fic: her liquor's top shelf (1/2)
There’s 18 bucks in her pocket and somebody else’s jacket on her shoulders. americana au, mary x whale, past mary x david; past abuse, alcoholism; 504 words
This was the worst part. There were many in this job, but there was something undeniably awful about handling ice cubes and freezing glasses and cold water all the same time.
You only have yourself to blame.
“Hey Mary, two beers for table six.”
The bottles were out of her hands and into Ruby’s before she could think.
Not much need for it, really.
Open fridge drawer, withdraw bottle, remove cap. Best do it quickly, before your fingers freeze.
It’s so cold. Everything’s always so cold.
~
So much promise, everybody said.
So bright.
So lovely.
~
She should never have taken up with a married man. She’d known that from the moment she’d set eyes on him, perfect specimen of the anglo-saxonic american race. A regular prince charming, wedding ring off (tan line perfectly visible, and do they really think women are morons)
She’d known that when she’d given him her phone number and when she fell in bed with him a few days later, so tired, so lonely.
So very tired.
She’d known that especially when the missus barged in with her fingers curled around a pipe, Mary hiding behind the counter and no, she hasn’t shown up for work for a few days, Mrs Nolan, Ruby had said.
~
She’d been a kid when her dad remarried. She’d been so happy, to have a mother again.
A snort.
A cloud of smoke.
Break’s over.
~
Such an utter waste.
~
Her step-mother’s nails dug into the skin of her face, holding her jaw. Mad eyes, she remembered that.
Regina had the saddest eyes she had ever seen.
But she didn’t care because it hurt.
It hurt.
IT HURT.
~
She should have said no, but she was tired (you’re always tired) and lonely (you’re always lonely) and she’d just flushed the note that David had sent down the toilet.
No more cowards. No more.
Dr. Whale buys her a drink and she says yes.
~
She leaves home 3 months, 14 days, and 2 hours and 26 minutes after her seventeenth birthday. She knows because the last thing she saw before she closed the door was her dad’s pendulum clock. It burned in the back of her mind.
At 2 hours and 26 minutes in the morning, she closed the door, stepped off the porch, walked down the gravel path and went west.
~
She’s nineteen when she makes it to Santa Monica. She lost her first kiss in the backseat of a car back home and her virginity to a fast talking biker.
There’s 18 bucks in her pocket and somebody else’s jacket on her shoulders.
She blows the 18 bucks on the ferris wheel and sleeps in the sand with a stranger’s jacket.
~
Dr. Whale is thirsty.
Dr. Whale is always thirsty.
For scotch, for borboun, for beer.
He’s thirsty for her too, or else he wouldn’t be kissing her so desperately in a back alley.
~
She wakes up to the sound of seagulls, stands up, and turns around and goes east.
Part Two
This was the worst part. There were many in this job, but there was something undeniably awful about handling ice cubes and freezing glasses and cold water all the same time.
You only have yourself to blame.
“Hey Mary, two beers for table six.”
The bottles were out of her hands and into Ruby’s before she could think.
Not much need for it, really.
Open fridge drawer, withdraw bottle, remove cap. Best do it quickly, before your fingers freeze.
It’s so cold. Everything’s always so cold.
~
So much promise, everybody said.
So bright.
So lovely.
~
She should never have taken up with a married man. She’d known that from the moment she’d set eyes on him, perfect specimen of the anglo-saxonic american race. A regular prince charming, wedding ring off (tan line perfectly visible, and do they really think women are morons)
She’d known that when she’d given him her phone number and when she fell in bed with him a few days later, so tired, so lonely.
So very tired.
She’d known that especially when the missus barged in with her fingers curled around a pipe, Mary hiding behind the counter and no, she hasn’t shown up for work for a few days, Mrs Nolan, Ruby had said.
~
She’d been a kid when her dad remarried. She’d been so happy, to have a mother again.
A snort.
A cloud of smoke.
Break’s over.
~
Such an utter waste.
~
Her step-mother’s nails dug into the skin of her face, holding her jaw. Mad eyes, she remembered that.
Regina had the saddest eyes she had ever seen.
But she didn’t care because it hurt.
It hurt.
IT HURT.
~
She should have said no, but she was tired (you’re always tired) and lonely (you’re always lonely) and she’d just flushed the note that David had sent down the toilet.
No more cowards. No more.
Dr. Whale buys her a drink and she says yes.
~
She leaves home 3 months, 14 days, and 2 hours and 26 minutes after her seventeenth birthday. She knows because the last thing she saw before she closed the door was her dad’s pendulum clock. It burned in the back of her mind.
At 2 hours and 26 minutes in the morning, she closed the door, stepped off the porch, walked down the gravel path and went west.
~
She’s nineteen when she makes it to Santa Monica. She lost her first kiss in the backseat of a car back home and her virginity to a fast talking biker.
There’s 18 bucks in her pocket and somebody else’s jacket on her shoulders.
She blows the 18 bucks on the ferris wheel and sleeps in the sand with a stranger’s jacket.
~
Dr. Whale is thirsty.
Dr. Whale is always thirsty.
For scotch, for borboun, for beer.
He’s thirsty for her too, or else he wouldn’t be kissing her so desperately in a back alley.
~
She wakes up to the sound of seagulls, stands up, and turns around and goes east.
Part Two