Plush by Kate Crash Read Free Book Online Page B

real condiments or napkins or spoons or plates; they all came borrowed from some paper, plastic, instant, cheap food-place. – I snuck past my dad drinking beer and watching Saturday TV, took all the ketchups out into the front yard, and hid behind some trees. I ripped each white, plastic case-thingy, like dad ripped me from my happy life and mom ripped apart the world I used to understand and love. I squeezed each packet onto a different part of my skin: lots of ketchup on my neck, arms, and chest. A little on the legs. Blending. I made some spots darker than others, like how they do when people are killed on the TV. The vinegar burned a little. Trees’ leaves swayed in the soft breeze.
    I tiger-crouched-walked to the edge of the driveway where it hits the walk way and half-laid on it like I was hit, not thinking that no one ever comes this far in unless Dad was expecting them. I positioned myself at an angle. All Dad had to do was turn his head a little and see me laying there, dying in our new reality. The sun was hot. The breeze stopped. My skin was burning. The ketchup melted, and I smelled like tomatoes and sadness. I lay for what seemed like many hours. Flies hatched eggs on me. So gross. Maybe if I limped to the door up through the window he’d finally see me and save me from this world.
    I got up and did a hunchback zombie limp, leaving my left leg straight behind me and pulling forward with the right. I moaned, “uhhhhhhhhHHHHHHH!” I twisted my right arm to make it look like it was coming off and zombie crawled. And he didn’t take his eyes off the TV once. I could’ve be dead and he would’ve never known. The world isn’t listening. Nobody cares about me.
    “Ahhhhhhhhhuuuuuuhhhhhh..Zombie crawl. Zombie crawl… “Uhh-hhhhhhhhhh.” So infuriated and ashamed and smelling of tomatoes and salt, I gave up on him and the rest of the world. I went to the hose, ignored of this great act committed against me. The red rinsed away, and I watched it fade into the mud I made. Unknown. Unseen. And here I am again. On stage. Unknown. Unseen. Even though they’re right in front of me.
    And after 3 songs Jack turns and says, “Hayley… It’s over… Let’s go home.”
    All my hopes and dreams
    are
    sinking
          with
            me
    If this is how we are at SXSW, we will surely only end up back in south Texas. Pack up. Go home. My life is up in smoke.

13
    Back to my exile on the porch, a small blanket under me, one over, and a couch pillow under my head. Trees sway in the 3 am sky. And somehow the stars seem so much further away tonight.
    I’m depressed. I’m beyond depressed. All I can think of is that really bad, no-audience response and the things Mom said. Maybe she’s totally right. Maybe I do look like an 11-year-old boy. Maybe people would listen to me sing if I had big boobs like her. Men were always chatting her up back at home and were always watching her hips chucka-chucka and all that stuff. I see the last TV-like light go off in the living room. Maybe they are all retiring to their rooms? I slide the glass door – me always on the outside – and move it so it will be silent as I slide it shut. Even OY! is not here. I see Donnie and Jack are not on the floor, so they are most likely out. I head to the bathroom – the bathroom with no lock and a missing knob so it’s just a hole that you put your hand in to pull open the door. I close it so slow and quiet. The world doesn’t need to hear the riots in my head.
    I sit up on the sink, perched like a little yellow or black bird laughing at itself on the finger of someone who owns them and knows them all too well. I look deep into the mirror.
    All my fears come over me – like a veil of knives.
    My face. It’s not as pretty as it should be. I don’t look like the actors on TV or the faces in all those beauty and gossip magazines – meaningless people like my mom read. My nose. It’s not perfectly straight. My eyes are big, but not a