One Shots

The Sins of the Mother [Straight]

The Sins of the Mother

"That time of year again, huh Josie Girl?" asks Big John popping the top of a nice cold beer and sliding it over to the prim brunette.

Josie grimaces back at him and takes a swig of the bitter brew.

This is not a daily occurrence for her. Not in the slightest. But this seedy dive bar used to be her secondary home and that's not something she can forget. After all these years, she now proudly sits with her tailored suit, accounting job and poised posture because that's who she is now. But who she used to be? That she can never forget. And everyday when she looks in that mirror to pull her hair into the crisp chignon bun with light make-up dusting her face, she still sees flashbacks of that grubby child that used to look her down the mirror. The child who'd grew up in this very same small town, having been dragged to a bar as her mother drank herself dead. She'd spent more time in this place than she had in the tiny trailer she'd called home.

"You been to your Mamma's grave yet, Girl?" questions Big John as Josie nods to him.
No surprises there. Being a heavy alcoholic it was only a matter of time that the woman's body finally gave up. As harsh as it sounds, Josie can't say she was too heartbroken. There was hardly any grief there. A few tears shed but she just couldn't find it in herself to feel sad about the whole ordeal. And why should she? Yes, the woman gave birth to her-unwillingly at that. But she'd been neglectful-so badly that Josie would have to steal the leftovers on kids' tray's at lunchtimes, just to satisfy her hungry, rumbling stomach. Her clothes had all been donated items she'd begged for from the thrift stores and for everything else...well...
"You know...in her own way, your Mamma did love you."

Josie raises one carefully plucked eyebrow and snorts. Sure she did. Marianne Lambert only loved three things in her life: herself, alcohol and séx-in that order.
She raises the bottle up to the sky in cheers to the woman who supposedly loved her 'in her own way' before taking another swing.
Call it tradition but after the woman's death, Josie had been coming here on her anniversary and saluting her with her favourite poison-beer. It served as an ironic reminder to her every year to never get like that. To be a better person and to escape the roots she has. The roots she wishes she doesn't have. The small town. The poverty. The neglect.

Never.

Never again will she allow herself to suffer through that.

The quiet murmur of the bar is unsettled suddenly as the door crashes open and a wave of people sweep in. Josie doesn't bother noting the rabble that enters, instead focusing on her cold beverage and her thoughts of anger. High pitched giggles and squeals are injected with loud masculine roars of laughter causing Josie to grimace as she takes another sip of the drink. If she could she'd chug the whole thing now and high-tail it out of there, but then again if she attempted that then she's pretty sure she'd be throwing up. Ironically the very thing her mother loved, she hates. Alcohol is not something she enjoys and thus why she would avoid it in her life except for this one day every year.

"You know, the country club's a little further uptown," sneers some kid from beside her as he takes a swig of his own beer.
Josie blankly takes in the sight of the gangly white boy, barely old enough to drink and yet he has the attitude of one of his (probably) racist forefathers. The kid wears some ridiculous oversized leather jacket with a low dropping vest top and more form fitting leather pants. A red bandanna is tied around skinny bicep and Josie guesses that's not just a fashion accessory.

"Jee thanks. I wonder how I ever mistook this bar as a country club," sarcastically retorts Josie with a roll of her eyes.
From the bright red that travels from his neck to his cheeks, she can tell that he can't take what he dishes out and he certainly hadn't expected her to say anything.
As he's about to snap back, a large hand lands on his skinny shoulders. He swivels to take in the sight of the older man before instantly backing down.
"BG I wasn't-"
"We're not here so you can piss off the locals, initiate. Go talk to some bunnies instead," gruffly reprimands a heavily Southern tainted voice.