It's not really much of a big deal. The tattoo, I mean.
The smell. The feel. Heat. Ink. And the wonderful, affirming pain on my skin. Gentle and light. Feels more like some cat is scraping its claws against my raw flesh very, very slowly but you know, I've felt worse things.
Ranking number one in things painful is picking a fighting with a mangy rottweiler, Mr. Snuffles, when he tried to bury my old scooter. He was Ms. Lily's mutt and you know how they say dogs and their owners are alike? It's a damn lie. The bite is always worse than the bark. I honestly don't remember the ride to the hospital but I do remember Ms. Lily lying through her teeth.
Mr. Snuffles is still kicking, after all.
The bright cast I wore months after itched to high hell and I swear that there's something deep in breaking an arm, strangling a dog, and the scooter rolling away down the street and forever out of sight. Sounds almost like a joke but I can never come up with the right punchline.
Number two is an oldie. Everyone's stubbed their toe once in a while.
Okay, I'm fooling. It was a stubbed toe on a broken ankle. Don't you feel sorry for me...
I suppose I could say I deserved it for walking around in the first place but what really hurt me, when it shouldn't, was my cousin cracking into pieces when I couldn't get back up. You should have heard her braying voice as she swung her index finger in my direction, “Oh no, Scootaloo's fallen and she can't get up! Man, it's like watching a chicken try to fly.” Wasn't funny then. Wasn't funny now.
Of course, the most recent heart-stomping event in my life as of now was the fact I was stood up by he-who-must-not-be-named on my first and last date in high school. I'm a senior now. There's no hope of getting any of the boys my age to look my way. And I wouldn't want them too anyways. Sigh...
Huh? Pierce, you say I'm talking out loud?
Is it a problem?
I'm willingly paying you to carve into my skin with toxic ink and the first thing you want to say to me, other than our business transition, is that I'm talking out loud?
Fuck you, Pierce.
Oh, that's not what you meant?
Yeah, I'll keep on talking, thinking, what-the-fuck-ever-ing. I paid for this seat.
Anyways... God, I've lost my train of thought. It doesn't feel like I'm talking aloud. I'm just thinking about things that popped into my head. Must be the ink messing with me... It's not a problem, is it?
Hmm... Okay. So again, anyways... I mean, I know that Sweetie Belle was exaggerating when she said that getting a tattoo can make people faint and bleed and you can die if something goes wrong. Yeah... She said all of that with that voice of hers. Sounds more and more like her sister, all posh and rich but they live in the same ran-down suburbia as the rest of us, while she was reciting a web page, including the citations.
I would've tuned her out but she chose to ambush me on the way home, dragging along a certain tattle-telling jackass with her, and she could have started saying something important... Like uh... She got a letter announcing her acceptance into that fancy singing college she was going on and on about when we were uh... cool? Or uh... She was going to pay me back that four dollars and eighty cents she owes. Or even... Let me know that Apple Bloom wants to start talking again...
You know, the important things in life.
Not that I care about Apple Bloom...
Huh? What do you mean that it happens in rare cases? Are you trying to mess with me? With the needle on my skin? Has any of them happen in this shop?
That's what I thought.
She's just being a know-it-all and Apple Bloom... Fuck, I don't want to talk about Apple Bloom. The one time I don't let them know about personal, private, none-ya-fucking-business plans, they get all fussy. Disapproving like they're my mom. She knows. She does know. My mother does. Couldn't get it done without her. Kinda. I wish that they would get off my case. I mean, seriously.
Why don't I say this to them? Why don't you have a steady job, Pierce?
Um, if I was going to say something to them, it would be something like that they're both idiots. That's it. Plain and simple. Let's move on...
Why do you need to hear what it would sound like, Pierce?
Fine. I would say if I wasn't ignoring the hell out of them, “Girls, I know that Applejack would tan Apple Bloom's hide if she ever came back home with a permanent smudge... And Sweetie Belle, no offense, is the most whiniest wimp there ever was. It's true. Facts printed. Don't get mad at me. Also, the tattoo cost like three hundred big ones and I dunno, I didn't want this thing to become a Crusader thing.”
