I stripped off my
wife-beater and undies and studied the figure in the mirror. I hate my hair.
Vonda clipped it once a month to keep it off my shoulders, but long enough to
tie in a pony. She said the rag-look helped me fit in as a street person. The
tied-back look could be chic if necessary, and avoided a hand hold if I ever
got in a fight.
How does a girl learn to
use makeup? I imagined myself sitting at a foofy counter being tutored.
Composed an excuse for total ignorance. Just off the Mennonite farm. Maybe I
could look a little better than an ugly homeless woman. The bags under my eyes
would be a task.
At least I have good
There was nothing to do
with the scars. If I ever met a man I wanted to bed he’d vomit once he got me
naked. I’d have to make sure any sexual adventures were in a dark room.
As though I’d ever entice
a man. Vonda’s instruction had prioritized how to tell anyone to get lost, with
vigor. Not draw them into a conversation. I flipped the mangy image a bird and
started my shower.