Damn the maker of the English language) at her colorful bag and scowling at it.
Why you ask?
Let's just say the bathing suit top? The one that would fit a five year old?
Maria wanted to put it on ME. Yes, ME.
Like I've said before: Psycho.
She jerks her head up and scrutinizes me with her olive glare. "I don't see why you wouldn't just."
"No."
".try it on, I mean.."
Sigh. "NO!"
".would look really."
I can't take this anymore. I groan loudly and smash my face into Maria's fuzzy pillow. "NO! A hundred times no!"
I hear her sigh in exasperation but thankfully she remains otherwise silent.
Well, for now at least.
"O-kaaaaay, but I'm just going to bring it in case you change your mind."
Again with the eye rolling. "Whatever." As long as you leave me alone about it. Though like I told her, I am NOT going in the water, and I am NOT putting on that sorry excuse for clothing. I have my reasons. And your evil glamour ways are not going to sway me.
For a second I think I see a devious Maria style grin cross her face, but just as I spin around to take a closer look at it, it's gone. Hmm. Probably imagined it, seeing how's that particular expression is common as far as Maria's concerned. She hoists the bag on her shoulder and smiles brightly at me. "Ready to go?"
As I'll ever be.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Slamming the door to the Jetta shut, I apprehensively look up at the house.
Its enormous, yet cheery looking. Like people have lived here all their lives. As I peruse it, I contemplate its history, and the fact that Max can't bare to take a step in here if not needed to. Curiosity bubbles within me but I push the inquisitive side of me away and move towards the door. I'm already on the porch before I realize Maria's not behind me. Whipping my head around I glance back at the car.
Maria's rummaging around in the backseat, trying to cram everything that fell out during the drive back into her bag. I shake my head at her head in amusement. "Do you need some help?"
Her blonde mane jerks up in surprise at my abrupt shouting and contacts with the ceiling of the car. "SHIT!" She rubs her head and glowers at the Jetta, mumbling about stupid vehicles and mother's. Suddenly remembering that I spoke to her she turns distractedly to me. "No thanks Liz! Just ring the door bell to let them know you're here and walk on into Izzy's room to dump your stuff."
Uhhh.
Right, because that would be ok and everything, me barging into someone's home. Especially Isabel's home. I gulp.
"Are you sure Maria? Because I can wait for you or even."
Yes, yes. I'm stalling. Now if Maria would just take the hint.
"No, that's ok, just knock or something."
Damn. You just had to be oblivious to the inner workings of my mind, didn't you? Sigh. Well the girl's not entirely that perspective. No one is. I've got to start making my plans and attempts at thwarting the inevitable clearer to the unknowing public.
Um, scratch that. I've got to start making them clear to the people of whom I want HELP from in thwarting the inevitable. There we go.
Once again I would be stalling. Shift my bag, because you know, I wouldn't want to end up in the same predicament as frazzled Maria over there.
No, actually, yes I would. Anything to give me a little more time.
Ah, time. Dear old friend. Has forsaken me once again. Well, that's life. Full of disappointments. And let downs. Even by figurative metaphors about Time.
Sighing when it becomes apparent that I can't very well procrastinate much longer, I punch the doorbell, steeling myself for what is about to come.
A few minutes later Isabel pulls the door open. She has one of those diet soda thingys in her hand. Me, being the brilliant person I am, I just stand there and look at her.
She looks back.
Taking a long swig and glancing behind me at Maria, she beckons with her hand. "Come on in."
Like it's no big deal. Like we're FRIENDS or something.
I don't know what to think. On one hand (I've always loved this analogy. Picturing this massive idea of two arms, different decisions lying upon the palms) I still want to see what will happen next, where Isabel's newfound kindness (ok, that's stretching it. Where her newfound.tolerance.I'm working on that thesaurus) will go. But on the other hand.
On the other hand, I don't really want to set myself up for more humiliation and pain.
But.
I'm not really going to get anything done sitting like a loon on her front porch.
Inhaling deeply I step inside.
Maria follows shortly and she fills up our silence with chattering about how lucky Michael was going to get for that serenade. I smirk and to my utter disbelief, Isabel catches my eye and smirks as well.
We get into Isabel's room, and I'm a bit surprised. It's.artsy, with geometrical shapes and bold colors. I thought the Princess would live in fluffy pinks and purples.
But then again, you learn some new, random fact everyday.