What? Don't you know about us, Pierce? We are the Cutie Badge Crusaders! We do... We did crazy things to earn badges for our girl scout troop. Of course, it's not a real girl scout troop. We didn't have the money to join a real one and when we met up as kids, we decided to make out own. And since we started high school, we just- I dunno, Pierce. I can't explain it.
Fine, I'll pretend that you’re the girls and we are talking more honestly than we normally would. I can't believe I'm being lectured by a temp. Yeah, I know all about you... There are plenty of slow days for when the gossip mill needs an easy target, if you get what I'm saying.
Ahem. “The things we did when we were younger were like totally different from getting a tattoo together. It's not really a thing to do together... And if we are like way later getting tattoos together, I should be the one experienced in it. Why? Well... Because Apple Bloom, you become a nut when it comes to things you think is unnatural and not how god made you... Not that there's anything wrong with that but when you start ending your long explanations, it usually rounds out to a 'Because I said so' which makes me think you're full of crap.
“And Sweetie Belle, you are a wimp. I don't even know why I'm telling you this but you are. Keep your fears to yourself and as far as I know, you don't have a fear of tattoos. You have a fear of getting tattooed, I think? Good thing, I'm the one getting the tattoo. And guess what guys, the whole tattooing biz doesn't hurt that much. Trust me. As far as I know, I haven't fainted, coughed blood, turned green or dropped dead. That's why I had to get one first. Do y'all really think Sweetie Belle would have lasted this long?”
That's all I feel like pretending, Pierce.
What? Yes, I know that there are little tattoos they could have tried first. A butterfly on the ankle. A star on the shoulder. I did my research, too. But seriously, if you try to talk to them, they'll turn into breathing, annoying brick walls. It's like they just don't know or don't care about the effects of getting one is.
It's gonna be major.
And they're clueless. They're dopes.
I don't want to put them through it. Supposing they did have a sudden change of heart on the evils of tattoos and tattooing, they don't need to be stepping down this road. Not until I can say if it's worth it or not. Better to throw down three hundred bucks down the hole than nine hundred, am I right?
Shut up, Pierce. You and I both know that you're a temp. As if you get commissions? I bet the temp agency takes a cut and half and the gangsters coming after you will take your head and a half. Diced up and thrown to the fishes. Rumors, is all I'm saying. What are you doing back from Canterlot Central, Mr. Golden Boy? Ehhh...
The girls and me might as well get a car if we're fooling with that kind of moo-la.
People on the street. People at school. People who are full of that righteous fury and laziness are going to take their time to look down at me from their high perches.
Yeah, I meant perches, not pedestals. I passed English, genius. But talking about perches, you know how Diamond Tiara's dad sounded like when he caught her and three of the boys from the football teams ascending each other, giving needed massages for those deep backaches... While, you know, buck-naked and grinding?
Like this: Squawk. Squeak. Squeak!
Hahaha... Oh, you hadn't heard? Of course, you wouldn't. It's the talk of people who have been bribed to keep their mouths shut. Unfortunately enough, people don't believe me but you... Why the hell not? Tell your friends! Tell Diamond! It's the best kind of ice-breaker there is. I feel that you're smiling. It is funny.
But anyways, I know that I'm going to be judged for it.
Canterlot High is such a respectable school where only the nice and pure kids keep their clothes on during the day and with Diamond's orgy being hushed... I mean, somebody has to be the biggest gossip of the year and getting this tattoo isn't going to help my chances. Think about Zecora.
You don't know her? You're such a temp.
Everyone still talks about her even though she comes from a whole other country and her tattoos mean something else there. She has super important reasons to have them but nobody will let it go. They keep on judging her and saying things about her back.
Who knows what they'll say about me on top of the usual, “There goes Rainbow Dash Two.”
Wait. Let me clean out my ears. Are you telling me that you don't know who RAINBOW DANGER-EATING, WORLD-CLASS AWESOME DASH is? Have you been living under a rock?
