This Side Up - Chapter I

This Side Up - Chapter I

I sat there in a leather chair, the metal burning cold through my skin like frostbite. Running my hands through my hair for the last time, I stated simply, "Yeah, I'm ready," and felt the buzzers go to my scalp. It was like something out of a fucked up movie, when the main chick character decides to cut off all of her pretty, long hair. Screw that, I wanted my hair gone. Without anyone to hold me back now aside from my mother, I decided it was time to look like what I wanted.
My mom was a drunken piece of shit, anyways. Her good moods weren't so easy to come by. In fact, I could count on five fingers the times I remembered her ever being nice. That was before Dad ever left us. Then she started drinking. Like something out of another fucked up movie, she started to treat me like utter shit, beating me and verbally and mentally abusing me. I began to hate her. That was 12 years ago. Before I knew I was going to grow up to be worthless to society -- in their eyes, at least. Before I was a fifth year student at Newark High.
Back in 2005 I decided to fuck around and do nothing, skipping school, getting into fights with everyone, getting suspended for being a dumb ass and not knowing which bathrooms to smoke in. It was a big mistake, as that was one more year I had to spend with my mother. One more year I could have been working, making money to move out into the real world. One more year I had to deal with those fuck faces who decided to talk smack. As my best friend Linda -- who was like a sister to me -- always used to say, "Talk shit, get hit."
School was about to start, and I was actually looking forward to it. French 4 (Honors), Chorus, Studio Art 1 (Honors), AP Sociology, Advanced Trig (which I was not excited for -- not that I even need to say it), two PE classes and lunch/study.

I was shaken from my thoughts by the sound of the clippers stopping, and the woman who was doing my hair, Clarissa, a chubby Newark-native, saying, "All done." She laughed, and then asked me how I liked it. I looked into the mirror, not even recognizing myself for a moment. I seemed a lot different than I did the last time I took a good look. I stared, my seemingly parallel-universe-self gazing right back into my eyes. I shut them tight for a second, and upon opening them my eyebrows raised. My face was certainly more defined. I remembered being that chubby girl from Freshman year. Not only had I slimmed down a lot, my features became more defined. High cheekbones, semi-full lips, almond eyes, a strong jaw line -- I was hot shit. My lips perked into a smile.

Now, I didn't like being cocky, but despite that, I stared down Clarissa with a small frown. She frowned as well, opening her mouth to speak.
I gave a wide grin, "Who's the bangin' fella in the window? Oh, wait, that's not a window! Ohhh snap!" She laughed a deep one, the sound originating from the depths of her chest.

"Oh, girl. You're so silly! I told you it'd look good? Didn't I? Didn't I?"
I liked this woman, she wasn't your normal, stuck-up hairdresser with the typical questions. "So how's school? Oh, good. How's life? Oh, good. How's everything else? Great. You're done. Give me the money and get out." It was quite the contrary with this woman. Before she took the scissors to the foot-and-then some length and started buzzing my head, we were bantering on about music, art, TV, movies, my old hatchback and her '93 Taurus -- most of that being quite the interesting conversation. We talked about people, society, and school -- but with the school thing, it was a lot more than just "So how's school?". It was more like, "So what classes are you taking, girl? Oh snap! I love ____! Whatcha think you're gonna do in there? You get any summer homework? What was that about? Was it madd long? Oh girl, you seem really smart, you know? Do you like the people in school? Oh man, I know people like that. They're total cock suckers!"

Taking the black covering off of me, as if I was frozen leftovers being heated, I looked like said leftovers having come out of the oven: good as new. My hair was mostly gone. I ran my hand over the remaining fuzz. Okay, well, some of it wasn't fuzz, but the back and sides of my head faded up into a crew cut. It looked better than I had pictured it, for sure. I looked like a soldier: fresh meat in the Army.

I stood and pulled the woman into a surprise hug, squeezing her tight. Pulling back, I gave her another wide grin. I could see it in the mirror behind her -- I hadn't smiled like that in a long time. It was a genuinely happy smile, as if I was a mother looking at her newborn child for the first time. "Thanks, Clarissa. Looks madd chill," I stated simply. I passed her the twenty bills I owed. After living my whole life in Newark -- albeit the scummy parts -- I'd definitely picked up the slang of the area.

