by Carrie Pack
The only clue to the occupant of the room is a pair of bare feet peeking out from below the door. “Everything working okay for you?” I call out.
A pair of jeans appears over the door. “Um, I’d like these in a size six, please,” Heather says. She sounds nervous, which is weird. She’s never been nervous around me—not when we were friends and not since she disowned me. I take the jeans and look for the same pair in a smaller size. I try not to think about the fact that it’s Heather, but I can’t help it. Why did her friends abandon her and why is she suddenly being nice to me? Well, not nice, exactly, but polite at least. She did say please, after all.
“Here you go.” I toss the jeans over the dressing room door.
A few moments later, I hear the lock. The door creaks open, and Heather steps out. She looks great in the jeans and fitted blue top. I’d tried the same shirt on when it came in last week and, even in the largest size, I looked like ten pounds of sugar stuffed in a five-pound bag.
Unable to help myself, I say, “You look great. Have you lost weight?”
She smiles and nods excitedly. “About eight pounds.” She turns to admire herself in the three-way mirror. “And the best part? I wasn’t even trying!”
“That’s great.” I try to smile, but I catch my reflection in the mirror. I’m most definitely scowling.
“I think it’s just happiness,” she says without prompting. “I started going out with Brad Mason a couple of weeks ago and since then I’ve been too busy to eat.”
My skin breaks out in gooseflesh, and my face feels hot. “Brad Mason?”
“Mmmhmm,” Heather says, still admiring herself in the mirror. “Do you know him?”
“We had first period together.”
“Isn’t he such a hottie?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
She turns to face me with narrowed blue eyes. Her hair trails behind her as though she’s starring in a shampoo commercial. “Are you blind? He’s like the hottest guy in school. Or maybe you’re just jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
Heather raises a perfectly arched brow.
“I just don’t think Brad is a very… nice guy.”
She rolls her eyes. “What would you know?” she says. “He probably wouldn’t give you the time of day.”
I almost laugh but the smell of cinnamon tickles my nose. I sniff and it’s gone, but the memory lingers: Brad’s sweaty hand on my back, his demanding mouth on my pursed lips.
“Whatever,” I say. “Are you taking the jeans?”
She huffs. “I guess so. Can I wear them out?”
I hold out my hand. “Sure, just give me the tags.”
She plucks one tag from under her arm and another from the waistband of the jeans. “You don’t have to be jealous,” she says, handing me the tags. “I’m sure there’s someone out there for you.”
Stunned, I stare at her. Is she serious? She doesn’t even know me anymore and she acts as though I need dating advice from her?
“Actually, I’m seeing someone,” I say. “Her name is Jackie and she’s so much hotter than Brad.”
Let her chew on that.
She gapes at me like a fish, and, without another word, I take the tags to Teresa at the register. My steps are buoyant. Heather Davidson’s hold on my life is over. I don’t need her approval and I certainly don’t need her friendship.
When I get home from work that afternoon, Sparky greets me at the door as usual, but Mom is nowhere to be found. Normally, this wouldn’t worry me, but this morning she told me she’d be home all day and we’d go out for dinner. I’d been planning my epic Olive Garden breadsticks binge all day, and my stomach is quickly growing impatient.
“Mom!” I yell up the stairs. Sparky, uncharacteristically subdued, nudges my hand with his cold, wet nose. His ears are back, and his eyes questioning. “What’s the matter, boy?” He nudges me again, and I get the impression he’s trying to make me go upstairs. He follows dutifully as I climb, and, when I get to the top of the stairs, I know something’s wrong. I can hear faint music over the sound of Mom’s shower, which makes the pipes groan when the hot water flows. I keep telling her we need to get that fixed.
Her bedroom door is open, so I go in. We’ve never been much for privacy in my family, at least not between me and my mom. We’ve been known to have entire conversations with one of us on the toilet. The bathroom door is open a crack, and I peek my head in.
“Mom, I’m home.” My voice echoes over the linoleum and bare walls.
No answer.
“Mom?” I push the door open all the way. The room is filled with steam, and the shower looks empty. As I step closer, I can see that Mom is sitting in the tub with the shower on full blast. Her arms are curled around her bent knees, and she’s crying. No, not crying, sobbing. Her face is only slightly redder than the rest of her. Flushed skin from the heat of the shower and the shame of tears make her look like a completely different person. Maybe she is.
I shut off the tap.
“Mom, what happened?”
She looks up at me and shivers. I wrap her in a towel the way she used to do for me when I was small. I grab another towel and try to pull some of the moisture from her hair. I gently push her soaked bangs out of her eyes and smooth them away from her face.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” she says, looking at me as if she’s never seen me before. Suddenly her eyes go wide. “Oh, Tabitha, I’m so sorry! We were supposed to go to dinner. Just let me get dressed and we can go.”
“Shh,” I soothe. “Don’t worry about it. We can order a pizza or something. For now, let’s get you out of that tub and into something warm.”
She nods, and I can’t help but notice how defeated she looks. Our roles have completely reversed: I’m now the mother and she’s the child. As she stands on shaky legs, I wrap her in the towel and help her out of the slick tub. Then I get pajamas from her dresser and lay them out for her and go back in the bathroom to hang the wet towels. When I come back, Mom is dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed looking dumbstruck.