Come on, you went to the same high school! She's the most- OW! THAT REALLY FUCKING STINGS-!
Ahem, excuse my outburst. The tattoo isn't messed up, is it?
Fine?
Man, that needle really stung right then. Were you trying to cut me open?
Yeah, I shouldn't have moved my back but how in seven hells-
That's right, you are a temp! How long do you plan on being in Ponyville suburbia this time, Pierce? Huh, you ink-smearing jackass! Fuck, it still hurts...
Oh, enough about you... Well... Here I am, practically spilling out my guts to a complete stranger who can't hold down a job longer than a- Don't you, “The customer's always right.” me! I'm being a little shit and I know it. What'cha going to do about it? Huh. I'm all up in your face.
Yeah, I'm taking a breath. Inhale. Exhale. I'm good.
Really, I am. I wasn't snapping...
Inhale... I dunno-
You know, being called 'Rainbow Dash Two' was kinda a big thing for me.
It would have been a compliment if Rainbow Dash said it or it's said while Rainbow Dash was around and she totally agrees. It should've been good. Like a nick-name. A nice one... You know... But they... We... Me and Dash, we had a personal talk like almost three whole years ago and Rainbow... Yeah, I can call Rainbow by her first name. She suggested it because we're equals and I deserve more than being called a squirt and she Dash.
Rainbow...
Wants to me to be my own person and when people call me that, it's not a good thing.
Which really hurts because I really, really wanted to be like Rainbow Dash, full name, and I thought everyone was finally noticing me.
I get what she's saying and all... I should be my own person.
And well... Why not make it official?
Why not get a tattoo?
I want a tattoo. I want them to look.
I want them to feel me, to notice me. Keep their damn ugly eyes on me. A tattoo is a nice start. A absolute declaration. They can't deny what's written in black, carved in skin. It should knock the Rainbow Dash out of their mouths for a while. She's been gone forever and people need to get used to speaking about 'Scootaloo'. Eventually, they'll chant and worship my name when I as the newly established captain of the girl's volleyball teams leads everyone to nationals this year-ish.
Yeah Pierce, I do have big plans but it doesn't matter until I have a trophy under my belt, my name.
Without one, I'm just a glory hound, a big-talk puppy that Rainbow left behind.
You would think me becoming captain of the volleyball team would have made me different from all that 'Rainbow Dash Two' talk. I shouldn't have to do anything more to make myself, me... But still... It's not good enough. It doesn't even matter that there's a clear difference between the two of us. Rainbow was into soccer and speed but I don't have that. I can leap, I can glide but I just don't have her long limbs.
I'm good but I don't have her Rainbow Dash-ness. That's why I guess I went with volleyball and guess what, I'm great at. Not good but great.
But since Rainbow was into 'sports', it doesn't even matter.
Rainbow, for all she was great in, wasn't really the captain of the soccer team. She had the title and the position but I'm going to be honest... Her teammates and the school only gave it to her so they wouldn't look incompetent.
All the other players on her team were lazy. Most of them refused to show up to morning practice and when it came to the big matches, only Rainbow was on top of her game. Just so they wouldn't look bad, they gave it to her and pretended that the reason she got it was because she was the best player.
That's not how it works. Captains aren't just the best players.
They're the ones who have to deal with the things the manager and coach can't. Team morale. Getting players to show up on time. Getting them to show up at all. Dealing with their problems so nothing can be in their heads when it comes to strutting their stuff out on the field. Rainbow was at her wit's end by the time she reached her senior year. It nearly broke her.
I'm different.
I have a team and I'm the best. Bragging rights included. Not because I'm better than everyone and they can sit down and throw me the ball whenever I feel like it. But because I can make everyone on my team better than the opposite team. That's all that matters. We'll win or lose but not because somebody fails to do their best.
I wish the others, the ones talking their lips off, could understand that.
But to them, I'm only a copycat and screw that.
I want a tattoo because I don't have the wings I should have been born with. I practically fly when I jump and if I had the wings for it, the sky would be mine. And if I can't have them naturally, I put them where they should have been on my back because why not? I'm just correcting a mistake. I should've had wings and I don't and fuck and shit and why...
