The Lost Lilies of Dauphine

CHAPTER TWO : Bad Memories

+ Lucki's pov+

   As I exit the stage after my performance, I've already collected my cash and wish the night were finished. But fuck, it's only just began. That was only my second set and I have a long night still ahead of me.

   I catch a glance at my skank assed mother eyeing me from behind the bar. From all the way over here, I can see the gleam in her eye as she saw the money I made. The greedy bitch will be all up my ass trying to borrow some for some lying excuse or another. It is almost more than I can stand, I swear to God! If  there is even a God that gives one fuck about me! Why couldn't I have been given a half a chance at life? Like the other kids I saw at school when I was young. That would watch their children do their silly little song nights and art shows with pride shining in their eyes for the babies that they brought into the world. If my mother even bothered to show up, she would definately not be sober, and nine times out of ten it seemed she was only on a mission embarrass me.

I can still recall it as if were merely yesterday. The kids all over exited. Running amouck with both their friends and siblings, along for the family event. Red faces, fit to burst with joy, sweaty hair sticking to brows as they all seemed to chatter in tandem. All while the proud parents did their best to keep up with their youngsters, while juggling pictures made of paint or crayola, and cups of cherry koolaid and half eaten cookies.

All the smells intertwined into a scent that would never be forgotten. Glue, marker, cherry, sweat and the dusty wooden smell of the old auditoriums that all the schools and churches seemed to have when I was young.

I didn't mind school much at all, actually. I did okay,  fairly well really. I could even say it fed dreams of a different and better life. I got along with the other students and teachers well and was known for my athletic skill in generally any sport, from tumbling to soccer and good old baseball. But I didn't want my ma showing up at my school. Ever!

She brought with her the ever present scent of beer and whiskey. Cigarettes were her perfume and acting like a teen was her forte. Always dressed in skirts that would most likely fit me! And generally very sparkly. Match that with a halter top in some off the wall shade like fushia, glittering silver, lime green or neon orange, never a bra, the tops were designed to push up and exhibit cleavage. I will never forget the year, fourth grade, when she wore a one piece blood red strapless number, that had black stockings with little red bows up the back that hardly covered her ass  when she bent over. I was horrified at the looks we were getting from the other parents and school personnel! Looks ranging from embarrassment and discomfort,(which was my primary feeling!) to leers from some men whose wives looked furious. Some laughed while others glared. It was so absolutely humiliating! As I was sure it couldn't possibly get worse, oh buddy boy - the fates smacked me a real good one!

Half drunk in six inch stilettos, my art project that had taken second place in the art show that year, crunched into a now unrecognizable mass of ugly cardboard shoved haphazardly under her arm, so she would maintain a free hand to carry her cherry koolaid spiked with rum. I was sad that she barely looked at my jungle I had created into a colourful three dimensional world of trees, waterfalls and rivers with actual animals in the trees and bright flowers and little baby lion cubs that I was so proud of. She barely glanced at it, shattering my little girl heart. For then it ended up being a nuisance to her now true reason for attendance. The Anjelica show.

I was looking down at my scuffed Mary Jane's, as to avoid the attention we were drawing, silently doing my best not to cry, for I was grieving my art project and the fact my mother didn't care one bit about it. In fact, it never even made it past the garbage bin outside the school. My ma blamed it for what had occurred that made that one of the worst days of my youth.

Somehow my mother lost her balance, it couldn't have anything to do with her alcohol infused koolaid, or six inch pointy heels...No, it was most certainly my project that put her off balance. Of course it was!

Down she went. My project breaking the fall if anything! There she sprawled, tiny red thong on display, but even worse, the topless dress came down showing the entire school what the club's clientele usually paid for. That vision has never left my mind's eye! When I die, that will probably end up being my final vision.

Some male teacher helped her up, his face ablaze like a neon sign. Doing his best to ignore what her best asset at that age, I thought his head was going to explode when one breast decided to use his forearm as a shelf. Another lady, I think she was a parent rushed to the rescue to help pull the top back into place and get my mother back on her feet. Believe it or not, I think my ma was the least embarrassed of all present.

God! All these stupid memories! They leak through my damaged psyche and leave me disoriented and feeling lost in time with very little warning. And since Tony left me it's so much worse! He was my rock. The mountain that held me up and promised me a way out of this life. But he found me unworthy. Now I am just damaged goods. With a future like Gel or maybe better off dead.