RE: Trailer Trash, 62 pt 3

    Tabitha crossed the bustling back quad and then entered the art room. Her detour speaking with Jake hadn’t made her too late, but to her dismay Amber had already arrived and was waiting. The barstools in this class made it easy for her to sit the other way watching the door, and Amber’s grin widened as she laid eyes on Tabitha and she held up a hand and wiggled her fingers in mocking way.

    “Ta-bi-tha~!” Amber called. “So, you’re having it out with all of the cheerleaders, too? Gurl, you better watch you aren’t fixin’ to bite off more’n you can chew—”

    “Amber?” Tabitha stopped partway to her own table in the opposite corner. “Or, is it Amanda?”

    “Excuse me?” Amber’s eyebrows went up.

    “I keep confusing you two,” Tabitha said, feeling extraordinarily catty right now and sure to regret it later. “Because—I have Amanda in first period, and you just sort of repeat the same things I already hear from her every day, hah. So, this gets kind of redundant and I start to feel like you’re just kind of… extra.”

    “Aw yeah?” Amber’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Ever think that if you’re hearin’ everyone call you a fuckin’ retard, might just be because you—”

    “Don’t blame me if I start getting y’all confused,” Tabitha spoke over Amber. “It’s kind of lame that you’re just copying everything she says, word for word? Unoriginal? If you’re going to copy her homework, at least change it up a little so you don’t get caught? Thanks.”

    Rather than satisfied that she’d came up with a pretty okay rejoinder to shoot back at Amber this time, Tabitha instead found she was incredibly irritated with herself as she trudged the rest of the way over to her spot and dropped her book bag onto table six. Amber had tried to get in the last word but was scolded by Mr. Peterson who’d heard the girl f-bomb, and that gave Tabitha a moment to discreetly attempt to recompose herself and shove some of those ugly feelings deep back down inside the hole in her soul that these obnoxious girls were eroding within her.

    First and foremost, Tabitha acknowledged that she was learning. Forcing herself to be confrontational this week had taught her that one of her biggest, rookie mistakes was stopping to listen to the opposition. This was not a polite debate where one should wait one’s turn to speak up, and despite cutting the other person off going against Tabitha’s natural inclination, it actually helped a lot. Waiting for the enemy to finish saying her piece was foolish, and Tabitha was going to remember to just stop doing that, period.

    No, what really, REALLY just—PISSES ME OFF, is WHAT I find myself saying, Tabitha ground her teeth. And HOW.

    Just yesterday in her attempt to quickly throw a comeback at the other cheerleader girl—Desiree, she now knew her to be—Tabitha had copied the annoying lilt that girl used, her high rising terminal she ended off sentences with to sound very valley girl. Then, just now she’d used y’all when interrupting Amber, because Amber’s dialect was much more aggressive country girl. Heck, even just a few minutes earlier, Tabitha had been mortified to find herself using the slang word ‘homie’ with Jake—it had just sort of slipped out of her mouth unbidden, in response to him using street dialect like ‘dawg.’

    Okay, so. What I THINK is happening, is— Tabitha’s mind raced as she held one hand across her stomach, feeling a little sick. Well. My normal INTROVERT stress response, it’s been talking like a robot with people. Parents, adults. Right? Or, maybe not a robot, per se. Sandra teased that it was speaking like a duchess—it’s when I tense up and my speech patterns become super rigid. My thought patterns become rigid under duress, I guess, and then my manner of speech follows?

    But then, in really FORCING myself to be ‘extroverted’ so that I can socialize and interact with people at school, then I guess… Tabitha thought about it and tried considering every angle. I guess that what’s really been happening is that I’m forcing myself PAST that rigidity reflex I would normally have, and instead I’m becoming extremely malleable? No, maybe that’s not the right word. Impressionable? I really am just starting to pick up mannerisms from people around me and reflect the way that they speak. In a way that I normally would not. At all.

    While on the one hand it was probably a good thing that a fourteen-year-old mind was flexible enough to adapt to situations in that manner, it also made Tabitha want to puke. She hated the idea that each of these encounters was indelibly changing her personality, because that made her feel like this melodramatic high school nonsense was contaminating her. Like she was gradually—or maybe not so gradually, because she’d only been back to school for a single week—turning into the kind of girl she’d always despised.