Fuck, that needle is really starting to hurt. Hurry up, already!
God, it feels like I've been in here for a while.
I mean, it has been a w-h-i-l-e. I came in here around three o'clock with the money in hand, cash in tens and twenties, and it's like five o'clock now.
I don't need to know the specific details, Pierce. Let the clock keep rolling.
Just making an observation. I think I'm tripping. It feels like I'm dreaming that I'm actually getting a tattoo. Who knows if I won't wind up waking in bed and the alarm blaring...
Why? Because usually, I would be hanging around Apple Bloom's super unnecessarily large yard that's as long as an acre or whatever. They own farmland from way back when, you know. At five o' clock, the girls and me would have been yakking it up about summer vacation. We would whine for hours and somehow walk away with the feeling of accomplishing something.
I'm tired of that. They're probably tired of that, too.
Who wants to be just talk. I'm not all talk. I'm doing something.
But talking is free, huh? Is being an adult that lame, Pierce?
Do you regularly spend money to get the feeling of accomplishment?
What kind of question is that?
The feeling of accomplishment can only be felt through how much money you keep down? Blah blah, I shouldn't have been so quick to splurge three hundred dollars, blah blah? Are you serious? I'm this close to tuning you out. That money could have went to a well in some country, huh? You should do commercials. I'm feeling all the pity.
Dang, Pierce... You must not want customers.
But it is weird how I had all that money and now it's gone. I could have gotten used to smacking people around with those wads of cash. Silver Spoon and her crew can go choke on their plastic cards. It can't beat the real deal...
I kinda feel bad thanks to you. Sorta. Maybe, I should have gotten a car first?
You want to know how I got so much money in this rich-topia suburb with the old “What? You're looking for a job? I only hire who I know can do the job. I don't need a layabout like that lesbian with the rainbow hair ruining my business.” getting in my way?
All of the money comes from-
OH DEAR GOD, it's not dirty money! I got it from cutting lawns so neatly and quickly before the owners of the properties could say no. Public shame is a good weapon. If one gets something, another couple just has to top them and so on and on.
Persistence, not prostitution, is how you make good money, Pierce.
Trust me.
I also drop newspapers at the crack of dawn before heading to volleyball practice.
Yes, I can do it all. You jealous?
And I sold my stupid, dumb, kiddish comic books. You know, Apple Bloom thinks I really liked them and that getting rid of them only proves that I'm acting out. I got something to prove and who knows what dastardly plans I might do next? Perhaps, I'll kick a puppy, muhahaha!
I only got them because Rainbow had them and since she's like gone forever because she's at college, there's no point in keeping them. And on that note, Rainbow is coming home for her summer break in like, two weeks. I don't want to be that same old kid when she comes back. I'm not her little groupie, anymore!
I am my own man! Girl! Whatever!
And while I still think of Rainbow as the coolest thing ever, I can think that as a respectable and mature fellow adult that isn't trying to one-up her adventures in college. I bet that sounded specific for some strange reason. I know it did when Apple Bloom said that to my face.
Yes, I know that you weren't thinking it but whatever. I said it. It's out there.
Does anyone even know if Rainbow got an tattoo at this age?
And who would be so petty to use this as another comparison. It's not something to compare! Whoever does it is just being obnoxious.
And wait... Here's the coolest thing about being your own girl: I don't really care if she does!
Since I decided to get a tattoo and stuck with the idea of getting one, I've been feeling this way for a while. The girls just can't understand this. Sweetie Belle thinks that I'm making a snap decision like I can magically come up with fat stacks at the drop of a hat. It's hard for her to understand that just because her family considers tattoos as frivolous...
Frivolous. I'm actually using my old teacher, Ms. Cheerilee's word calender in the right context for once. Let me say it again. Frivolous.
And just because she considers tattoos as frivolous luxury items that should be talked about in a family meeting doesn't mean that I'm shaking down my mom for coin that should be saved for a rainy day. There's no way I could make my own money, huh... You should have seen Apple Bloom standing there while Sweetie Belle kept on spinning her words. I love them but I did not need them coming down on me like I was taking drugs or something.
