Fix Her!

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2002 was the most important year of my life. Mom just didn’t understand me. I was hormonal, lonely, and had just become a teenager. I craved companions near my age, affection, and relief from the tedious boredom of my daily life. Smoking made me feel different, not so bored or stressed out. I tried beer once and didn't like it. Older boyfriends gave me wine most weekends and hard liquor a few times. It was a fun change of pace.

We’d moved to town the previous month. At a half inch short of five feet (152cm) only two girls in seventh grade were shorter, but many said I had a pretty face and my strawberry-blonde hair was beautiful. Guys stared at my C cup chest almost constantly, and even a few girls. For middle school, my tits were ENORMOUS! Only half a dozen at the high school had larger breasts. Most girls were jealous of my looks and didn’t like me, so it was very hard to make any female friends.

Boys liked me just fine, though. They were a lot of fun; complimenting and flirting with me, kissing me, touching me. Each weekend I picked a guy or two and let them play with my body, until they tried to fuck me or stick their dick in my mouth, then I told them “No.”

I did give handjobs to four guys I really liked, and let a few lick my kitty, but I was intent on staying a virgin until I married or was at least engaged. I had a great time with them, until they found somebody sluttier and left me heartbroken.

It was a week after school let out for the summer. Mom freaked out when she opened my bedroom door. I was only thirteen, not twenty-one, but drank from a half-full bottle of whiskey with a lit cigarette in my other hand. Both my nearly naked boyfriends were three years older and kissing my pointy bare 32 C boobs. I was topless and they only wore boxers and socks, but it’s not like we were fucking or anything. I still had my jeans on.

After the guys grabbed their clothes and ran off, Mom and I had our biggest argument ever. I was pretty drunk and so angry that I don’t remember most of it. We shouted and cried until I passed out from exhaustion. Or maybe the booze.

I woke badly hungover and heard Mom dial a number on her cell phone. I quietly crept down the hall to listen in. She set it on the kitchen table, turned it on speaker, then lit a cigarette. I watched from the hallway. She sucked in and exhaled a few puffs, and I felt a major craving. My cell phone and all my cigarettes were gone, so she must have taken them.

I was frustrated and angry that she wouldn’t let me smoke. She smoked like a chimney, three packs a day, but wouldn’t let me have the one pack a day I wanted, or even the five cigs a day I desperately needed to keep my sanity. I hadn’t smoked in over twelve hours, far too long! I couldn’t decide if my hangover or need for nicotine was worse.

She begged into her phone, “My daughter Katie is such a little bitch all the time! She leaves dirty clothes all over, won’t clean the place up, and curses a lot. She’s rude and argues any time I say something. Such a difficult little WENCH! Can you take her for the summer? Please? She’s making me crazy! Please fix her, like you fixed me?”

I was highly offended! I wasn’t a broken THING! I didn’t need to be FIXED!

A mature man’s gravelly voice responded, “Is she pregnant or on drugs, like you were?”

“I don’t think so. I explained sex and gave her a bunch of condoms a while back. I did catch her smoking and drinking, and fucking around with boys.”

I ran in the kitchen and objected, “I’m a virgin! I never let anybody FUCK me! I’m not a WHORE, like you!”

! * WHACK * ! Everything went dark and my ears rang for a moment. Pain surged into my left cheek. I was shocked that she slapped me! “Shut up and go to your room! NOW! Or get the FUCK out of my house!”

“It's an apartment, you stupid BITCH!”

! * WHACK * ! She slapped me again, so hard I nearly lost my balance and fell! Teardrops streamed down my cheeks as I retreated to my bed. I quietly mumbled to myself, “Such a cunt!”

I tried to stop crying and listened intently. “… never does anything I say! … can’t control her anymore … have to help me! Please fix her?” I got angry again. Parents were supposed to teach and help their kids, not control them! Wanting fun and freedom didn’t mean I was BROKEN!

As I quietly walked back to the hall the gravelly voice returned. “All summer, three months?”

“Yeah. School starts again the first week of September.”

“If I do, I can fix her the same way I did with you?”, the old man asked.

I listened closely and watched Mom from behind. She sighed loudly as she exhaled a cloud, then agreed, “Huff! Whatever it takes, so I can finally get some peace!”

