Free Shattered and Shaken by Julie Bailes Page A

never made someone shit themselves before; this shit is just too good to ignore. Pun intended.
    The next morning, I wake up alone with a note on top of my pillow that reads; “Have to meet Mom for brunch. Don't worry, I put the shitty panties in the fireplace :) Oh, I hope they stink up your house! I hope the smell permanently latches onto your nasal hairs and you have to smell me the rest of your slutty life <3 Soph.”
    Jumping out of bed, I run for the fireplace. On the mantel hangs another letter from Sophie. I tug it lose from the tape and open it. “Ha! Fooled ya! I placed 'em in your mailbox! Be sure to enjoy that shitty situation ;) ” I'm gonna kick her ass! I grab gloves, tongs, a plastic bag, and then head for the mailbox; she's right, it's a shitty situation alright. It's at least eighty degrees and the sun's shining straight down on the mailbox, and who knows how long they've been melting in here.
    Pulling the door down, I gag; such a big, shitty gorilla ball! Holy hell, what died in here? Using the tongs to grab the panties, I place them into the plastic bag, tie it in a double knot and throw it into the garbage can at the end of our driveway. My heart goes out to whoever picks this shit up; the stench is going to melt their nostril hairs.
    I go back inside and continue with my normal everyday routine. Mom texted me earlier to inform me that she'd be home later this afternoon; it's five in the evening and she still isn't here. I have no clue what she's been doing, where she's been, or who she's with. I'm worried about her. She has a small handful of friends and most of them have called here asking for her, so I want to know who she's spending so much time with.
    Here I am mourning my brother - her son, and she's out livin' it up, not giving a damn about my wellbeing - not that anyone does, but shit, she's my mother. She should be here helping me through my pain, dammit.
    I heard through the neighborhood gossip that she quit her second job at the church last week, so she can't be that fucking occupied. I understand her being gone during the day, but for her to evacuate our home for weeks at a time is ridiculous. My stomach lets out a loud growl. I check the time on my phone and it reads six-thirty. Where is she? She told me she was going to pick up Chinese take-out and grab a movie; it shouldn't take her an hour to complete those two simple tasks. Just as I begin to dial her number, a loud thud sounds from outside the door. Running over to look out of the window, I see my mom with her hands full, purse hanging off her shoulder, and she's digging for her keys. Why doesn't she just ring the doorbell?
    Swinging the door open, I help her in. “Why didn't you just ring the bell? Would've been a lot easier," I sigh dramatically. She walks past me, giving me a once-over.
    “What's wrong with you?” What the hell is it with her and once-overs? Normally, people who give you a so called “once-over” either hate you or want a piece of you - you do NOT give them to your daughter! Shutting the door, I follow her into the kitchen. Removing our food from the brown bags, she takes a step back and crosses her arms over her chest. And I know that she's watching me because I can feel her eyes on me.
    Call me childish if you'd like, but I still believe in giving the silent treatment when someone's wronged me. I don't look at her; I don't acknowledge her in any way. Opening the containers, I empty the contents onto my plate, looking back inside the bag in search for chopsticks. I don't know why; I don't know how to use the damn things. As I search through the bags, my mother clears her throat and begins to tap her shoe against the tile impatiently, but I continue to ignore her.
    “Allie, is there something you want to get off your chest?” Really? She's going to give me attitude? She's the one who abandoned me while I'm in the most vulnerable state of mind. Shaking my head, I remain silent and continue to make my way out of