If they really thought this was something we should talk about together or god forbid, do together, where are they? I told them the time and the place and I don't see them. Do you see them, Pierce? It's been two long hours. Plenty of time for them to get down here and yell at me. They didn't show up!
The hell...
Are we even friends anymore?
---000---
Gripping the seat, I close my eyes. I don't want to think about that stuff. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom can be like whatever to me today but that doesn't mean we're not friends anymore. It's just a thing.
Tattoo's done.
Mr. Pokey Pierce, the man with a thousand jobs. Someone give him a round of applause. I clap and he swings the chair around. Take it easy, my back is sore.
I stand up and make my way to the mirror Pierce points out while he tends to his equipment. Turning around, just on my lower back, I can see a pair of white wings outlined by smooth black ink. It looks just like the picture. Well done, Pierce.
Because the girls aren't here, I pull Pierce into a hug. It's not the same but it will do. And I'll ignore the jackass laughing as I sniffle.
“Scootaloo!” I know those voices anywhere. Hoping that I'm still not talking out loud, I turn around. Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle stand so awkwardly by the glass doors.
I don't know why my eyes are watering.
Must be the pain. I'm about to cry like a baby.
“I didn't think you guys would come.” And to make my point. “It's too late to be mad at me. My body, guys.”
Would this be something Rainbow would've said to her friends?
Nah.
This is something Scootaloo says. I need to get used to that.
“We know,” Apple Bloom says. “I'm sorry for making a big deal about it. I didn't mean-”
“But you did mean.” I interrupt. “The tattoo isn't the problem, is it?”
“No,” Sweetie Belle chimes in. “It's just that we're seniors now and it feels like we're drifting away from each other. The old Scootaloo would have told us that she was planning to get a tattoo. The old Sweetie Belle would have wanted to help figure out how to get the money. The old Apple Bloom would have picked what we might get before we spent anything.”
“Are you serious? We would have gotten in an argument and not get anything done if we were the old Cutie Badge Crusaders. This is normal behavior for us. I just don't understand why you two are so joined to the hip about wailing on me on my immoral careless behavior. Remember that one, Sweetie Belle?”
“Maybe, if you didn't keep things hidden from us we wouldn't have to worry about you!” Sweetie Belle snaps. “What have you been doing? You don't talk to us, anymore! You don't like the same stuff, anymore! You seeing someone? You don't like us? Are you on drugs? Is that it? Drugs?!”
“The only thing that you are the same about is being crazy about being Rainbow Dash and even that's not even all that true, anymore.” Oh Apple Bloom, is this what you wanted to say to me? This is why you were so high and mighty while being silent? “You go psycho if anyone brings her up around you. Take the compliment. Stop getting mad!”
“Everyone is insulting me!” I shout, flinching at the sound of my voice. I hope no cared. It might make them miss my point. “Don't you understand that? Rainbow Dash is gone and even if I am Rainbow Dash Two, I was named Scootaloo first! And really... Drugs, Sweetie Belle? You sound more and more like your sister. 'Good girls don't act like Scootaloo, they know all the right ways to kneel and take it.'”
“What you just imply about my sister, you tramp!” Sweetie Belle gasps. “I didn't mean-”
“It's Tramp Stamp, love. And what, you didn't think the same of me? If it wasn't drugs, it just had to be that, right? Let's all believe the rumors about Scootaloo and Pipsqueak, huh... Were any of you there? None of you can say what happened, can ya? I know I didn't say anything and Pip didn't say anything. All that shit, all those photos, it's all bullshit. We were at a fucking party-”
“Scootaloo, just stop. Whatever kick that you're on, don't take it out on us.” It doesn't matter which one of them says it. They both think it. Self-righteous blowhards can do no wrong! Why must they be so misunderstood? Jeeze!
