SHRAPNEL
this is you to me baby.
the skin that i can see.
but look into my mirror, doll...
that what you wanna be?
Gabby was destroying her shoelaces. The used-to-be-white-now-gray string poked through the plastic neck at the end as she rolled them under heel across jagged blacktop over and over and over.
Her Mom's voice was shallow coming through the phone in soft murmurs of resignation.
"Does it have pay?"
"It can."
"Do you get insurance?"
"You could."
"It it feasible?"
"With time."
The screen stuck to Gabby's cheek, adhered with sweat.
The line rustled with her Mom's exhalation. A tinny, accusatory silence that opened a hole in her optimism.
She stopped talking, pushed Gabby headlong into a moment of reflection and redirection. Let her do the mental lifting.
Eyes closed, Gabby could see her Mom, head back, nustled in the corner of the couch in the living room. Electronic candles pretended to flicker. The news ran on mute. Empty cups of water her brothers left out collected dust, scattered across the couches and ottoman.
Gabby wanted that. Knew why her Mom wanted her to have it. She wanted comfort. She wanted the security. She wanted to have blankets she never had to use. Things she forgot she had.
Mom stared at the tv, thinking. Or stared at the roof, praying. Gabby could imagine it both ways.
"I don't want you to be unhappy. I just want you to keep other options in the back of your mind."
"I get it."
"I know you do."
"What you're doing is okay for you. Now. I just...I want you to have an easier time."
"It's not bad."
Gabby kept her eyes closed. A motorcycle tore by. Pushed to the limit. Roaring.
"I wish I was rich. I wish I could just give you what you wanted." Her Mom said.
"I know."
"I'll figure it out."
Mom sat in her quiet.
"I'll take a look around...Plenty of options. I just have to look. I''ll figure it out."
"I know."
"Night Mom."
"Love you."
"You too."
The screen returned to the dark with a haptic buzz. Gabby saw her reflection in the blank phone.
The bags hanging under her eyes were visible in the strained light from the parking lot lamps. The ends of her mouth sagged. Tired as shit from the inside out. Her hair was limp, wispy over her forehead.
Was struggle the only way to go? A single pursuit? Could she start a career and not lose herself? Still be what she wanted?
Of course. If she was meant to.
But how important was time?
Red hair tugged between her fingers, wrapped around her knuckles. Dead flowers ripped from her head.
She touched her scalp too much when she didn't have answers, trying to dig into her brain for an easy answer to a question she couldn't phrase.
Random noise clanged across the empty parking lot.
The Zoo's van sat six inches over a white line, encroaching on two spots near the McDonald's entrance. Smoke escaped the van, climbing through the rusted ridges of the canopy, coalescing in an orange ridged cloud that hung in the air beneath the iconic M.
Inside the rust bucket Cutter dragged his metal pick down five strings of a stolen Ovation electric acoustic, an E String shy of a full deck.
Cutter tuned his instrument and Gabby tuned it out.
The answer is there is no right answer. There is commitment and there is forfeit. There is effort and there is complacency.
Some familiar, insiduous part of Gabby's brain told her it was easy to slide into a nine to five. But nothing is easy.
Maybe she thought it a cop out because Lil Bow Wow is "so ICDC" now. It crossed her mind that he might've placed a catheter. Ew.
Becoming a nurse she didn't want to be or a medical technician she'd regret was some shortcut Gabby was choosing to ignore in the pursuit of something personal and honest. The pursuit of expression. It's selfish. Indulgent. But that's what she knew.
By the same token it was easy for her to think she was misguided. She understood that she could be wrong. That Everest was talking to her, but they weren't. That somehow she was above the others in her station. She was upper middle. Her brain was kind enough to disregard anything too negative or gloomy and lead her on the path she was on. The aloof optimism could be a considered a blessing that continued to push her in the right direction, past all the detours into sad unfulfilled lives she could take, until she arrived at success. A north star.
She was waist deep in a quest for self that pitted her against the temptation of being able to afford rent and bi-weekly grocery runs from the safety of a rut. Something in her didn't want to commit to something. She wanted to suffer. Wanted the bruises. She wanted to find the strength in herself to circumvent the status quo. She wanted a legacy. A legend.
Her brain told her she was right. She was on her way.
Or she could be totally fucking wrong...Staring into the mirror during a long, slow train wreck.
But then her brain reminded her moments of doubting herself and her convictions were moments much better spent building herself up and improving.
She didn't want to sleep. She wanted to work. She wanted to join the pantheon of her idols tomorrow. Tonight. Shine in the light of her 10,000 hours and the success it brought.
