Page 9 of Bucked Hard

“Shut up,” Tabitha barks.

Tabitha is not only more personable than me, but tougher too. We both grew up in a trailer park a good hour and a half east of here, but we are so different. She’s got this strawberry blond hair in cute, little ringlets. And that alone is a constant source of amusement when people first meet her.

She looks like a little kewpie doll but she’s got talons behind that innocent exterior. She’s a few inches shorter than me but makes up for it with sass. I like being around her, she’s good with people, chats with anyone like they are an old friend. Me? I have trouble figuring out how to put a noun and a verb together in most social situations.

After all these years as friends I would have thought some of her personality would rub off on me, but no. I’m still that shy, plump girl who thinks nothing she has to say would be of any interest to anyone.

I reach into my skirt pocket for my ChapStick, and Tabitha watches me as I pop the cap and rub the waxy goodness over my lips. Then I rub them together and pop them playfully in her direction.

“You and your ChapStick.” She leans back in her chair, fiddling with one earring. “It’s an addiction. Forreal.”

“What.Ev. Er.” I turn my nose up and exaggerate an air kiss at her, then stuff the black and white tube back in my pocket.

“I mean it. I looked it up. There are websites and support groups. You, my friend, have a problem.” She points at me and I set down her empty glass on the service end of the bar then come back around to the small high top table where she’s planted herself for the evening.

I giggle, half because of the absurdity and half because it’s true. I’ve looked it up myself. Me and ChapStick go way back. And I am particular as well. Only original will do. Not mint. Not cherry.Original.

“So, did the jeans you ordered fit?” She asks as she gets up to retrieve the drink Leonard had set down for her. She grabs it and slips back into the stool at the table.

“Not really.” I have an ongoing battle trying to find jeans that fit. I ordered some online from a specialty shop with hope in my fingertips as I placed the order.

When someone says you have a beautiful ‘hourglass’ figure. Sure, great. Try finding jeans that fit those proportions. It ain’t easy. Usually Aunt Jessie alters the ones I do buy but someday I wish a company would figure out how to fit a girl like me straight off the rack.

We’re hunkered down at the corner table tucked away at the end of the bar, which is where the waitresses take breaks throughout the evening. Well, that’s what it’s here for anyway. A lot of them go outside instead to smoke cigarettes or do other things. Most of the time I’m the only one that takes their break here.

Tabitha doesn’t work here, so she’s not supposed to be in this part of the bar, but she’s not much for rule following and besides, the owner has known us both since he’d found us around midnight one night when we were seven years old dragging a suitcase and a lunch bag with two peanut butter sandwiches inside like Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer.

There we were, making our way across his back lawn on our way god knows where, and Crutch took pity, took us in and then drove us home. Said that running away would never solve anything. His house was just a few blocks from the trailer park, but since then he moved over this way since he opened the bar. When I moved in with Aunt Jessie it was nice to see him again. So Tabitha gets special treatment, and I think that’s part of the reason why Lacy hates us.Me.

She is my nemesis, and I certainly can’t think of any other reason why she would hate me. I mean, I’m the first to admit I’m not perfect, but as far as I know there is not a whole lot about me to hate.

I take a bite of a French fry, cheese and bacon dripping from the end, and my cheeks flush. Lacy rolls her eyes and goes over to shout her drink order at Leonard before turning back around and winking at me.

“I’m on this new diet,” she says, smiling, baiting me.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” Tabitha chimes in, tapping a finger over her lips like she’s thinking, then widens her eyes with a dramatic gasp. “The New Bukkake Diet. You only get to swallow what lands on your tongue.”

I snort out a laugh and Lacy glares.

“Oh, ha ha.” She flutters her false eyelashes then looks away to scan the crowd.

I’ve dieted. I started when I was ten and only gave it up when I moved in with Aunt Jessie. I don’t date, in fact, I’ve never dated.

I mean, is being a little ample here and there the absolute worst thing a person can be? Lacy doesn’t practice what she preaches about eating either. Her stomach may be flat as a board, and she might cut off her Crutches tank top so high it barely holds on under her bra, but I once watched her throw back a triple bacon cheeseburger and fries in ten minutes, and then top it off with three Budweisers. It’s just that her belly never puffs out one bit. She must have a hollow leg like Aunt Jessie says.

Lacy may be more what some consider pretty, but there are ugly parts to her as well. She’s got five or six guys at all times that she’s playing. Her family doesn’t speak to her and I hear she has two little kids that don’t even live with her.

“Hey, did you see that guy over there? Like Grizzly Adams.” Lacy says as she nods into the mass of humanity and I don’t need to look to know exactly who she’s talking about.

Something makes me feel protective, and I speak before I can check it. “Yeah. He’s at my table.”

“I think it’s my table now.” Lacy sneers.

“Drinks up, Lacy!” Leonard bangs a hand down on the bar and Lacy jumps. “Get on back to work, you’re not on break.” Leonard winks at me from behind her back. “And I catch you stealing tables again, you’re fired this time. Clear?” Leonard wipes the counter service area clean keeping her in his line of sight.

Leonard is like an older brother to me. He’s been working here forever, he and Crutch know each other from their time in the Navy. Crutch has ten years on Leonard, maybe more, but I know he’s always in my corner along with Crutch, and I also know that grinds Lacy’s gears.

“Whatever.” Lacy flips her Morticia Adams hair off her shoulder and dismisses me with a shake of her head. “Can’t I have a little fun? Besides, I don’t have to wait on his table to get what I want.” She tosses an arrogant smirk my way.

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