    Corrupted, maybe that’s the word I’m looking for? Tabitha smoothed out her jacket and tried to recompose herself. I, well. I wanted to stop being such a fucking doormat, and here’s how it happens. This is what it takes. Absorbing the way these girls act and being influenced by that, learning all of the little mean tricks they use to survive constant confrontation. Just, it. It kind of makes me sick?

    It had been a while since she felt so uncomfortable and out of sorts with herself, and some reflexive part of her just wanted to throw in the towel and retreat back into who she used to be. The girl who hid in the library, avoiding all of these disasters. Tabitha had still managed to make a friend or two while being like that back then, and comparing her previous self’s fear of everyone and her current fear of herself she wasn’t sure which was better.

    “Hey, Tabitha,” The one boy at their table, Eric, slung his backpack onto the other side of Table six and grabbed his barstool.

    “Hey…” Tabitha greeted him back with a sigh.

    “You alright?” Eric asked, freezing in place as if considering what he might have done wrong.

    “I don’t know, man,” Tabitha let out a small laugh. “It’s just one thing after another, today.”

    “Yeah,” Eric bobbed his head in agreement. For a moment it seemed as if he wasn’t sure what else to say, and then he simply repeated his question. “But, you alright?”

    “Not really?” Tabitha answered.

    “I’ve been hearin’ stuff all day,” Eric said, having trouble meeting her eyes. “So, yeah. Sure you don’t want to hear any of it again from me.”

    “It’s pretty exhausting,” Tabitha admitted, sitting up and giving Stacy a small smile as that girl arrived and took her seat with them. “For all that everyone apparently talks about me—I’m really not half as interesting or exciting as everyone wants to make me out to be.”

    “What’s going on?” Stacy asked.

    “Same awful drama, new day,” Tabitha shrugged. “Nothing new, I don’t think.”

    “Ah,” Stacy said. “They talk about you in my one other class. Say that now you’re trying to get all of Springton Cheer completely disbanded—I know not to believe too much of what all goes around.”

    “Wow,” Tabitha was actually a little impressed. “That one certainly snowballed into a tall tale.”

    “They all do,” Eric sniffed. “Now, me? I never believed any of them. They’re all full of shit. These same people all used to call me a creep, through most of middle school. I’d let it slip to my one friend that I maybe had a crush on this one girl? Before you knew it, somebody had told everybody—until by the time word got round to Mary, I was absolutely obsessed with her and stalking her, had a shrine of stolen locks of hair or gum wads she’d chewed or whatever to her in my closet. It was nuts, she freaked the hell out. Her friend Christina and this other girl came by and told me to stay the hell away from her. Ruined my reputation, I basically just stuck by myself for all of eighth grade. So, yeah—when that many people all start talking about someone, I right away assume it’s all just complete and utter bullshit.”

    “Oh, wow,” Stacy blinked. “That really sucks, sorry. Does Mary go here to Springton?”

    “Don’t know, don’t care,” Eric gave them an expressive shrug. “That ship has sailed. Or uh, sunk, I guess, as it were.”

    “Sorry, Eric,” Tabitha genuinely felt for him. “I can definitely empathize.”

    “Yeah, I bet,” Eric let out a bitter laugh. “Anyways. We have to finish these drawings today, you think? Or, tomorrow. I remember he said we were starting something new on Friday.”

    “I hope tomorrow,” Stacy winced. “Mine looks like toddler doodlings.”

    “Mine’s not much better,” Tabitha admitted. “If—”

    “Tabitha!” Vanessa called over.

    Tabitha turned to see the short girl with the pompom hat dashing over towards their table, and when Vanessa grabbed a barstool the metal legs made a god awful screech across the art room flooring that made the kids filing in for the start of class flinch.

    “So! Now everyone is saying that maybe the whole cheer team is gonna get disbanded!” Vanessa reported with glee. “And, not only that. Get this. I was listening to these other girls from across the room, in my fifth period? One of them said ‘Faith the Cow.’ Like Tiff started saying, this morning! I was like oh my god, I can’t believe that’s already spreading around. Good. I hope it sticks to her for the rest of her freaking life!”

