Lindsay Hunter - Ugly Girls

Your freind like the same kinda music??

He knew her name, she’d written it and texted it to him a lot, but he always called Perry “your freind.”

I know you’re friends with her, why don’t you just ask her yourself? she wrote.

Don’t be like that Dayna. Baby Girl knew he’d say that, had almost wanted to type it herself so he could see how well she knew him. She’d told him her real name one night when they’d been chatting for hours, and her legs ached from sitting so long, and her wrists felt bruised from all the typing, and it seemed like they’d been talking about everything. He used her name only when he wanted her to know he was being serious. Don’t be like that Dayna . But then:

Hey what r u wearing

LOL

He’d used her name, and then he’d laughed. She decided to give him what he was asking for.

I’m not wearing shit

I’m naked

It’s cold in here so my nipples are hard

I have perfect nipples

I shave my pussy, you like that?

What are U wearing, motherfucker?

The word pussy blared from the screen. She had wanted to scare him. Baby Girl felt as cold and exposed as if she really was naked. Jamey is typing .

Whoa whoa

That aint what Im after

Your my freind

Im your freind rite?

Baby Girl didn’t answer, just watched the cursor blink. Finally he said,

Talk to u later I guess

Jamey has signed off.

That was two nights ago. Nothing since. No texts, no online chatting. Baby Girl’s yearning had felt as bright as a car alarm, a shrieking that filled her ears and flooded her body and scared the shit out of her. And for some reason, even though she wanted to talk about it with someone, it felt like something she should guard closely around Perry. Like if Perry knew she’d take it away and Baby Girl might walk up to the car one day to see the back of Jamey’s head moving slow between Perry’s legs, Perry’s face bland as a tortilla, the ping ping of her toes cracking the only evidence that there was any life to her at all. So Baby Girl kept it to herself. She’d tell Perry when the time came, if the time came.

I have been online , she said now. And didn’t you get my text?

Im just teasin , he said. Ben thinkin bout u

Baby Girl smiled again. Been thinking about you too

U out last nite?? he wrote.

Yeah … couldn’t sleep so we went out thuggin , she wrote back.

With ur freind?

Baby Girl decided to let that one go, not get on his case about it, she was so glad to hear from him again.

Yeah she was there

I thot so

Im glad u aint disapeered

Me too , Baby Girl wrote, and she wanted to shout, to run in and tell … who? There wasn’t no one.

I stil wana meetup u kno?

Me too, Baby Girl wrote again. So fucking tongue-tied by this no-faced stranger.

Alrite wel l lets talk l8r u got school

Okay I’ll text you l8r, you fuckin dork. Something Baby Girl would never have typed normally. But it was cute, he was cute, he wanted to meet up with her. With her .

Lookin fwd

Jamey has signed off.

Baby Girl scrolled back up, reread their brief chat. I stil wana meetup u know? She felt like she could jump high as the roof. She felt … wanted. Attractive, even. Got up and threw her cereal bowl against the wall without even thinking why, just had to do something. Watched the sludge drip down in gory streams, puddle on the linoleum, her heart racing her lungs. She waited till she heard Charles turn the water off, then went over to clean up her mess. ’Cause one thing about Baby Girl she cherished was the thing that separated her from Charles, even before his accident: she could clean up her mess.

MYRA WOKE UP with a yolky taste in her mouth. She tried licking her lips but that only spread the yolk around, and the yolk dried fast. She was holding her glass from last night up against her heart and now she tipped it at her lips, but it was also dry. And then that carpet of regret started creeping up her body, moving rough and fast up her feet legs hips breasts neck head. Coating her in a raw rushing heat she did not welcome. Add to that how her stomach had nothing in it. That was going to be a problem.

She hadn’t even needed the beer last night. Only drinking when a drink was needed was one of her rules. She had said this to Perry, and then Jim, many times over the years. Don’t worry. It’s only when I need it. She had just been bored, and a little disappointed. Most of the time the disappointment wasn’t an issue. But then other times, like last night, with that boy, Pete, this young man interested in what she had to say, she’d find herself thinking of Jim and the flat plane of her life. How it was mostly defined now, no more surprises on the way, how Jim felt just fine with that, and her throat would close in like she’d swallowed a cherry pit and her throat didn’t know was it better to swallow it down or cough it up.

Last night, before her first beer, she had come up behind Jim. Put her hands around his chest and rubbed his shirtfront. But he had already been dressed for work, and he didn’t want to get undressed, then redressed. He’d turned and kissed her, as fast as a hummingbird’s wing, on the lips. Didn’t he know what that did to a woman? Maybe that was why she’d let Pete sit awhile. It hadn’t helped, though.

Had Perry come home? She hadn’t heard her come home or leave for school. Which meant Jim hadn’t come in to wake her when he got home, before driving Perry. Which meant Jim was annoyed with her, because she’d asked him to pour her a glass before he left. Well, it served him right.

She wished, sometimes, that Jim would get mad. But all he ever got worked up to was a mild kind of annoyance. She had once been pushed out of a moving car by a man angry with her, so most of the time Jim’s mild, dulled reactions were just fine by her.

But they also added to the disappointment. They were small things that added up, like toothpicks in a Dixie cup, but still, they could stick you.

Shit. She had to get something in her stomach. She braced herself with her hand on the nightstand, knocking some bottles to the floor, but, a mercy, none broke. Still, the clattering sound ripped through her and instead of heading toward the kitchen, she headed for the bathroom. Knelt before the toilet. Heaved and spat.

When the heaving stopped, her knees singing with the pain, Myra got up, went into the kitchen to make some toast and coffee. Called Bill at the truck stop to apologize for not making her shift, explain that she was ill and couldn’t come in.

“Mm- hmm ,” Bill said. “Well, we’ll see you tomorrow, anyway.” Myra knew he didn’t believe her, but she was grateful for him playing along all the same.

She sat in the chair at the computer, dipped her toast into her coffee. Her neighbor had her music on, a constant cheerful braying that hammered Myra’s skull. She must have bumped the mouse somehow because the computer screen suddenly flashed on. Perry’s Facebook page was open. A boy named Jamey had called her beautiful. The picture he said it about was of Perry in a hat Jim had bought at the truck stop one day when he and Perry stopped by after school. The hat was as green as a leaf and there was a real golf tee balancing a real golf ball on the bill. Perry was smiling calmly, like it wasn’t nothing more than a hair barrette. She could see why Perry had uploaded it. The green in the hat, the green in her eyes. She was beautiful. Too much eyeliner but that was a teenager’s way. Myra swelled with pride.