“You want to bring her over next weekend?” I vaguely recognized his voice. I’d heard it somewhere, a long time before.

She chain-smoked, lighting a fresh cig with her nearly dead one, then crushed out the butt in the overflowing ashtray. I wanted to smoke SO BAD! And my aching head!

Mom asked, “How about today? Are you busy?”

“If the sun is up, I’m busy. But okay. Meet you in Strawville? At Dillons in three hours?”

“Thank you! Thanks so much! See you about four o’clock.”

I wondered and asked, “Strawville? Where the fuck is that?” I’d never heard of it.

She suddenly jumped up. “Dammit! You scared me! You’re lucky I’m giving you a choice! You have ten minutes to pack your things and get in the car! You’re spending the summer with your grandfather. If you don’t, I’m kicking you out of the house RIGHT NOW!”

“Mom, what the HELL?” Our conflict wasn’t funny or amusing to me anymore. I started to worry that she might be serious.

She stared at her phone. “Your choice if you go live in a cardboard box somewhere, or stay with your grandfather for the summer. Either way, you’re out of here in NINE MINUTES! Tick tock, tick tock!” It was quite obvious she meant it.

I grabbed a suitcase and my backpack from the closet. I pushed back my anxiety and tried to be casual, giving my favorite reply, “Whatever.”

!*SMACK*! She slapped my buttocks HARD and glared at me. “Hurry up!”

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Mom and I were tired of fruitless arguments, and listened to her sad and awful Country music on the very long drive. Normally it was rare we went a minute without saying something, but we were icily mute for hours. The city faded away over twenty minutes, then we were out of the suburbs an hour later. The scenery changed from restaurants and apartment buildings to large family homes, to small homes with huge yards, and then endless miles of cows and corn.

She must have smoked eight or nine cigs on the way, but I wouldn’t show weakness and admit I desperately needed one. I looked up from the magazine I was reading and had no idea where we were, probably between nowhere and the armpit of the world.

My headache slowly intensified and I felt like bugs were crawling on me! I needed to smoke so bad! A beer or a shot of booze would dull my senses and take the edge off the vicious nicotine withdrawl. Or if I could at least eat or chew on something to soothe my tense jaw muscles. I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before and was quite hungry.

Eventually we reached a small town, not even that. A sign at the World War 2 era gas station showed a ridiculous Marlboro price of $4.75 a pack, a whole dollar more than the store near home! Still, my cravings were so intense I might have paid that for a single puff, if I had any money! The only other buildings in Strawville were a run-down and very old bar with little paint left on the wooden siding, a cheap motel with only ten rooms, and exactly two dozen houses.

Mom parked at the tavern and took out her cell. She let out a big sigh and said, “Your gramps isn’t coming. His goats escaped the pasture as he was leaving, and he needs to round them up. He’ll come get you tomorrow morning.”

I commented, “Well that sucks!”

Mom ordered, “Not my problem! Get out!”

My mood quickly changed from annoyed to afraid. “Wait! I’m really hungry and I don’t have any money! I don’t know anybody, and you still have my phone.”

She sighed again. “Here’s your cell. We’ll eat at the bar. After that, you’re on your own!”

We and several men stared as two girls around thirty staggered out of the bar. One was tall and Black, dressed in an orange bikini with red high heels. The other looked Asian and only wore sandals, a short yellow t-shirt, and pink panties. They were obviously WHORES! Probably thieves and drug addicts, too! They wobbled back and forth as they walked, obviously high or drunk. Several men leered at them while the girls shambled to the motel.

I was startled by a swat to my bottom and, “Move your ass, Katherine!” I reluctantly followed my mother into the ancient tavern in the middle of nowhere.

A very chubby guy sat at the near end of the bar, on the only stool with a back on it. His huge but still tight tan uniform had a badge on it. The cop was forty-ish and well over three hundred pounds. Four other men sat on stools and stared as we walked in. A sign near the front door said, ‘Free Beer + Food for Topless Girls Under 40!’

Mom commanded, “You don’t need money. Take off your shirt and bra, and order something.” Three guys clapped when she pulled her green V-neck shirt off over her head!

I anxiously wondered what the HELL I was getting myself into!

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