Maria plops down on the bed while Isabel takes the desk chair, so I tentatively follow Maria and sit cautiously on the bed. Isabel and Maria start to gossip about so and so, and I basically tune them out. I've never been into that sort of thing that seems to bond your typical teenage girls. I spend this time to scan Isabel's room. Even if she's not my favorite person, something intrigues me about her, and I wonder what really goes on beneath the crown of blonde curls.
Hanging on her pegboard are the usual certificates and awards, except, it looks like Miss Evans has enough for the entire population of New Mexico (not that that's saying anything).
Ok. So she's a volunteer fanatic. So what.
Odd. I wouldn't have pegged her as the caring, giving type.
Again with the random facts. And yes, to all those wondering, I made a little pun there with the pegging/peg board. Har de har har har.
Suddenly I'm aware that they are both staring at me. I swallow. Uh oh. I turn my head to meet theirs and what I see makes me apprehensive. Veeeeerrrrrry apprehensive.
Maria coughs and I see her hide a devilish smile. Her patented "mwahaha I'm gonna get you" smile. Shitters on a brick.
Isabel tilts her blonde mane at me and stares. Have I mentioned how uncomfortable it is to have people boring into you like that? Where they seem to pierce your soul and everything that's there inside you? I shift on the bed.
Now see, if I were smart, I would get up and make an excuse, like "I'm about to piss my pants, so please kindly move," or something and bolt, but I'm not. Smart that is. S-M-R-T.I am smart.
Not. But then you know this. And since you're all oh so intelligent, you know I just sit there like a log (except logs don't really sit per say, they're just sort of THERE, dead and.)
Please make them leave. (That sixth sense kid aint got nuthin on me) The voices.make them stop. They are perturbing.
But wait, wouldn't that mean, [I] I'm [/I] perturbing?
Lets not go there.
While I'm having this self-analyzing moment, Isabel says something to me. But I'm sure you could guess I didn't quite catch it.
"What?"
Isabel and Maria share a look and I feel dread bite the pits of my stomach. This is not good. Deep breath, and steel yourself Liz.
Isabel pierces me with her blue eyes again and opens her mouth. Where there was once hesitation, there is now only pure icy resolve, princess style. Here we go.
"I really think you should exfoliate."
.?
"And if you'd like, I have some hair dye in my closet that I think would look awesome on you."
Huh?
Somehow this wasn't exactly what I was expecting.
"What?" I say again.
This is your brain. This is your brain as a broken record. Over and over and over. Any questions?
"Please Liz! It will be so much fun. Like chick night," Maria pleads.
Chick night? Exfoliate? WHAT?
Isabel's walking over to her closet in that sure fire way of hers. She pulls out a box of hair dye. On the cover is a picture of a nauseatingly happy perky girl whose smiling broadly as if to say "I chose this brand and you should too!" Her hair is illuminated in a way that you can tell they just put studio lights on it.
But.
Its sort of decent looking. It looks black until you look closer and it's actually a deep chocolate. It looks somewhat like my old color, only more deeper in a way.PRETTY. Something I never was. Never will be despite what Isabel and Maria think.
"So what do you say Liz?" Isabel says to me, her blue eyes unreadable. She shakes the peppy model "look at me, look at me" box in my direction.
Uhh..
"Uhh."
Maria flounces up and puts her arm around me. "Trust me. It'll be fun!" She smiles dazzling at me. Trust her she says. Trust her.
"I." Answer God damn it. Don't just stutter like that poor kid in Billy Madison.
Couldn't possibly.
Not right now.
Maybe later.
Not a chance in hell suckers so fuck off.
Anyone of those would be good.
"I don't know." No! 'I don't know' means you half say yes and half say maybe! They are going to latch onto the yes and suck it out of me! And then probe me with cosmetics! Ah! I have found out who the evil aliens of Roswell are!
Lookie at melodramatic me. Wheeeeeeee!
I look up into the mirror and bite my lip. Isabel's watching me.
"Aren't you ready for a change Liz?" She asks quietly.
Change? Isn't what my aim was when I put the hideous red there? It would have looked cool if I did it right, if I had cared. But I didn't. I just wanted to look how I felt. [I] I don't care.[/I] But the horribly funny thing is I DO care god damn it.
I study my reflection. Yuck. I still jump every time I look in the mirror. It's like who the hell IS that girl, and what the hell happened to her?
And then I remember.