The heels of her converse dragged across the concrete as she got to her feet, pushed off the curb and took a cigarette from the pack she told herself she wouldn't buy.
* * *
Her Mom's voice was shallow coming through the phone in soft murmurs of resignation.
"Does it have pay?"
"It can."
"Do you get insurance?"
"You could."
"It it feasible?"
"With time."
The screen stuck to Gabby's cheek, adhered with sweat.
The line rustled with her Mom's exhalation. A tinny, accusatory silence that opened a hole in her optimism.
She stopped talking, pushed Gabby headlong into a moment of reflection and redirection. Let her do the mental lifting.
Eyes closed, Gabby could see her Mom, head back, nustled in the corner of the couch in the living room. Electronic candles pretended to flicker. The news ran on mute. Empty cups of water her brothers left out collected dust, scattered across the couches and ottoman.
Gabby wanted that. Knew why her Mom wanted her to have it. She wanted comfort. She wanted the security. She wanted to have blankets she never had to use. Things she forgot she had.
Mom stared at the tv, thinking. Or stared at the roof, praying. Gabby could imagine it both ways.
"I don't want you to be unhappy. I just want you to keep other options in the back of your mind."
"I get it."
"I know you do."
"What you're doing is okay for you. Now. I just...I want you to have an easier time."
"It's not bad."
Gabby kept her eyes closed. A motorcycle tore by. Pushed to the limit. Roaring.
"I wish I was rich. I wish I could just give you what you wanted." Her Mom said.
"I know."
"I'll figure it out."
Mom sat in her quiet.
"I'll take a look around...Plenty of options. I just have to look. I''ll figure it out."
"I know."
"Night Mom."
"Love you."
"You too."
The screen returned to the dark with a haptic buzz. Gabby saw her reflection in the blank phone.
The bags hanging under her eyes were visible in the strained light from the parking lot lamps. The ends of her mouth sagged. Tired as shit from the inside out. Her hair was limp, wispy over her forehead.
Was struggle the only way to go? A single pursuit? Could she start a career and not lose herself? Still be what she wanted?
Of course. If she was meant to.
But how important was time?
Red hair tugged between her fingers, wrapped around her knuckles. Dead flowers ripped from her head.
She touched her scalp too much when she didn't have answers, trying to dig into her brain for an easy answer to a question she couldn't phrase.
Random noise clanged across the empty parking lot.
The Zoo's van sat six inches over a white line, encroaching on two spots near the McDonald's entrance. Smoke escaped the van, climbing through the rusted ridges of the canopy, coalescing in an orange ridged cloud that hung in the air beneath the iconic M.
Inside the rust bucket Cutter dragged his metal pick down five strings of a stolen Ovation electric acoustic, an E String shy of a full deck.
Cutter tuned his instrument and Gabby tuned it out.
The answer is there is no right answer. There is commitment and there is forfeit. There is effort and there is complacency.
Some familiar, insiduous part of Gabby's brain told her it was easy to slide into a nine to five. But nothing is easy.
Maybe she thought it a cop out because Lil Bow Wow is "so ICDC" now. It crossed her mind that he might've placed a catheter. Ew.
Becoming a nurse she didn't want to be or a medical technician she'd regret was some shortcut Gabby was choosing to ignore in the pursuit of something personal and honest. The pursuit of expression. It's selfish. Indulgent. But that's what she knew.
By the same token it was easy for her to think she was misguided. She understood that she could be wrong. That Everest was talking to her, but they weren't. That somehow she was above the others in her station. She was upper middle. Her brain was kind enough to disregard anything too negative or gloomy and lead her on the path she was on. The aloof optimism could be a considered a blessing that continued to push her in the right direction, past all the detours into sad unfulfilled lives she could take, until she arrived at success. A north star.
She was waist deep in a quest for self that pitted her against the temptation of being able to afford rent and bi-weekly grocery runs from the safety of a rut. Something in her didn't want to commit to something. She wanted to suffer. Wanted the bruises. She wanted to find the strength in herself to circumvent the status quo. She wanted a legacy. A legend.
Her brain told her she was right. She was on her way.
Or she could be totally fucking wrong...Staring into the mirror during a long, slow train wreck.
But then her brain reminded her moments of doubting herself and her convictions were moments much better spent building herself up and improving.
She didn't want to sleep. She wanted to work. She wanted to join the pantheon of her idols tomorrow. Tonight. Shine in the light of her 10,000 hours and the success it brought.
The heels of her converse dragged across the concrete as she got to her feet, pushed off the curb and took a cigarette from the pack she told herself she wouldn't buy.
* * *
- ©Trenton Jones