    It’s a high school nickname, Tabitha wanted to facepalm. Sometimes I really do wonder if these kids don’t all realize that high school stuff mostly stops mattering after high school. Almost everyone moves out of Springton to go to college or university somewhere else, and not that many of them ever come back. Just the LIFERS.

    “See what I mean?” Eric spread his hands towards Vanessa.

    “Shut up, creepazoid,” Vanessa scoffed, glaring daggers at him.

    “We were just talking about—” Eric tried to explain.

    “Uhh, nuh-uh, nope, not listening~!” Vanessa held her hand up and then flicked her palm towards Eric with a twirl of her wrist. “Talk to the hand.”

    Oh wow, Tabitha couldn’t help but stare. I… I never thought I’d see someone do that in real life. Like, unironically just… pull that off. What’s that even FROM? Boy Meets World? Family Matters? Salute Your Shorts?

    The bmmm bmmm bmmm bmmmm over the speakers indicated the start of class, and most everyone took their seats. Mr. Peterson rose from behind his desk and asked for the table leaders to go and fetch the respective period six art folders for their table, prompting Vanessa to hop down off her perch and follow the others towards the store room. The classroom had already quieted down at that point, so when the door opened up again and Clarissa stepped in late, everyone turned to look her way.

    “Late!” Mr. Peterson jabbed an accusing finger through the air at her in a joking voice. “She’s late, everyone, look at her!”

    “S-sorry,” Clarissa’s face went red. “Um—”

    “Not gonna mark you tardy this time, but go and sit yourself at the kiddy table and feel real bad about it, alright?” Mr. Peterson waved her on with his fearsome smile. “You’re late, and that means you’ve hurt my feelings. Next time, you won’t be so lucky! Go on, now. Can we have a round of applause for… Clarissa, looks like she’s the first one to sit at the kiddy table for this period!”

    Tabitha noticed that Mr. Peterson still had to check his attendance clipboard to recall the girl’s name, as this was still the first week of the new semester. An enthusiastic round of applause actually went around however as Clarissa scurried over to sit alone at the very front table by herself, absolutely mortified, and for a few moments it actually didn’t look like the clapping was going to stop.

    “Alright, alright, cut it out, now,” Mr. Peterson yelled. “Geez-us. You guys are animals. Alright, get to work, get to work! Table six leader?”

    “Uhh?” Vanessa was already shuffling back with the others from the store room with the big art folder that contained their drawing sheets. “Yes?”

    “Make sure your girl at the kiddy table gets her assignment, as well,” Mr. Peterson pointed. “The one who’s sitting all by her lonesome.”

    “Yes, Commander,” Vanessa threw a mocking salute.

    “Yeah yeah, keep it up, fuzzball—and pretty soon, your friend won’t be sittin’ alone there after all!” Mr. Peterson laughed. “Alright, alright. Simmer down, folks. Get to work.”

( Previous, 62 pt 2 | RE: Trailer Trash | Next, 62 pt 4 )

/// Things are hellish here. Down to -5F (-20C) last night, forecast says will be -11F (-23C) tonight. The new place is better insulated but it's still a mobile home, some of my water froze last night even with me leaving the faucets trickle. Yes, trickle. Not just drip.

I captured two of the trailer park stray cats and brought them inside, but the third stray continues to elude me. Have failed twice at coaxing him close enough to grab and grabbing him, and he has completely ignored the cage trap I just bought despite me bundling back up and trudging over to the old place's porch to check it every hour. (I did close the trap before I went to bed so nothing would be trapped in it while I was asleep and freeze to death there.) The trap DOES work, it caught Grumbles, the neighbor's cat they keep letting out to go do his business since they don't keep a litterbox.

I bought a replacement octagonal-style pet pen but wound up not using it, as the two I've caught have made zero attempts to check the frayed torn bit near the upper zipper of the old one—they seem content to gorge themselves on food and then bask in the heat. I also bought a newer style rectangular pet pen in case I manage to capture the last stray, as he's bigger and much more aggressive, but so far it has been sitting empty. The two I've caught are 'Jasmine' and 'Buster,' they're very cool with each other and I don't want to separate them. This is Buster's second winter being grabbed and pulled inside for the extreme cold, and then it's granny Jasmine's fourth time with me.