Free Getting Waisted by Monica Parker

like handed her a wad of money so “poor Kat” could get a new eye. She rewarded him with barely a peck on his cheek. On her way home from her eye fitting at the ophthalmology clinic, she stumbled across a pair of thigh-high purple suede boots in a fancy shoe shop that she just had to have. Knowing she’d find the replacement money for her eye when it came time to make the payment, but figuring the boots may be long gone, she bought them. I would have done the same thing if I had her legs.
    I loved every moment shared with these girls. But at night when the parties ended and we all went to our beds, I was left alone to deal with my thoughts: sharp turbulent swings that ricocheted between fantasies of dismembering Hal’s body and dumping each piece in a bottomless pit, and feelings of deep shame that I piled on myself for having led him on. Had I led him on? Was my desperation to lose my virginity so transparent that I asked to be raped? After weeks spent in dead-of-night pathological investigation, going over every possibility from every angle, I became my own hung jury. My conclusion: what’s done is done. It was time to put it to rest, if only so I could get some desperately needed peace.
    My mother called every hour on the hour to complain about how crazy my father was making her, standing at his post in the window like some old dried up rubber tree, or he’d be at his drafting table making meticulous calculations on his “sure thing” inventions that others had patented fifty years earlier. She didn’t get how crazy she was making me, but when she realized she wasn’t making a dent in my protective wall, she decided to make her case in person. She stood at the threshold of our front door holding a cardboard box of pastel stuffed animals, which she clutched even tighter once taking in the chaos. After a deep breath she stepped inside with a face that registered something akin to revulsion. She trailed one finger over everything looking for dust and then she sat on the edge of our worn but comfy couch, refusing to take her coat off in case something unspeakable had occurred there. Like a ticking time bomb, she held out the box of bunnies for me to take. It was only a matter of seconds before she pulled a couple of them from the box and dangled them menacingly in front of my face. “You begged me for these.”
    “I was ten! You are looking for a fight but I won’t be goaded.”
    She couldn’t comprehend the change in me that had come with my new address, and none of it made any sense to her—me passing on the potential doctor boyfriend and leaving our very safe and clean house with home cooking included. Mostly she needed to vent, “I’m going to take an axe and kill him.” I quietly told her I was sorry she was so miserable but he was her husband, not mine, and she had invited him back into her home because she had to have a better address and needed his bankbook to help pay for it. “That’s right and I did it for you and I want you to come home to live, where there are no cockroaches and perverts.” I had an involuntary reminder of how wrong she was before I made the mistake of laughing. She stood up, impaled me with a look, and left in a huff without saying a word. None of it fazed me. After all, Queen Elizabeth was just being true to herself.
    Beverly had gone off with a new boyfriend to climb Mount Kilimanjaro and Katja was just gone but called one morning to ask me to sell her bed as she had met the love of her life. She had called and asked me to do the same thing last month. I didn’t. I was standing in front of the fridge debating between making a healthy but unsatisfying salad or just succumbing to the pull of the mac and cheese I really wanted. Just as I was reaching for the macaroni, one of Kat’s throwaways called looking for her. I broke the bad news that she was engaged or something but told him to hang in there, knowing she’d be back on the auction block in a week or two. He laughed