Fat Tuesday

Chapter 1

"Son of a bitch!" I almost screamed when the burning metal of a hot curling iron branded my skin. I yanked the iron out of my hair as fast as I could and set it on the counter beside me. After observing my red thumb, I dunked it under freezing cold water coming from the sink faucet. While it ran, I looked up at the mirror, disappointed in a failed attempt at curling my hair. I combed through my dark brown hair, trying to make it return to its original wavy state, but that failed too. I resorted to throwing on my burgundy beanie, which wasn't any different than a typical day.

"Wow, Quinn, you've done it again." I whispered to myself as I returned to my bathroom mirror. I was frustrated with myself, frustrated that no matter how hard I tried I couldn't look any more like a functional human being. I was less than stunning, and I had to live with that. Somehow, I thought curling my hair could make it better.

My less than extraordinary self was a poorly created mess of a girl. I had the entirely too common features of brown hair and brown eyes. My eyes were just dark enough to blend in with my pupils, and my hair was a monochromatic dark and muddy shade. My nose was long and knobby; my smile could scare away a Nazi army. I was bony like a walking skeleton, and managed to not look completely anorexic on good days. Unfortunately, I was just tall enough to have my head pop out of a group of girls. I didn't think I was pretty, in fact I'd say I knew I wasn't.

People tell me that having a negative body image is a bad thing. I tell them to fuck off. It actually makes me focus on the more important things, like friends. They always come before me. You can insult me, but if you ever talk shit about one of my friends, consider yourself dead. By ignoring myself I also get the chance to focus more on life. If you get too big of a head, you'll be so wrapped up in yourself to care about what's around you.

I put on a blue plaid button up over a grey tank top, attempting to mask my depressing B cups. My legs wrestled into black skinny jeans and I slipped combat boots over my feet. I was the image of an outcast, and I liked it that way. I hated trying to fit in or trying to be the most popular girl in school. I didn't want that life. Any shred of unwanted attention made me feel sick to my stomach, especially since the majority of people I knew hated my guts.

I walked down the stairs and approached the kitchen, where my little sister Lizbeth sat at the table, eating cereal. She was young, only about 9 years old, but I could tell she was going to grow up into a beautiful woman. In a way, I was jealous. She looked more like our dad, unfortunately he wasn't with us anymore. She had his lighter, redder hair and his same hazel eyes. Her features were softer and kinder, with a graceful youth. I loved her, and I wanted her to be a greater success than I ever will be. She was my hope that not everything was messed up in this family.

"Hi sweeite." I gently said as I crouched beside her chair. She turned to look at me and smiled. I smiled back.

"Hi sis." She responded and then put another spoonful of cheerios in her mouth.

I ruffled her hair a little and responded, "I'm leaving for school. Don't miss the bus." I kissed her on the cheek, realizing I was more of a mother to Lizbeth than ours will ever be. Our mother is an alcoholic; it all started after dad died. How she still manages to financially support our family will forever be a mystery, because the majority of the times I see her, she's a drunk blubbering mess. Every time I have to explain to Lizbeth why mom sleeps on the couch and not her bed, or why she's missing some nights, or why mom acts more random than her cartoons, my heart breaks a little. I hold back the harsh truths, determined to raise Lizbeth to be graceful, innocent, and gentle. I'm not letting reality corrupt her yet.

I walked out the front door to my forest green pickup truck and started the car. Turning up the volume to my favorite radio station, I pulled out of my driveway and started the usual school morning routine. This routine involved picking up two of my friends for school as we prepare to suffer through a day of pointless knowledge. Speeding past neighborhood after neighborhood, I finally arrived where I wanted to be.