I’m Not Your Fucking Inspiration, Part 2

Still April 2, 2017 (Having a staring contest with the vending machine.)

Dear Godless God, 

Remember when I said it got weird and messed up? Thanks a lot. I’m at the hospital now. And I’m OK in case you’re wondering. Thanks for checking in fuckface. Everything looks good on my end. No broken bones or concussion even though my wheelchair feels out of alignment. Or maybe it’s my body that feels off. Hard to tell since I’m probably still in shock. I can’t believe Mom hit a bicyclist. The doctor is checking mom out right now. So dad and I are left all alone. And that’s when the inquisitor father came out.

“Geez honey, I’m so glad you two are ok. That must have been scary. You were lucky. You had me out of my mind when you texted. But, still, accidents do happen. I tell your mother all the time to turn off the radio and to not talk. You’ve seen me take precautions, I always meditate ten minutes before I get into the car. Shelby, you have to help your mother. You have to make sure she’s totally focused when driving. Your mother… is not the best driver. She’s a talker, I get that, but don’t encourage it, and don’t let her check her phone while driving.” 

“Ok dad.” 

“I’m serious Shelby.”

Ok, but Dad? I kind of just wanna chill, I was in an accident.” 

“Right. What are you doing? Writing in that journal again?”

“Yeah. It’s important to catch these magical moments.”

“Hey, I’m a moment. And If you ever find your mom looking at her phone again while driving–take it away from her. Please, just do it. What happened anyway? You hit a biker, I know that much.”

“She didn’t tell you?” 

“She’s still pretty shook up and  light-headed, so I didn’t push. I didn’t want to make things worse. You’re stronger than your mother. She’s quite fragile if you haven’t noticed. Anyway, she feels bad enough. So what happened?”

“Oh, so you don’t think I’m fragile then?”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Hmmm. Let’s see how you feel tomorrow. Sometimes you don’t feel things till the next day.”

“We hit someone on a bike Dad. He basically left the scene. Just walked off with his bicycle all messed up.”

“So he wasn’t badly hurt? Or I guess we don’t know.”

“I don’t know. He could walk I guess.”

“He was at a crosswalk when it happened?”

“No, he was in the middle of the street.”

“In the middle of the street? And she didn’t see him? She was talking, wasn’t she?

“No, she was, well, she was about to answer a question.”

“Shelby, that’s talking. She was on the phone, I knew it.” He clenches his fists.

No, Dad, she wasn’t on the phone. She was about to answer my question.” He makes a grimacing face.

“Oh.”

I was the one talking.”

“Oh…I need a drink of water. You want anything?”

“A Snickers bar.”

“Absolutely not.”

 “Please? I need it.” He gives me stern face.

“Fine. Murder your teeth.” He leaves with his goofy gray pleated pants and a button up jean shirt. There’s nothing cool about my dad except that he loves me. He gets back twenty minutes later, reluctantly hands me the Snickers bar, and then paces in front of me.

“I spoke with the nurse. Mom is fine. We’ll get to leave soon.”

I shove in the Snickers. He walks over to the window and gets his eyes fixated on something.

“Dad?”

He stares down at his worn out loafers.

“Dad, I know this is coming so I’m just going to tell you.”

He moves his head back up to the window. “When do you want to go shoe shopping? I need new loafers.”

“Dad, I asked mom if you were circumcised. I asked her and that’s when she lost control and hit the guy. And I think he goes to my school. I think his name is Trevor or something and he might be in my homeroom.” Dad makes a face I’ve never seen before. Ok, maybe I saw it once when I was like eight years old. We were at the park and two ducks were doing it. Well, it was more like one duck raping another duck because the girl duck didn’t seem into it at all. I remember I was crying because it looked violent and wings were flapping everywhere. I begged him to stop it. And that’s when our conversations about sex started.

“I read Samuel 18:27 Dad. And it messed me up. I mean, I was looking up foreskins and you wouldn’t believe what they make from those things. And…”

“Foreskins?” He sits down next to me.

“Yeah.”

“18:27 from the bible?” 

“Yeah.”

“Oh, right, How David paid the king with foreskins to buy Michal?”