Change?
"I.I guess." I finally whisper, my eyes still locked on the pitiful girl in the mirror. And the funny thing is, that girl?
She smiles.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Screw the girl in the mirror. She is so not smiling right now. Instead, her face is contorted into a painful grimace.
"Ow!"
Make that VERY painful.
"Shush."
Oh yea? How would you like it if I yanked your strands out one by one? Huh princess?
"OUCH!"
And I thought the damn exfoliating was bad.all gritty on my face.but this??
"Quiet!"
God damn it Isabel! "Why are you pulling my hair out!?"
Her face looms over me as she ceases the assault on my poor tresses, her fingers smeared with dye (My head looking the same no doubt). I long to snap my neck up from the tiny bathroom sink and bolt out of the chair that's propped against it. Screw the whole process.
Isabel's frowning. "If you would just hold STILL I could finish this a lot QUICKER."
So much for pleasantries. I tug the towel that's serving as a shirt over my white bra (since my shirt is elsewhere, avoiding the mess of the dye for now) closer.
Maria bursts into the room, her arms loaded down with everything from mascara to lip liner. Is she planning on auditioning for a circus clown? Because there is no way she could use all that make up for herself.
I'm thinking she must have robbed the nearest drug store. Hey, wouldn't put it past her.
"Hey Maria.?" I ask feebly as Isabel mutters "there, all done," and lifts my head up from the sink.
Maria tosses a towel at me and Isabel snatches it up and starts squeezing my hair with it. "Yea?" She inquires.
"What's all the makeup for?" I wince, as Isabel's treatment of my hair with the towel is not much better than her hands were.
Maria smiles amusingly at me. "For you silly!" My mouth drops open with horror as she rummages through her bag after depositing all the makeup on the counter. She gets that same mischievous look on her face again and closes it, seemingly satisfied.
Crap-ola. "I'm.I'm sorry?" Please tell me I heard wrong. Please. Please. Say you're donating it to charity. Say you're planning to use it on Michael as a joke. Say you've picked it up for Alex and that he now has an "interesting" announcement to make. Say ANYTHING but.
"We're just going to give you a little makeover Liz. Don't be shy. I have this lip color that would look GREAT with your new hair."
Well, anything but that.
Um, I'm sorry, I missed the memo that said [I] "Liz Parker, you are now a just my size Barbie doll. Have fun in the corporate minded hands of Maria and Isabel: Roswell's Beautiful People. Ciao!"[/I]
It's obvious that Maria forgot to take her crazy pills this morning. You know, the ones that make her.not.
I shake my head vehemently. "No. The fun stops at my hair."
Maria pouts. "But I PAID for all this! You HAVE to use it!"
I apparently missed some sort of a contract too.
Isabel plucks up a round tube and opens it. Rolling the top over her hand, she then peers at the shiny goo that came out and smiles. Looking at me she says, "This is perfect," and proceeds to walk towards me.
I would back away, except there's a sink wedged against my back. "Isabel."
"What?" She comes closer, her brow raised.
Eyeing the tube, I answer, "No."
"It's just lip gloss."
And hell is just a sauna. (Poor Bianca.no wait, poor me.)
"I don't need lip gloss."
Isabel's now in position. "Come on Liz. It will just make your lips nice and shiny. There's barely any color."
"Then why don't I just lick my lips? That'll get them nice and slick. And it's free." And fruitylicious-less.
Maria and her just share a sigh and a look, and Isabel puts her hand on her hip. "I'll stop after the gloss and mascara I swear."
Um, no, but thanks for playing. And hold up, I said nothing about mascara.
Maria imitates Isabel's stance and whines. "Please Liz? Let us have some fun. It'll wash off in the pool anyways.well except for the mascara. I got waterproof. But even though it SAYS waterproof, doesn't guarantee."
[I]It'll all wash off in the pool.[/I]
WHY BOTHOR THEN?
And excuse you, I'm not going in the water. Not here, not now, not EVER.
"Please?" I make the horrid mistake of looking up into Maria's imploring green eyes.
Why does it mean so much to you? Some sort of charity?
But then, Maria's not the type to do things like that. For one is that she's lazy.
I love Maria, really I do.
What the hell. Its not like they can do anymore damage anyways.
"Lip gloss ONLY. Ok? Maria? Guys?" My words are lost as Maria squeals and grabs another tube thingy.
Lord.
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut.
