Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Write about a scar.

“Scar light, scar bright, first scar I see tonight.” She let loose a stream of swear words that would make a sailor blush.

“Aw, for pete's sake, Mona. Shut the hell up. It ain't like it never happened to no one else. Shit.”

Mona collapsed onto the sofa and pulled her knees up under her chin. “Well, hell and damnation, Freda. I gotta let go once in a while or I'll go outta my mind.”

Freda took a long drag on her cigarette and watched Mona through the smoke as she blew it out slow. Mona let herself fall sideways on the torn cushions.  Freda got up and took a couple beers out of the refrigerator. After taking the cap off one, she handed it to Mona and then sat back at the table with one for herself.

“Yeah, okay. I know what you mean. But, hell, Mona, we all get shit dumped on us. It's how you deal with it that matters, ya know? Take ol' Harry now. He works his ass off and what do them big assholes do but lay him off. It ain't like he was makin' CEO money. They said they were 'trimmin' the fat.'  Shit. Like gettin' rid of Harry will save the whole damned company. Shit.”  Mona nodded.  "But Harry?  He just takes that last piece of shit they call a paycheck with a smile.  Hell, he got himself another job right smack dab across the goddamned street."  Freda chuckled, "Lucy told me that Harry waves at ol' Prichard every morning.  Prichard has to take his own damned trash to the chute now."  She leaned back in her chair and lit another cigarette with the first.

“Freda, you know me. You know I wouldn't hurt no one.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You know I'd give my last nickel if someone needed it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You know I more'n once helped a stranger.”

“Yep.”

“Then why, Freda? In all of heaven and hell, WHY?”

“I don't know. I just goddamned don't know. Shit.”