“Stop what?” I snarl, playing dumb. “Not accepting your terrible apologies? I can't be the same Scootaloo anymore and I don't want to be! And newsflash girls, we don't have to be the same Crusaders! Apple Bloom, I've always thought of you being uptight and too serious when you get on your high horse. Sweetie Belle, you're naïve and no matter how much you disapprove of something, it doesn't go away.” I paused, glaring at both of them. “Now rag on me.”
“Stop acting,” Sweetie Belle mumbles. “Like you have a chip on your shoulder! It's not just you vs the world.”
“Why don't you come up with something fun for us to do?” Apple Bloom admits, looking away like I'm about to attack. “You act like our friendship isn't important!”
“You done?” I break out in laughter.“That's the best you guys got? I guess this proves I was the shitty friend.”
“Scootaloo!” They both shout.
“Talking about fun things to do... Okay, I want us-” I drag out the 'us' as long as possible. I'll always be dragging the us as long as possible. This friendship is never going to end like this. “To get a car together. Then right before summer is over, let's take a trip somewhere miles and miles away. It will just be the three of us under that open sky. Yeah... Doesn't that sound like an adventure!”
“Are you serious? Do you know how much the price of gas is?” Apple Bloom snorts, a spark in her eyes. “I do have some extra money saved up and there is this thing out east I want to go to. I was going to ask Babs but now I'm going to have to make a list of what we need and a budget. Hmmm.... Way to spring this up at that last minute. Typical.”
“How are we going to hustle all that money together? Are you crazy! We've already lost three days to you not coming to us about this! I bought a skirt yesterday. I could have waited! You're a terrible friend! Just terrible!” Sweetie Belle, poor Sweetie Belle. She says that but come on, it's obvious what the answer is going to be.
“We're the Cutie Badge Crusaders. I'm sure we'll come up with something.”
Getting a tattoo was kinda a test. Not like a test at school or a test in patience. I fail at those.
A tattoo equals three hundred dollars. If I can get a tattoo, I can get a car. If I can get a car, I can get a house. And if I can do all those things but more importantly do them because I want to, nobody else saying this or that, I know that my life will be happy.
And that these idiots with be in it, too.
It's June 27th.
Another late night spend under sweaty sheets as I count the bubbles in my wallpaper. The sun took off like five hours ago. And I'll never make a early start on summer homework. N-E-V-E-R. English can kiss my ass. My mind's thinking too hard. The air conditioner crammed into my window broke last week. It's hot and I'm swimming in the pool of my sweat. What a night.
It's humid and horrible this time of the year and the souring sewage that is my room is just that stinky.
The smells of the carpet comes drifting up like a fart; rusty, foul and full of stank foot stench. I can smell the platter of food that I haven't moved from under the bed. The plastic and soy sauce blend into something that taps on my stomach and encourages me to feel nauseous. I can smell the over-powering odor of the bottle of sparkling perfume I spilled on my bed an hour ago. It was such a fucking impulse buy. Couple dollars there and now a couple of dollars soaking my bed.
I can't show it to anybody even if I wanted to now. The bottle is purple and sparkly and it comes from Canterlot Central from a little boutique crawling out of a alleyway. Cheaply bought, the bottle still had style and whimsy lines and prettiness that makes me feel in comparison... What am I thinking? Am I really going to start comparing my female charm to a plastic bottle? That's stupid. Crazy. The bottle might look better than me but it is...
God, whatever.
I don't want to explain why I was hanging or entering such a frou-frou shop. Not to anybody. Which is dumb to think because I wasn't going to tell anyone, anyways. Why am I even explaining this? Who am I explaining this for? I'm a girl if that means anything. I can do stuff like that. If I want to waltz into a shop, buy perfume, spill perfume and feel bad about the bottle looking better than me... I can do that!
What am I even saying? The heat's gone to my head. My brain must be frying seven ways to Sunday.
And that fan, Mom insisted that I used instead, isn't doing it for me. Imagine someone dumping their hot, nasty breath into your ear while you're taking a long ride on a bus somewhere. Imagine that person having breathing problems -a shuddering cough there, snot spewing over there, spit flying- and every time they took that inhale, their whole gross body would shake and wheeze... The person is obviously sick and evil and you hope to god that they aren't trying to give you an ear infection.
