Reclaiming the Sand(3)

So now she was twenty-two years old, set to give birth in five months, and still smoking like a chimney and drinking like a fish. And if I tried to say anything, she’d chew me a new *. And she did it in a way that was vicious and cruel and usually very, very public.

But Dania was my oldest friend. We had been in the same foster home for two year before I had gone to juvie.

We had hated each other on sight. But that had ended when we realized that protecting each other from our pervy foster dad was more important than any dislike we had shared.

It was a friendship born out of survival. One that had been necessary rather than a natural bond formed by people who genuinely liked each other. Our friendship became like a bad case of herpes. It was uncomfortable, sometimes it made you sick, but it never went away.

Dania was a loud mouthed, overly dramatic bitch with serious psychotic tendencies. She had been in the system almost as long as I had. Her mother had given her up when she was ten after her dad had died, finding the out of control behavior of a grieving child too much to handle.

As a result, there was a direct correlation between the frequency she spread her legs and her desire to be loved. It was textbook. And it landed her with an unwanted pregnancy and no idea who the father was.

Whatever her faults, Dania was the only person to stay in contact with me during the two years I was in juvie. She would take a bus over to Mt. Hope almost every weekend, without fail. And when I got out, with nowhere to go, she offered me her couch.

So even if I didn’t like her choices, even if she made me want to pull my hair out most of the time, I would never turn my back on her. That’s how I rolled. Loyal to the point of stupidity.

“I don’t think so. I’m beat,” I said indifferently. Dania giggled while Craig grabbed her ass. And while he did so, he leered at me suggestively, his cold dark eyes lingering on my bigger than average chest.

My friend sure knew how to pick ‘em.

“Are you sure? The whole gang will be there,” Dania gasped as Craig did something I didn’t want to think about. He was still leering at me so I flipped him off. His smile grew. Bastard seemed to like that.

“Definitely think I’ll pass then,” I muttered, looking away from the amateur porn show.

“What is your problem?” Dania hissed under her breath. I had pissed her off. She didn’t take my disagreeing with her very well. She couldn’t understand why I’d be less than thrilled to hang out with the same sorry ass jokers we had partied with in high school.

And I sure as hell couldn’t tell her that I planned to get up early and head over to the community college. That I had made an appointment to talk to a woman in the financial aid office to see whether I could afford to take a class. That I was thinking about actually doing something with my life. And continuing to hang around with my so-called friends would only bring me down.

Because that would go over like a lead freaking balloon and would most likely involve lots of screaming, clawing and hair pulling. Dania was a scrappy fighter and it didn’t take much to set her off. I had been on the receiving end of those evil nails more times than I could count.

“I’m just tired,” I began but started to cave under the strength of Dania’s derision. Dania narrowed her eyes, her hand on her hip as she leveled me with her best don’t f*ck with me bitch stare.

“Fine. I’ll head over after my shift. There had better be a shot waiting for me,” I said, giving in. I was just glad to see that both of Craig’s hands were now in plain sight and no longer underneath Dania’s skirt.

The bell chirped above the door and I barely glanced up as someone came into the store.

“We’ll see ya later, snatch,” Dania sing-songed. She grabbed a pack of Jolly Ranchers and another soda. I mentally added the items to the running total.

I eyeballed Craig, daring him to eye-f*ck me again, but he looked away. Good thing too. Because I wasn’t above gouging the smarmy blues out of their sockets.

I propped my elbows up on the counter and cradled my chin, swinging my legs as I sat on the stool. Looking around the tiny convenience store, it was hard not to get depressed.

I hadn’t exactly progressed in my life. After I got out of juvie I was focused on living. That was it. That’s all I had been capable of.

Finding a place to live. Food in my stomach. Money in my pocket. Those were my only goals. I hadn’t allowed myself to think of anything else.

Being locked up for two years, waiting to turn eighteen, hoping you won’t get shanked for your hair gel, sucks your soul dry. Dreams were definitely not allowed. Not that I ever had them to begin with. My life had beaten all of the good out of me until there was nothing left but the shell of a person I was now.

And heading to juvenile detention was the icing on the crappy cake. Every horrible thing they tell you about incarceration to scare the shit out of you was 100% true.

It’s a terrible place. It makes you angry. It makes you mean. It ensures you will do just about anything to survive. I knew a thing or two about survival before doing my time, so I had naively thought that I was better prepared than most for what lay ahead.

I had been completely and totally wrong.

The acidic taste of my own bitterness burned the back of my tongue. It was always there. It never left me.

The squeaking of sneakers on the worn linoleum made me jerk my head up. The store was silent except for the ear-splitting screech of rubber on the floor. I caught sight of a brown mop of hair disappearing behind a shelf.