It was quarter 'till three and Joan Scott was hungry as hell. Her stomach moaned and gurgled, beckoning her to fill it with substance. It was the longest she'd gone without food, and she finally felt in control. While everything else around her fell a part, she remained totally whipped to her desire to slim down a dress size or two. She was walking her usual route home; a two mile walk to Sandstone Lane. Every step she took she was reminded of her jiggling thighs and pulsating belly. She felt disgusted with herself. Her messenger bag latched on to one of her shoulders heavily weighing her down while the thick combat boots she wore felt like 30 pounds each. It was a sunny, blue-sky kind of day; not a cloud in sight. It could of been close to eighty-five degree's outside, although she didn't look prepared for it. She wore her usual raggedy old black sweater filled to the brim with holes and a faded cream-white tank top underneath. She had on a black and yellow checkered ripped skirt and blue and white polka dot knee-highs. On her pale brown hair that was messily tied into a loose pony tail rested a bright yellow bobby pin that Dillon had given her on Valentines day. Dillon. He was the only one that had ever said 'I like you' to her. Not even her old man said that to her... at least not anymore. The pangs of hunger pains subsided and were quickly replaced with fluttering butterflies. It's not like she was in love with him, or if she was, there was no way she could tell. She seemed to have walked for ages under that open blue sky with the sun half baking her tan skin before she had reached base. Her house was the odd one out in the neighborhood. The lawn was severely mistreated with weeds growing out of odd places and uncut grass. The plants were withering as well, from lack of water and attention. Garbage rummaged the yard and oil marks were left permanently on the sidewalks for all to see. On the other side of the house in their backyard, was Jilly and Jane swinging on the big tire swing their dad had built them. The backyard was a mess of newspapers and old oily pizza boxes and Chinese take out. Empty beer bottles scattered the brown soil, almost devoid of any grass. The old tree creaked from the weight and leaves fell freely over them as they talked about boys and primary school. Jilly was nine years old, four years younger than Joan and two years older than Jane. Inside the house wasn't any better, Joan's older sister Jannet, who was eighteen since yesterday, was sitting on the couch smoking her father's weed even though he said not to touch it. Pizza boxes were stacked one on top of the other and old food was scattered on the dirty rug. The sink smelt of vomit and cigarettes, as well as bleach; which her sister Jacky had used to dye her hair bleach blond. Jacky was a slut. Not just any slut though; she perfected her slutty ways to a near art from. It was rumored that she had blowed or slept with half of Drummords Secondary School and was even moving up to teachers now. Drummords Secondary was identical in size and shape of Drummords Primary, except the kids were older and there were only three grades before you moved on to Rockefeller Junior High. Jannet had failed three times so she was still a sophomore, despite being eighteen now.
As soon as she had opened the door, that was always kept unlocked, a chair went flying across the kitchen into the depressingly dirty living room. " ******** s**t Jacky. Can't you do that s**t somewhere else? It smells like piss in here." The voice of Jannet rivaled that of the telly, even though it was at max volume. Joan slipped in unnoticed and made her way into her room where she could ignore her family one more day. Her sisters were making a racket downstairs about bleach and her father was out selling soft drugs to college kids who think it's cool to smoke weed. Joan let her messenger bag drop on her bed, which bounced and indented her duvet from the weight. Her room was surprisingly clean compared to the rest of the house, which was kept clean at least for two weeks out of a month when the whole family was forced to clean it up by the community threat mail. Her walls were white and clean, not a scratch on them except for the indention near her bed where her father had thrown her oldest sister Jannet in a fit of rage when she told him she was pregnant. Ironically, a month later her period came back when she started eating again and her bloated stomach had subsided to painstaking exercise routines. Jannet wasn't the only one in her family who was obsessed with weight; even Joan had caught that disease. 'One more thing to be ashamed of because of this ******** family.' She had once said out loud when Jannet was booked into one of those anorexic recovery clinics. Her father had slapped her and she wasn't allowed to say another word for the rest of the day. She was happy not to be able to talk to her family though, it comforted her to pretend she was Suzie Rion instead of Joan Scott. Living in a nice house and a caring father, with a good looking brother who looked after her. Once Joan's sister Jacky had jumped Suzie Rion for her lunch money, but her brother ended up beating her up instead and Jacky was sent home crying to Rick; her dad. He said that's what she got for messing with men and that she should only fight girls. Even though she explained the situation twelve or fifteen times he still thought it was 'her own ******** fault,' as he so eloquently put it. Joan had laughed secretly at Jacky that day, she always knew she had it coming. Her dad was never around, the only time he was around was when he had enough money to throw parties and get high with his college buddies in the garage. Sometimes, Jacky and Jannet were invited in too and they wouldn't come out until two or three in the morning, half undressed and giggling like morons. Joan was too young to understand but that was just another way her dad earned money for his family, and another way Jacky perfected the arts.
Joan sat quietly listening to the sound of an acoustic guitar playing in her earphones. It was an Elton John's "Your Song" instrumental by Sungha Jung. Across the street, unfamiliar to her, were the silent screams for help. Only they were muffled by socks and a closet.
*To be continued, and stuff.