Multiply that feeling times 'accidentally going to the bathroom in a show toilet' by ten and you have this fan.
It tilts and turns and just like a dog, I crane my neck to follow it. I'm mostly too lazy to get off the bed to turn off the moving motion or whatever. It's the little gray switch, right? I don't care enough right now but I will tomorrow. If I don't dry out and become a corpse, that is.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I plan to learn how to fix an air conditioner. Wish me luck!
I wish the girls were here but you know, they had plans. I don't even know why I'm wishing. I knew they had plans and I let them go off with saying anything. Apple Bloom's gone for most of the summer. She's visiting family out there in the desert. Sweetie Belle is at a drama camp or something. I stopped paying attention when it became obvious that I would be spending this summer alone.
God, I'm such a loser. Why didn't I say anything? I could have tagged along with either of them. Not be here, in this stench with that stupid bottle and sweating out every drop in my soul.
I paused, dragging a hand through my hair and twisting on a curl. I breathe in and out.
I am alone. I shouldn't lie. I don't regret saying nothing that badly. Time alone is time alone.
If there's a moment that I actually regretted this year, it's when I punched Diamond Tiara in the face and broke her nose. Possibly. I don't actually know if it 'cracked' cracked but it sure sounded like it. Ain't that idea a jaw-dropper? I punched little Miss Diamond 'I'm so full of myself' Tiara in the face. Her nose snapped like a peanut smashed open. She needed to get stitches.
Oh ho, you should have seen her face when I did it. The way her eyes widened right when my fist was making an incoming. She cashed a check her face couldn't take!
Oh god. Oh god, it was great and I didn't even get in trouble. Nobody was out there when she went out of her way to talk shit at me in the gym. There I was, minding my business while practicing my hits for the volleyball team try-outs. All I heard was smack, tizz and whoosh. The sound and smells and the feels of the ball bouncing, colliding and flying under my hands. It was a cheap one I bought, the ball, because the manager of the team has it out for me.
“Nobody wants another Rainbow Dash,” he said, sage words indeed. “This team doesn't need another glory hound to bring it down.”
I would like to say I told him to take his stick out of his rear but he was nice enough to leave the gym open for an extra hour so I didn't. But still... FYI: Rainbow Dash was into soccer, not volleyball and why couldn't he shut up with his big mouth. Why bring her up if he couldn't get his facts right? Asshole.
So anyways, Diamond Tiara came out of nowhere and I punched her in the face.
What? Was anyone expecting a why? Does there need to be a why? Somebody, somewhere was going to punch her in the face and I'm glad that I was the first one. But then there is something I regret so maybe something more did happened.
You seem, Diamond is prone to saying things like: “I don't exactly hate you but if you were on fire and I had water, I'd drink the water.” And: “There's only one problem with your face, I can see it.” And: “Oh my god, look at you. Was there anyone else hurt in the accident?”
Then I punched her in the face. I think I did the world a service. Please hold your applause. Huh. Okay, okay, she didn't say any of that at the time. She didn't need to. You know what she said to me while I was practicing my heart out. Doing something. Doing something important that didn't need little lady Diamond 'walking bitch' Tiara to do her backseat bitchery.
You know what she said?
She said I looked like a damned man, heaving and hollering about swinging a shot past the net. That's it. That's all. Fuck her. I punched her in the face cause I didn't need to hear that from her. I heard it plenty from myself and I was caught up in the moment... Treated her the same way I treat myself...
And I did something about it.
I punched her in the face. She took the hit. Laughed at me. Said, “Way to go, slut.” And took off, nose bleeding, tears watering with the same kind of smug in her step like it was all whatever. Hilarious. Didn't I punch her? Shouldn't she be pitching a bitch fit. Calling her daddy and her people to make mince-meat out of me? Fuck, I don't even...
I punched Diamond Tiara in the face and it didn't mean a damn thing to her. It didn't mean a damn thing to anyone else when they saw her at school the next day either. What did I punch her for? Shouldn't it mean something? What did I punch her for? Because I was mad? Because just because I'm not girly like Sweetie Belle or Apple Bloom?