Tell me when its over.
I feel a funny fluttery sensation on my eyelashes that sort of tickles and a wetness on my lips. When they're done, I rub my lips together. Ooo! Texture. Slippy slide. Nice. I have a feeling I'll be getting a kick out of that the whole night.
Simple minds and all.
"OK, Maria hand me the tweezers." My eyes snap open at the sound of Isabel's words. I immediately shoot out of the chair.
"Liz? Where you going?"
"Nuh uh, this halts now. I'm gone once you start bringing out the scalpels and whatnot."
"Liz, its just an eyebrow tweezers, not some sort of torture device."
Define torture.
It's a TWEEZER. It TWEEZES things. I need nothing tweezed right now thank you. Urgh, too painful to contemplate.
"You said you'd stop after the lip shit and the mascara. Now where's my shirt." (Ooo, dirty.) I hug the towel closer to me, suddenly very self- conscious. Well, more so than usual anyways. I'm certainly nothing compared to these er.BLESSED gals over here. I'm puny. Ugly. Projectile vomit inducing.
Maria gets that devilish look again as she reaches for her bag. "Oh, could this be it?" She asks innocuously, the revealing red skimpy bathing top dangling from her fingers.
Sneaky little.
I glare at her. "NO, that is NOT it. Come on Maria. Where is it?"
Isabel suppresses a smile and I round on her. "Isabel! Where is it?" I reiterate. Oh, this is so not funny. So very not funny.
Conspirators. They must die.
"Its safe, yet inaccessible. So why don't you put on this lovely top." She plunges her hand into the bag and pulls out the even skimpier bottoms. "And this matching bottom and meet us in Izzy's room."
Bottom. Ha. It's more like a thong.
Ok that's stretching it. But it's certainly along those lines. Like those spankies that cheerleaders wear. Not that I know of course. Lets just say there was an incident in the girls locker room, including a gym bag and klutzy me. Not to mention the pissed off cheerleader.
My eyes widen as Isabel and Maria back out of the room. No! A thousand times NO!
"Maria! You are NOT turning me into Barbie! I repudiate it!" My voice shrieks a little.
"We're NOT turning you into Barbie Liz," Maria thinks this is ever so amusing; I can hear the laughter in her voice.
"Oh yea?" I ask skeptically.
She nods grinning. "For thing, Barbie's suit would be pink."
Argh.
"We'll leave you to change," Isabel says and shuts the door firmly.
Oh God.
I peruse the bathing suit in my hand.
Oh God. This is bringing up way too many memories. One in particular.
STOP! My mind screams at itself to back up and banish the memory but it plunges on through anyways.
Oh God.
Flashback~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~
"Mommy, Mommy!" Ten year old me clamored out of the car and rushed to my mom.
It was the summer before middle school. It was before things got really bad between my mother and father, and before I really acknowledged the fact that I was a social outcast.
Kids are naïve like that. Either that or I just didn't want to believe.
It was a friend of my mother's daughters swim party. She was the only one in my class who had lake access, AND she had a boat.
Needless to say, she was also very popular. (I.E polar opposite of me)
You all remember middle school. Its where the cliques begin to form blatantly. It's when the dumb politics start up. Its where girls are supposed to begin to mature. The key word being SUPPOSED to.
I was so excited. I made my mother buy me a new bathing suit, a purple one piece, and once I got out of the car I had her twist the straps so they looked "cool."
Why did I bother? You wonder these things, but then you remember that your younger self knew nothing of what was about to come.
The minute I walked onto the picnic area that was by the beach (where the party was held) everyone just stared. I had distinctively heard one of Patty's (the "host" of the party) friends whisper loudly, "What is SHE doing here?"
Patty has responded that her mother had invited [I]her[/I].
My face had fallen at hearing that, but I still tried to make myself welcome. When they had a water balloon fight, I tried to join in, only to find that the teams had already been decided, and the water balloons gone. (Even though I was "accidentally" hit four or five times.HARD). Finally after two hours of sitting by myself and watching everyone back away from me whenever I tried to come near, I saw everyone walk onto a nearby dock, taking turns jumping in.
The funny thing is that I had always loved to swim, though I never got much chance to. I scampered on after everyone, not thinking anything would come of it.
Somehow I ended up near the front, by Patty. (Probably because everyone else shifted away from me). She stopped talking to her friend and gave me a disgusted look.
