I thought I had made headway … until the Steels moved to Mantoloking.
What can my voice do against them? How can I still be heard against the coveted frat boy lifestyles that my peers all seem ravenous about? They are straight-up in competition with each other for who gets them in bed first. A ten-dollar pool, for fuck’s sake! I wonder if they know how many reusable straws that pot of cash could buy … fucking feminists, my ass.
Grabbing my bag, my phone that I only use for emergencies, and my keys, I walk to the door to head to work.
Chloe holds out her phone. “Come on, Savvy; it’s Tricks and his hot daddy. You have to see them do Renegade.”
“Hard pass on that. You enjoy,” I tell her as I open the door.
“Bring me back a burrito?”
I force a smile. “Of course.”
* * *
My plan for break was to work my shift tonight, bring back an entire bag of our infamous “garbage burritos” and a few of my own design—tortilla chips and guacamole—eat the shit out of them while binge-reading all the books Liberty left in the VW when she ditched me while I was taking those stupid fucking tests, and fall asleep to some Joplin.
Thanksgiving was supposed to be spent working my morning shift, consuming copious amounts of caffeine, and hiking all day to clear my mind. Then come back, shower, down a gallon of water, throw on the most comfortable old man flannel pjs and fuzzy socks that I could find, and fall asleep with my face in whatever book I had fallen asleep to, only to be woken up by a full bladder at least two times, then fall back to sleep, ignoring the fact that my stomach is screaming at me to put something in it. Thanksgiving was the first holiday I spent basically orphaned, and fasting is also part of my tradition/reality.
Friday morning, I would go to work, eat a big breakfast at said work, then hit the thrift stores Black Friday deals to update my wardrobe. Then I’d spend the rest of the daylight hours at the lake, a-fucking-lone.
The boys, dealers, friends would be back by Saturday night, and I would definitely be partaking in some herbal and holistic antianxiety therapy.
Bottom line, this time of year, I need a break from the reality cast upon me a few years ago. And by cast upon me, I actually mean I was tossed from the literal road of freedom into one of the most toxic poisons of a patriarchal society—institutionalized learning and dorm life, which, one alone would cause high amounts of stress, but mixed together, they create the perfect recipe for disaster. I’ve witnessed three years of it. Some lose their damn minds and get tossed on meds, labeled, but more often, they’re are bullied to become the smorgasbord of societal norms, becoming its constant connoisseur and submitting to its unrelenting appeal. But for a girl like me, so grounded and knowledgeable about one’s self—insert eye roll—it’s just a little bit overstimulating, thus the need for some alone time.
I’m handling it, while still attempting to keep a very important piece of who I am burning inside of me as I continue to try to figure out how to forge and maintain real friendships in a place where most of the people actually think their way of living is civilized and those outside the walls of their ivory towers are animalistic. I know many don’t get it—they’ve never lived it—but their reality is no more realistic than the shit we’re inundated with on television and social media to sway the masses. Yet, without a break, it’s overwhelming and still could easily spark anxiety inside of me, threatening to burn everything I’ve had to work for to ashes like a forest fire. So, self-maintenance and balance is a must.
Unlike the whispered names they used to call me behind my back, I have adjusted. Yet, I still need to find my center again on occasion, and there was no way in hell to do that amongst teenagers full of their angst and raging hormones with not a care in the world behind the screen and what they see, and hiding with the flipped screen of the selfies they shamelessly filter and share, further feeding into the skewed sense that the real world is just like those stupid reality shows that so many manage their lives around, believing that’s how life should look.
I’m not a hundred percent sure if I connect more with earlier women’s rights activists, my heroes, Susan B. Anthony, Alice Paul, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Lucy Stone, Ida B. Wells, Frances E.W. Harper, and Mary Church Terrell, who paved the way for women in the feminist movement in the 70s, or women who started the feminist movement and continue to strengthen it. Regardless, by the time I walk out these doors, I’m sure I’ll know. Why else would they leave me here?
* * *
I look at the clock and sigh. Five minutes until lights out. Thankfully, it’s been dead all night, since Marcy only scheduled me to close, knowing that most of the world is at home, cooking pies, or traveling to be with family for the holidays.
I have the espresso machine so clean it’s shining, not because I’m overly ambitious but because it’s been dead most of the night. Only one of the three bean to cup machines is running with my very own special pumpkin spice recipe to fill up my thermos for Chloe in the morning, giving her at least a taste of the holiday that she’s missing. It won’t take me the normal half-hour of cleaning time after hours, and I’ll