I can change that. I can do something about that if I really wanted to. What Diamond said doesn't matter but it did. It did... And punched her in the face about it. I'd choke her if she said it to me again. I'd do something painful and brutal and ridiculous and why did she say I looked like a man. I don't look like a man. I can't and I don't. Why did she have to be such a...
I'm thinking too hard.
Rainbow Dash has long, pretty hair, you know. All the colors in the wide world and because why the hell not, let's be assholes, people called her a 'lesbian' as if they couldn't see what she was. That's not fair. They talk shit about her behind her back. But she's really awesome and she can be cool sometimes when she remembers to call from college but they don't care about that.
“Lesbian.” They whisper and go about their business. And you know what Rainbow did about it? All she did was laugh and laugh like it was nothing. They still call her a 'lesbian' but she says it over and over, “Why does it have to be an insult?”
I should think like her but I can't. I don't want to. I want people to be scared when I put up my fists. I want people to think twice when they say things regardless if I'm around. They don't respect me like Rainbow Dash. They don't say these things behind my back. They say it to my face.
It just hurts sometimes.
What if I'm a man? That's why I'm shooting up like a weed with no hips and bits to go along with it. What would a guy do? He'd punch somebody in the face. I punched someone in the face. Is that what a man is? It's not really an insult. Maybe, I'm trying to hard. It's my second year of high school and I have time to decide if I want to be that.
I dunno. I rather be called a 'lesbian' because it doesn't deny the fact that I'm a girl.
Rainbow Dash had that at least.
And I punched Diamond Tiara in the face because I guess I don't know myself. The moment Diamond tried to label me, I don't know, I just had to stop her. She couldn't be able to say that stuff unchallenged because it would be true since I don't have anyone here to tell me otherwise. I do have... But it's not...
I don't know what I am. Or that's what a quack would say if I said this to a professional.
Thinking hard.
Thinking fast.
All it's doing is giving me a headache. I don't care if hurting Diamond was wrong or right. I don't care why I did it. But I do care why I don't feel anything about it.
It's June 28th.
The clock on my stand beeps and my hand wanders the end table, looking to smack it sideways. 12:01. 12:02. 12:03. The numbers in bright neon red jump at me. 12:04. 12:05.
The clock must be busted. Minutes don't go by that fast.
Or maybe, I'm just that slow because I don't have that Rainbow Dash-ness to do anything about it.
I'd like to think that me releasing my fists means something. I'd like to think all my woes, sads and bundles of feels if piled up could fill a warehouse. But in the darkness, in my room of all places, I know better. It doesn't and that this meaninglessness goes all across the board. Maybe, there's some part of me that wants whatever Diamond says about people to be true. Because if that the case, then I could do something about it whether by punching her or sucking up to her. But it's not.
And cause I couldn't handle it, I attacked her.
I don't think just being violent makes someone a 'man' whatever the heck that is. I'm too busy trying to be a girl. Not a tomboy. Not a wannabe dyke. Not a Rainbow Dash Twp. I mean look at me. I'm just some stupid girl having her stupid summer break without her stupid friends.
And eventually, I'm going to be doing that for the rest of my life. This summer break, alone and desperate, will become my life. I have my girls but they can't make up for this space in here. Right there in my heart or guts or soul. This need to fight and to prove and to do something. I'm crazy about doing something.
Even if Rainbow Dash gave me her praise.
Even if Diamond Tiara took back her words, it could never be enough.
12:08.
I close my eyes.
Maybe I should get a tattoo to remind myself of this. This moment. This something. A tattoo so I can't forget who I am. A tattoo to reel all of these bad feelings, thoughts, hurts, stupidity, worries, grievances, sadness, annoyances, troubles, loneliness, long summer nights, desperate heat rising, the color purple, the wings I don't have, my weakness, my strengths, tomorrows and yesterdays.
If I could stamp all of that into my body, instead of letting others do it for me, maybe, just maybe everything could be alright.