“Mom, please tell me what’s wrong.”
She looks at me, blinks twice and then sobs. I rush to her side and wrap my arms around her.
“I can’t believe I was so wrong about him. Why do I always pick the wrong guys?”
I rub soothing circles into her back. “Who? Dan?”
She nods. “He’s married with two kids. Twins.” She sniffs. “And they’re only eight years old!” She sobs again, and I pull her close.
Meanwhile, I process the information. Was he dating two other women, plus Mom and his wife? What a scuzzbucket. My mom does not deserve this. No woman does.
“It’s not your fault, Mom. He’s the asshole for cheating on his wife and his family.”
“I feel so stupid, you know? I should have known.”
“You couldn’t know,” I say. “How could you have known?”
“He’s a dentist, Tabitha. I could have easily done some research on him. It’s not like he doesn’t have an office staff or patients.”
“So you were supposed to interrogate everyone who works for him and stalk his patients? Mom, that’s nuts.”
“Well, it would have been better than finding out this way.”
“What way?”
She laughs. It’s actually more like a bitter puff of air with a single “ha” tacked on. She wipes the tears from her cheeks. “I went for a teeth cleaning.”
“At his office?” I can’t decide if I’m appalled or proud. On one hand, it takes some serious balls to go after what you want. But on the other, it’s seriously pathetic to beg a guy to take you back. Women shouldn’t grovel like that, especially not my beautiful, caring mom.
“I thought I could make him see reason. Maybe he’d see how fabulous I looked and beg me to go out with him again.
I’d have another shot and I wouldn’t make the same mistakes.” And I’m sure my lack of poker face has come into play because she says, “I know how stupid it sounds, but I was desperate. So, I’m sitting there in the exam room, lying back on that stupid chair with a baby pink bib clipped to my new Calvin Klein dress and I see a family photo right there on the wall. At first I’m thinking, ‘Okay maybe that’s his sister and her kids or an ex.’ So when the hygienist comes in, I ask. She says, ‘Oh, that’s Dr. McMahon and his wife. Aren’t the twins cute?’ and I say, ‘He’s married?’ And I practically vomit on that stupid bib when she says, ‘Yeah, Brenda’s our office manager. She checked you in.’”
“Oh my God!”
“Then I had to sit there while that girl cleaned my teeth and try to get out of there without being seen by Dan.”
“Mom, that’s awful.” I can’t imagine what she’s feeling. Embarrassment? Humiliation? Anger? Hurt? Probably all of the above. At least when Kate and I broke up, I only had my broken heart to contend with. This is another level of heartbreak altogether.
She wipes the last of the tears from her face. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” she says. And suddenly she looks like my mom again, as if the confession erased the pain, or the complete vulnerability of the last few minutes is gone, and she’s simply put on a brave face.
“You didn’t,” I say, trying to smile for her benefit.
“Good.” She takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly. “I’m feeling better. Why don’t we go out anyway? I’ll get dressed and meet you downstairs in twenty?”
I narrow my eyes at her. Her puffy eyes have dark circles under them. She looks as though she needs a nap rather than a night out. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Reluctantly, I get up, keeping my eyes on her the whole time. She gives me a more genuine smile, and it convinces me enough that I head for my room.
“Tabitha,” Mom says, and I pause with my hand on the door frame. “I’m so glad you’re here, kid.”
“Me too.”
Shut Up #1
Shut Up or Put Up :)
Welcome to the first ever issue of Shut Up, the official zine of the band of the same name. While we’re on tour all subscribers to Rage Mart, Material Grrrl and Decked Out will receive our band’s zine instead. Our loyal friends, Jackie and Tabitha, will be helping us out while we’re on the road. Check out the back of the zine for our complete tour schedule, previously published in Decked Out.
NEW TOUR DATE!!!! - Don’t miss it!
July 11 - LaCrosse, WI at McFly’s
Shut Up is Marty DeVane (guitar), Kate Goldberg (bass), Cherie Wong (vocals) and Venus Jones (drums).
A Trip to the Rage Mart
By Marty DeVane
It’s okay to be angry, my fellow Riot Grrrls. We’ve been silent for long enough and it’s time the world hears about our pain and anger and madness. It scares them, but so what? We’ve been scared our whole lives. Let’s turn the tables and be the rage-filled monsters for once. We don’t want to be seen as little girly girls. Simple vessels for you to put your emotions into in the hope of getting laid. We’re sick of being reduced to wives, mothers, girlfriends. We want more. I want to rule the world with my music. I want more than romance. I want a career. I want friends. I want money. I want success. I don’t want you.
I’m angry and I am going to express it. You’ll just have to deal.
So tell me, what makes YOU angry?
*********
It makes me angry when white girls want all women to be seen as tough. Black women are begging to be the love interest instead of the sassy sidekick or the angry black woman. Let’s represent ALL women, especially women who look like me.
