GIRL (Four Letter Word)

Makeover (Story One)

4AM. The time I awakened every day for the last fifteen years. It was time to do my job. I tapped my husband, Dallas on the shoulder then rolled from the bed to start the Keurig to make his coffee—two creams and four sugars. He liked even numbers. I think I did, too.

I scrolled through the memos in my phone to read my to-do list: unpack, buy groceries, measure the windows, meet with the new FRG group. Same shit, new city. I yawned as I hit the button on the Keurig once more to make a cup for myself. I could hear my husband jogging down the stairs. He entered the kitchen, kissed my cheek, grabbed his coffee from the counter, they headed to the garage. He'd be back at eight to change.

There was no need to sleep since my son, Dallas Jr., would be awake soon for school. I stayed in the kitchen, sipping my coffee and scrolling through the news: drama, death, pathetic president, celebrity babies. Nothing worth reading.

An hour later, my son came running down the stairs with Beats headphones hung around his neck. He held his cell phone in one hand and his bookbag in the other hand.

"Can I get a twenty?" he asked, no good morning, no eye contact. If he'd looked up, he would have seen the twenty already sitting on the counter. I stared blankly at him until he came to reality. He finally looked up and saw the money. "Oh," he said, grabbing it and pocketing it. Like his father he walked over to me and kissed my cheek. It was the one thing that reminded me that he still at least cared that I was his mother.

As he aged he became more silent, more secretive. The times that he did share his life, it was with his father. I assumed it was a guy thing. I didn't meddle.

After my son was gone, I looked around at our half-full home. The boxes overwhelmed me. I decided that I'd much rather explore Washington.

~~~

Tuesday Morning, Michaels, and Joann's filled up the rest of my morning. I had enough time to do a quick meet and greet with the head of the FRG, smile, shake hands, brag on my husband then rush home to start dinner since Dallas liked to eat by at least five. Bruno Mars blared through my speakers as I followed my GPS down I-5 going eighty. Just as I veered off on the exit to the Army base, my cell phone rang.

"Hello," I said in hesitation to the unknown number.

"May I speak with Mrs. Goodman please," a sultry voice said on the opposite side.

"This is Mrs. Goodman."

"Hi, Mrs. Goodman, this is Dallas' teacher Ms. Savé. Dallas was involved in an incident and I need you to come in for a meeting."

"I'm on my way, "I said. I quickly changed course. I was worried and I was anxious.

I don't remember the other cars on the road, the stop signs or the lights. I parked and slammed my heels against the pavement, en route to the school's office. I was pointed in the direction of Dallas' classroom. There I found a composed teacher sitting at her desk, three flustered strangers, and Dallas.

Ms. Savé stood, offered her hand, then a chair. Introductions were made. Me, Mrs. Harper Goodman. Them, Mr. and Mrs. Kyle and Gherri Rangle. My son, Dallas, and their daughter Melissa.

"So, what's going on? What happened?" I asked tired of the suspense.

Ms. Savé cleared her throat. "Well, Mrs. Goodman, I caught Dallas and Melissa in a compromising position."

"Compromising?" I asked confused.

"Yes. Compromising. There was a sexual act. There is a video and one other student involved. I have already spoken to that student's parents. They no longer wished to be a part of this conversation and opted to take their son home."