“Uh huh, and I started looking up pictures. I was just curious. Do all boys have circumcisions? What percentage of them don’t? Is it automatically done when you are born? Anyways I was looking up all that stuff and..”.

“I’m glad the phone with internet we bought you is helping your education.”

“Dad!” I take a huge bite of my Snickers and can’t breathe because of all the chewing and caramel and nougat.

“Yeah, 18:27. Michal never stood a chance, being bought and sold by her father. I always felt sorry for Michal.”

“I know, right, we don’t even get to hear from Michal. I mean what was she thinking during all of this? And no one in my bible group seemed to care. Like when I bring up how maddening it is, they’re just like, praise God or whatever. Do you think Michal knew she would  get to marry her sweetheart only if he killed all those men and took all their foreskins as currency?” 

“I don’t know honey. But, yeah, I see what you’re saying and was the guy worth it? Knowing you were the cause of all those men dying so you could be bought and married off? I mean even if she really loved the guy, that’s brutal.”

“I know. It’s scary to have someone else in control of your life.”

“Yes it is. The women who became widows of those killed men probably lived near Michal. That must have been a weird feeling getting your pail of water and running into the woman with seven children whose husband is now dead because of  you. 

“Some people don’t have a choice like Michal. I guess I’m lucky Dad.” 

“You are lucky Shelby. And you have a choice. You can demand respect. That is a privilege. You are an independent, young, beautiful girl. And you’re almost a woman now. Don’t let any guy disrespect you. And never do anything with a guy you don’t want to do.”

“Is this another one of your big talks then? What number are we on now?”

“I’m serious Shelby. There’s a lot of bad shit out there. You have to think in every situation. You have to always be alert and aware. You have to be smart. Sometimes you’re going to be in situations where you won’t know what to do because you’ve never encountered anything like it before. I need to go to the bathroom.” 

“Ok.” When he gets back I’m trying to find out what kind of spirit animal I am. He sits down and a big sigh escapes his mouth. 

“I’m not circumcised.” 

“You’re not?” 

“No. Grandma decided to let me choose later in life if I wanted that or not, and I chose not to.”

“Well, if you do decide to do it, you might be able to put me through college by selling your foreskin on the black market. Just to let you know. It’s probably a better option than a second mortgage.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“What’s it like or how is it different?” 

“To me, it’s like having a convertible or not a convertible. I have to clean it more. Oh, I forgot to tell you, Grandma’s coming over tomorrow. So be ready for her after school. Come on, let’s get you set up in the van and then mom should be ready.”

Next Day, April 3rd, 2017 (Getting ready for school.)

Dear Not So Funny God,

I looked at my vagina today and I think there might be something wrong with it. 

10 AM  at school (It smells like fucking mold here.)

Dear Jesus, Holy Ghost, or whatever you wanna be called,

I officially hate you. The elevator broke this morning at school so I couldn’t go to half my classes. And what did my counselor, Mr. Burns, do? He had me sit in the nurse’s office till lunchtime. The nurse, Mrs. Turner was ok. She brought me a morning snack, some chocolate pudding from the cafeteria, so I guess that was cool. Sometimes I don’t know what the point in me going to school is. We don’t need to know half the shit they teach us anyway. By the way, thanks for the healthy recovery. There doesn’t seem to be any lasting repercussions from the accident. Thanks for letting me live for one more day.

Same day, Lunchtime 

Well, I’ve been released from nurse prison. I’m sitting here waiting to roll into the cafeteria but these two primadonnas are oblivious I need to get by. I would totally be able to if I wasn’t in a chair. Typical. People, so unaware of their surroundings. Then Trudy strolls into the scene. 

“What’s up? Let’s go get some food.” I strain my neck towards the girls with frustration.   

“Oh. Want me to say something?” 

“No.” I sigh. “It’s just annoying.”

“I got you.” I take a deep breath and roll my chair so the wheels touch the back of one of the girls ankles.

“Hey, move your asses. Wheelchair bitch needs nutrition.” 