~Venus
Chapter 13
For the fourth Sunday in a row, I’m stuck closing the store with Teresa. I don’t mind working on weekends, but Sundays are the worst, because it’s only the two of us and we work open to close. At least today I have plans with Jackie after work. She won’t tell me what, so I brought a change of clothes in case my work attire is too dressed up for our date.
I’m in the back of the store vacuuming when Jackie arrives. Teresa slams the cash register drawer closed and gives me a pointed look. She nods her head in Jackie’s direction. Did I tell her Jackie and I are dating? I’m not out at work, but maybe I let it slip. Teresa is definitely indicating Jackie with all the cervical gymnastics she’s doing. I nod and smile at Teresa, who looks at me as if I’m an idiot. She makes a beeline for me at the back of the store, and I turn off the vacuum.
Before I can ask what’s up, she whispers, “Do me a favor, will you?”
“Okay…”
“Keep an eye on that girl,” Teresa says, nodding again in Jackie’s direction. “She looks… suspicious.” Her lip curls on the last word as if it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.
I’m speechless. I look at Jackie and try to see what Teresa sees but all I see is Jackie’s sweet smile that can light up a room. Her narrow shoulders are barely larger than a child’s. She’s tiny. Barely five-foot-two. When we cuddle on the couch, she curls her entire body against my side and we hardly take up my twin-sized bed. How on earth could anyone think Jackie looks “suspicious.”
“That’s just Jackie,” I say. “We’re uh… friends.”
I hate lying like that, but it’s not actually a lie, is it? Jackie is my best friend. And my girlfriend.
“Oh,” Teresa says. “Sorry.”
I shrug it off and flip the switch on the vacuum. Jackie browses until it’s time for us to lock up.
“I’ll just be a few minutes,” I tell her. “Teresa needs to count the drawer, and then I’ll meet you outside.”
“Okay, babe,” she says softly. “I’m parked by the Sears entrance.”
When she’s gone, Teresa pulls the gate over the entrance, and I fold the remaining disheveled shirts. I finish all my closing tasks early, so I go to the register.
“Want some help?” I offer.
“Sure,” Teresa says. “Can you double-check the deposit for me?”
I start counting. Teresa watches me intently, and that makes me stumble and have to start over, but eventually I get it counted. “Two sixty-seven, eighty-seven. Same as you.”
“Cool,” she says. “Let’s seal it up.”
I pull the adhesive strip on the envelope and seal it tightly.
“Teresa, why did you tell me to watch Jackie earlier?”
She shrugs and busies herself with organizing the pen cup. “We’ve had a lot of shrinkage lately.”
“Right, but why Jackie?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, you didn’t tell me to watch that mom and her two kids who came in right before her.”
“She was pregnant,” Teresa says. “I doubt she was going to steal anything.”
“Remember last week when I found those empty hangers in the dressing room? That was a mom. We never did find that red shirt.”
Teresa clears her throat. “You really shouldn’t tell people that we’re in here counting money,” she says.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I just thought she looked suspicious, okay? I’m sorry if I offended you. Can we drop it?”
I bite my lip. Jackie wouldn’t drop it, but Teresa’s my manager. I can’t stand up to her if I want to keep my job. Can I?
Jackie’s leaning on her car with her arms crossed over her chest. It’s sexy. I try my best sultry walk toward her, but I get the feeling I look like I’ve got a limp. I decide it’s best to walk normally, and when I get to her I throw my arms around her. She nuzzles my neck but then pulls away before it can get too heated. Girls hugging won’t raise eyebrows, but girls making out in the mall parking lot? I’m not so sure we could get away with that.
“So what’s this big plan?” I ask
.
“It’s a surprise.” Her smile stretches from dimple to dimple.
“I guess I can handle that.” I walk around to the passenger seat and look over the top of the car at her. “Not even a hint?”
“Nope, no hints. That will ruin the surprise. Now will you get in before mall security gets suspicious?”
Her words are reminiscent of what Teresa had said, but I don’t mention it. I’m too excited about my surprise and don’t want to ruin it by bringing up something that might make Jackie upset.
She backs out of the parking space. We take a left out of the mall entrance and I wrack my brain for all the places that are south of the mall.
“Donovan’s! Is it Donovan’s?”
“Nope.”
“I hope there’s at least some food. I’m starving.” I glance sideways at her, but her expression gives nothing away. “Am I dressed okay? I have a change of clothes in my bag if—”
“You’re not going to trick me into giving it away,” she says. “So just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
I can’t sit still, though. So I turn on the radio and try to find something that will distract me until we reach our destination. I hit all of her presets and the tape she has in the player, but nothing seems right. “Mind if I switch this out?”
“Go ahead,” Jackie says, making another left.
I lean forward to get a better view out the windshield. “Okay, now I’m really lost. There’s nothing out here.”
Jackie laughs. “Just relax, will you? There’s some more tapes in the console.” Without taking her eyes from the road, she flips it open with a flick of her wrist. “Take your pick.”
After a thoughtful search, I settle on an old standby: The Slits.
“I think Shut Up’s new song sounds a lot like this,” Jackie says, turning up the volume. “Listen to the chorus and bridge.”
I close my eyes and let the music wash over me. It does sound familiar, but different at the same time. Like something from a dream.