Page 2 of Living with Death

“Maybe you should spend more time reading. Then you wouldn’t be whoring around town so much.” I smile to let her know I’m kidding.

Sort of.

Sam likes sex, and she’s not ashamed of it. She says if men can proudly have it, then so can women.

She turns the water on. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t have fantastic stories to tell you. Plus, how would you stay in the know?”

Sam is taller than me. Her hair is dark, and her lips are full. Her skin is a smooth brown, and I wish I had half the confidence she does. I look at myself and still see that same overweight thirteen-year-old in the JCPenney fitting room mirror with fake blonde hair and contacts that made my eyes itch.

I gave those up as soon as I was away from my mother and let my hair go back red. I managed to keep the weight off, but it was not easy. Some people are born with a body that likes food and stores fat.

It's me.

I’m those people.

But no matter how I keep the weight off, my mother also still sees that chubby thirteen-year-old and reminds me every time she sees me, except now, I also get,“Is that a wrinkle?”

Her constant criticism is tedious.

“Yes, how else would I know that Jim from the hardware store has three nipples and Ben from Planet Fitness can’t have sex with the light on?” I say sarcastically. Like I need to know these things about these men.

“Hey, I’m here for your entertainment, and I don’t mind it.” The door creaks when Patty, from register three, walks in.

“Girls, you might wanna bolt. I’ve got the beer shits, and the sound will be a doozy. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

We both head for the door, hearing Patty say, “I knew I should have stopped at three. Goddamn, those IPAs.”

I walk to my register, grab my purse, and place a mint in my mouth.

The following customer who comes in is a young woman hardly in her twenties with two babies—one on her hip and one in the cart.

“Hey, Mabel,” her daughter says. Kids' innocent minds amaze me. Sometimes, one will come along and make you see things a little differently, if only in the short time you share with them, because they haven’t seen how ugly this world can be. A child’s eyes are supposed to be clear of the bad. I wasn’t so lucky.

The world has something to teach us; some have more difficult lessons.

They say it makes us stronger, the tough things we’ve been through, but I don’t think that’s true. I think hard times bring you to your knees when no one’s watching. During those moments, most would rather stay on the floor and cry.

Not get up and get through.

Tough times don’t make us stronger.

They give us a choice.

You stay on the floor and cry if you’d like, but it won’t change a thing. That’s one thing I can say about my mother. She never stayed on the floor.

My tough lesson? People can be cruel.

“Hey, Rue. How are you today?”

“Finer than a frog’s hair.”

I laugh. “That good, huh?”

Her mom gives me a look. “I have to stop taking her to that nursing home with my grandpa, but he’s the only one that can watch them for me while I work.”

“Hey, at least you got Grandpa.” An unwanted sting stabs my chest, but I shake it off.

“Thank God for that,” she says. I scan her groceries and the bottle of wine she always gets while Jason bags. She swipes her EBT card after I tell her the total.

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