“Yeah, can’t you see we need to get through?” The girls apologetically move. We move past all the glass cases and get to the front of the line. Our options are slim. Trudy makes like she’s going to throw up. “There’s absolutely no nutritional value here. Where’s Martha Stewart when you need her?” She shakes a bowl of jello and laughs. “Look, it’s Jalo. Get it?” I look down at my boobs then at my hips which I think are huge. A lonely pear sits in a small bowl in front of me. I cringe and examine Trudy’s hips for a second. She catches me but pretends not to notice. Instead she says, “I like your unicorn shirt. I wish I could fart rainbows.”

Later…

I get home at 3:30. Grandma is waiting for me like Dad said she would.  She’s sitting at the kitchen table painting her nails a turquoise blue. 

“Hi Grandma.”

“Shelby dear, is your finger broken?”

“No. Why?”

“Oh, I thought that’s why you weren’t calling me.  I had to come here to see you, darling. You need to call me more often. You can text me. I’m all up with that.” 

I roll in next to her. “Here, she says, blow on my nails so they dry faster. We have to figure out what fun things we are going to do tonight.” I blow. Her hands are wildly wrinkled, like they’ve lived a separate life of their own. I blow some more. “So what kind of food are you in the mood for?”

“I don’t know.” I put my forehead down on the table. “Grandma?”

“What’s wrong honey? Your dad said you got into an accident. Are you ok?”

“It’s not that. I mean yes we did, but that’s not what I’m upset about.”
“What then? Is it your new school? Are you not making new friends?” I turn my head sideways to face her.

“My vagina looks weird. I think there’s something wrong with it.” She examines her pinky nail to make sure it’s painted perfectly. 

“What do you mean weird?”

“I mean it’s like someone stuck dynamite up me and it blew up. Or, it’s like my vagina threw up on itself.”

“Honey, are you talking about your vulva or labia?”

“I don’t know. I guess both? I mean it’s all hanging down.”

She laughs. “Honey, a woman’s bits are as unique as a face. Is this the first time you’ve really examined it?”

“No…but…”

“Where did you get the idea that there is something wrong with your vagina lips?” 

“Okay, then tell me if this looks normal.” I showed her my selfie stick picture.

“I don’t see anything wrong. You have a beautiful… outie.”

“Why is it coming all out like that? It’s deformed. And look at this picture.” I scroll to another page.

“Who is that?”

“I don’t know. It’s a woman from a porn website or something. Her labia or whatever doesn’t even show. It’s all like neatly tucked in. What happened to mine?”

“Well this is the problem right here, this site. First of all, you can’t compare yourself to anyone else. There are all different types of vulvas. Your inner labia is just hanging down a bit.

“Hanging down a bit! It’s all lopsided and fucked up.”

“Give me your phone.” I watch as she searches for something on the internet. “Here, see? This site is more accurate. This is the kind of site you should be viewing. Stop with this. You have a gorgeous flower down there. And besides, you’re not alone, outies run in our  family. I have one.”

“Really? Does it look as weird as mine?”

“Yes, and it’s normal. Where is all this coming from anyway?”

“Nevermind. I don’t know. Well, I do know but it doesn’t matter.  Let’s go and eat.” 

“Okay! Yes! Mexican?”

“Definitely.”

“How about afterwards we go underwear shopping.”

“Okay.”

Dear God, (the cunt artist)

Thanks to Grandma, I feel better about my outie. 

After dinner, we pull into a shopping center with stores that look like they get zero business.

“Grandma, I thought we were going to the mall for underwear shopping.”

“There’s been a change of plans.”

“Oh, wonderful. Are we meeting up with one of your boyfriends where I get to sit around and watch you be all lovey dovey? Or where they act all super nice to me because I’m disabled, because they feel bad for me?”

“Don’t be meanie pants.”

“Then why are we here?“

“To see an old friend. Come on, let’s go in.”

“You promised me new underwear.” She unbuckles my floor seatbelt, and rolls me down our van ramp. “This place looks gross. I don’t like this. How long are we going to be here?” She holds the door open for me so I can roll into a dark, musty store with no front desk or pretty secretary to greet us. Instead, there’s a “ring bell” sign sitting on an uneven table. “Does this dungeon have a name?”

“Shhh! This is going to be fun. We’re getting our pussy lips pierced.”

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