"Sounds good, baby girl," mused Clarissa, walking over to the desk near the front of the shop. Pulling a card out from the register as she put the money in, she stepped back over with a satisfied chuckle. "Here's a card for your next visit, you got two free haircuts. I'd love to do your hair again, you were such great company. Not a lot of my customers are like that, they're usually just the usual scummy fucks with a chip on their shoulder for no reason whatsoever."

I nodded, "Of course, I loved your company as well," and I strut over to the door, giving a wave and a "Take care, girl." She said something in reply, but I was too concentrated on thinking about how good I felt as I stepped out towards my car. It began to rain as soon as I got out, and by the time I got to my car I was soaked. That downpour was hateful.

I pulled my keys from my pocket, starting the car, and I began to carefully drive off. I could barely see through the windshield as my wipers were pure crap. I still made my way to Livingston Mall, though.

I loved the mall, it was my second home. All of my friends were there, and they were real friends. Not just the kind you had in school that you'd talk to in classes, or sit with during lunch. Not the kind you'd just chill with in the bathroom, smoking a clip.

The people on the highway drove like total fuck asses, constantly cutting me off, beeping at me to get out of the way because I was driving too slow -- despite the fact that I was driving in the right lane --, et al. My reasoning for driving slow came from one of my Marlboro Reds. I'd just bought a pack before I went to get my hair cut. I lit it up with my trademark black Zippo. On the one side was a pink triangle, and on the other side was a pink double female gender symbol.

Taking my time, I turned on some music and thought deeply for a while. I'd been in seclusion pretty much the whole summer out of depression. It was time to get over it and tough up. That was exactly what I was doing.

I pulled up into a parking space, and already the mall rats dropped their stoges to book it over to the old, beat and rusted up hatchback of mine. I recognized every one of them.

Alyssa -- referred to at the mall as simply "B,", a mocha-skinned Rican with shoulder-length black hair and chocolate eyes, jumped onto my hood screaming, "Oh shit, nigga! Look who that is! Look who the fuck decided to show her ass up!" A frail-looking girl -- Adeline: everyone else called her Lynez, but I called her Delilah. She was a little tall, but quite a bit shorter than me --approached my car window, a lackluster smile on her porcelain face. Purple bags, looking big enough to carry groceries in, sat underneath her half-lidded green eyes which stared me down. Her collarbone-length hair, a mix of red and bleach blond from trying to bleach her hair, which she had dyed black before that whole incident, hung in my window.

"Heeeey you," she murmured, "You got a new hair--" but before she could finish, two guys, one a bit shorter than Delilah, and the other about as tall as a twelve-year old, sprinted over, yelling at me from yards away. They ran up the hood, a near miss for poor B, and began to jump on the Mustang's roof, screaming. Delilah shot them both an immensely annoyed look. "Beelz, Shotty, get off the fucking roof, I'm trying to talk here," she yelled in the most quiet way possible. They heard her, however, and hopped on down. Nobody denied Delilah's requests. She never asked for much, she only spoke up if someone was disturbing something she was trying to do, bugging her out, attempting to start a fight, or just being way too obnoxious for her taste.

Beelz was the taller of the two, a bit chubby and very … fuzzy. He and Shotty were known as "those two weird bi kids." Both were insanely good at DDR. Beelz wore his "trademark" outfit: plaid ¾ shorts with a tattered and torn Ramones shirt, a leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders covering most of it. His hair was interesting, dyed a deep purple and shaved into a mohawk, which was then dreaded.

Shotty was shorter, a thin but muscled young male of only fifteen (B being 19, Delilah: 17 and Beelz: 21), often found wearing arctic-camo jackets and pants, even in the summer. He always had a gas mask of some sort on -- the mall cops had given up on kicking him out and banning him for it (apparently he was potentially driving away customers), and a lot of the other mall rats had accessories almost as strange, so they let it go.