"Hi Patty." I had said weakly, stupidly wondering why she was looking at me so. I was about to say I liked her party or that her bathing suit was pretty when she said suddenly,
"What do YOU want, Weirdo Parker?"
I was shocked, and stung. "I-I"
"I-I" She mocked. "You're so weird you odd ball."
Her friends found this insanely funny. They repeated it and snickered. [I] Odd ball, odd ball [/I]
"I just wanted to." I had broken off, suddenly unsure, and wishing desperately for my own safe house, where I could bury my face in my pillow.
"You just what? Wanted to come bitch about something?" My eyes had widened, not accustomed to swearing yet, still young, still innocent-ish. "Get away from me, you weirdo."
And with that she pushed me backwards. Stumbling to try and regain my balance, my foot caught on an uneven board of the wooden dock. I tumbled downward, the sound of hideous laughter in my ear, and my ankle bashed painfully on the edge of the dock. The laughter was replaced by the sound of water breaking and cold liquid sucked me under as I inundated down further into the lake. All I could think about was the pain in my ankle, and even worse, the pain in my soul as the pitiful pre-pubescent girls feasted on whatever part of me they managed to rip out.
Suddenly finding it harder to breath, I tried to bring some air into my lungs. Instead my throat found water. Too much. Too much water. I started to panic, my arms flailing as I tried to break the surface. But it was too dark. Which way was up and which was down? I had thought I could hear my mother screaming but I wasn't sure.
Too much. Too much. I stopped struggling, too tired. Too much.
And then.light. Air, gaspfuls of air, and noise. My mother yelling as she cradled me in her arms, screaming at Patty for pushing me, and for all the other kids just watching as I nearly drowned.
End Flashback~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Needless to say I haven't swam since. Can you blame me?
I didn't cry that day. It was two days later that my mother tried to run a bath for me and I screamed bloody hell.
To this day I can't stand water. The whole thing where you're feet cant touch the ground just freaks me out. Plus the whole Patty thing.
I curse the bathing suit and fling it away from me.
*DING*
The doorbell rings. Shit. Company. And here I stand half naked with a towel around me. Wonderful.
I hear Isabel walk out into the hall and yell out, "It's probably Max and Michael. Alex said he was coming late."
Ok, WHAT?
Max is coming?
Oh my almighty God.
Here are my options. The sucky sucky options to my sucky sucky life.
A. I could go down there as is, with the towel covering my non-existent breasts and embarrass myself to a point of no return.
B. I could throw on the stupid suit and go down there and embarrass myself to a point of no return.
C. I could stay locked in the bathroom until I'm thirty.
Plan C anyone?
Sigh, I CAN'T let Max or Michael see me in my underwear. It would be just wrong. I would likely send them to their early grave to push up friggin daisies because they had heart attacks. And Maria would drag me out eventually.
Growling to myself, I snatch up the damn top and spend the next five minutes trying to figure out which way ties where. God, its like on of those master mind puzzles that no one can figure out. (WHO makes this?! What kind of sick, demented person.WHO?!) I stare down and come to the ironic realization that this actually covers less than the bra.
Jesus Christ.
I tug on the rest of the suit (after I finally grasped onto which leg goes in what hole.dirty.um, which leg goes into which opening.still dirty.um, you catch my drift. Anyways).
I steel myself and go to open the door.
And I freeze. Oh God. I can't go down there. Plan C here I come.
Might as well see how bad the damage is. I look slowly up into the mirror and gasp.
Whoa. Is that me? It's like who is that girl?
Only this time I don't wonder what happened to her. She looks normal. Decent looking. Almost.pretty? Me? Is that me? I almost like what I see. I almost like the person staring back at me. (ooo, rhyming)
Holy crap. Maybe I'm the one who forgot her crazy pills.
All it is, is different hair, and a touch of the root of all evil (i.e. makeup. See, I have this theory about makeup. It uses the media to make girls believe they aren't pretty enough for the world, and then using some corporate conspiracy, brainwashes them into thinking that they need the newest brand of blush or else the world will end and everyone will die and their lives will be over. This steams the popularity chain, since whoever has makeup will be pretty supposedly, and whoever's pretty will be adored by all. Hey. It worked for evils such as Pam Troy and Patty.). I'm not that different. Am I?
I hear Max's voice waft up from below. Suddenly I WANT to be down there. How psycho is that?
Answer: Very psycho. But for once.
I don't care.