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FOUR | Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

I live almost three miles from the school, but I've only driven there a few times. Once when I was 15 minutes late and the other was the week I had to bring Ben to school because his brother sold their van to "help pay the rent". The walk somehow clears my head, helps me prepare for facing the cold reality of my home turned house. Most days my mother wasn't home when I got there. The atmosphere was still the same. Dad's stuff was in boxes in the rear foyer, pictures were all turned face down and Monroe would be asleep at the foot of my bed waiting to greet me with a slobbery kiss that said 'I thought I wouldn't survive without you'. When I finally reach home, there is a car in my driveway. But it isn't my mother's navy blue '84 Grand Am. It isn't my father's black '88 Ram pickup. It's a 1957 Chevy convertable with personalized "Toy Car" California license plates. On inspection of the vehicle, I didn't recognize anything about it. I walked cautiously up the front stairs and opened the screened porch door. It creaked softly behind me. I heard soft chatter coming from inside the house. Opening the front door, I stepped in and found my mother laughing madly at someone sitting in the brown La-Z-Boy with its back to me. My mom puts her hand on her chest as to try and calm her hysteria and finally looks over at me.
"Oh, honey. Desi, this is my friend from work. Peter Mahoney, this is my daughter Desiree." The sinister woman says as if she was unaware that I refused to answer to that name. The man in my father's recliner stood up. He wasn't much taller than me, about five-foot nine, wore a greay suitcoat and had extremely shiny black loafers on. He extended his gold-watch adorned hand to me. He had a geeky smile, but his studious appearance helped cancel it out.
"Hi Desiree. Peter. I'm the head of the Advertising department where your mother works. She's told us all a lot about you." Peter says smiling. His perfect teeth are literally glowing.
"It's Ray. And yeah, I'm sure she has, what with knowing so much about me lately. Must be real interesting stuff she's said." I reply blankly, looking at my mother instead of this strangely invasive man. Clearing her throat, my mom stands and comes near me. It's almost like these two are cornering me into the doorway to keep me from escaping.
"Desi, sweetie, Peter has just dropped by personally to give us some very exciting news." My mother smiles. Her teeth are coffee stained; not glowing.
"Oh yeah? So..." I lower my eyebrows, "what? Why isn't he telling us if it's so important?" I say, pushing through the two of them and heading toward the up staircase.
"Ray," Peter says in a light, airy voice, "you mother has been selected to work at the head of the Advertising department. She'll be transferred under my crew as of Monday morning. She's gotten a promotion. She's going to have her own office right between mine and the general manager's. She truly has earned it." Peter's voice enticing my mother to shreik and throw her arms around me. I drop my backpack on the floor.
"That's great, Mom. So now you won't be home everyday until even later at night? Well, I suppose it's money. God knows we need it, right?" I say sarcastically, heading up the stairs.
"Ray, do you know what this means?" She shouts toward me.
"No. Tell me, what does this mean?" I stop walking up the stairs without turning around.
"It means that we can sell this huge, stale house and finally move into town. It's just you and me here anyway." She says, seemingly in slow motion, as to drill it into my skull. That's exactly what it felt like. Like someone had taken a large power tool and pounded it into my brain. I couldn't even look at that woman. I simply continued up the stairs. Once I reached my bedroom, I slammed the door behind me as hard as I could, sending my Cyndi Lauper poster to the floor. Downstairs, my mother sighed heavily and looked toward Peter for reassurance. He came toward her and put his hand on her shoulder. She touched it lightly.
"She's a teenager, Hillary. I've got two of my own that felt the same way when we moved from Los Angeles to Baltimore. She'll thank you someday, I promise." He said in his perfectly sculpted tone. My mother turned to face Peter and looked into his eyes. Her hands set softly on his shoulders, he leaned down toward her. Before their faces met, the sound of a hammer I'd picked up in my room to rehang my Cyndi Lauper poster shook them apart.

Part Five >> (COMING SOON! Ü)