I digress. B, Shotty and Beelz approached the window of my car, "crowding" around Delilah. They didn't get too close at all, as she was rather skittish as far as that went. They all stared down my new haircut, as if they were going to scare it off of my head. I imagined a man's scalp ripping from his head, growing legs and running off as blood spewed from his skull. This amused me until Delilah began to speak again.

"I see you got a new haircut," she droned, once again giving me that lackluster smile. I waved them away for a moment so I could get out and take a good look at them. I hadn't seen them in months. I especially missed Delilah's company, she was the most calm and reasonable of them all. She could also be the craziest and most eccentric at times.

"Yeah," I replied, "You like it? I'm actually digging it quite a bit, but I still need to buy bleach for it." Running my hand through my once again wet-hair. It was still that dirty blond color from the summer of 2006.

I remembered the last time I'd went to the dock … it was nice to be there (with Delilah) one last time before my mom's boyfriend kicked us out ... and I remember now, it was way before that incident. After that we went back to the trailer park a few miles into the scummy parts of Newark.

I looked Delilah over for a few moments. The rain slid down her face, and she paid it no mind. Her style of dress was simple: a black hoodie -- black and white striped on the inside -- with the Used's logo on it clung to her sickly thin form, a pair of tight black jeans fell to her black and white Mossimo's.

The three behind us chattered and bantered, trying to decide whether to go to the arcade or to some stores first. They were quiet enough as not to annoy us, though, so I ended up paying no more mind to it.

"Sounds like it'll be madd chill," she said in her typically quiet and slower manner of speaking. Her teeth were nice, a little yellowed from smoking, but then again, mine were too. She had normal-sized lips, a long face, ears gauged to an inch each, an elegantly long nose, and thin, barely curved eyebrows which often made her look careless. Her whole expression was usually careless, in any case. "So how're things with you? I haven't seen you in madd long time …" Delilah was careful to only ask so much about my home life, as she was the one who knew most about it.

I stayed silent for a while. A long while. During that time, I looked myself over. A simple white tee shirt, baggy Levi's held up with a black belt, the buckle being a mud flap girl -- I had a tattoo of one on my left shoulder, colored red with a red female gender symbol around it -- and my favorite shoes, a pair of white on black Timberland boots.

"Hey, come on guys," called Shotty, bolting backwards towards the mall entrance, "We're going to the arcade!" Beelz bolted as fast as he could after him. A few moments passed, and B pulled Delilah off just as I began to speak.

"We'll talk about it later," I mumbled to nobody, looking down at the pavement. I rubbed one of my icy blue eyes -- allergies suck -- which I hoped would later on be even more bloodshot. I stayed there and thought. I loved these kids. They were all I really had, as far as people who understood and cared went. For a moment I thought of where Linda -- Bytez, they called her -- could have been. She was included in that group aforementioned. I played with my dog tags, just thinking on the subject of how things were with me …

Well, let's see. My mother was a drunk, and I had to keep her from hitting me, which often led to accidentally hurting her. She always threatened to call the cops, but I just kept fending her off until she passed out, and then went in my room and either drank or toked myself to sleep, crying most of the time.

Dad, on the other hand, started sending letters asking how I was. How funny that he cared -- before then he'd never given two shits about me. I remember before he left us, he didn't even care if there was food in my stomach. Now he sent a letter asking how his "little girl" was, saying how he could remember that the last time he saw me I was four … Yeah right, guy.

Otherwise I was mainly fine, just very, very lonely and very, very depressed. I began to think on how much I appreciated my life. I had good friends, a roof over my head, a car and schooling … that was a start. I didn't always eat, and I often had to do odd-jobs just to get money for gas to get to and from school, never mind getting to other places.

I was jolted out of my thoughts by Delilah, who looked back at me as B continued into the mall, calling somberly to me, "RJ?"

Shaking my head, I nodded and smiled a bit at her. Without saying a word I booked over there, looking down at her with that same small perk on my lips. She looked right back up, giving a modest, meager grin.