Special by John Smistad

Ceri Shaw
@ceri-shaw
01/19/19 10:26:42PM
565 posts

I am, well, kind of a big deal. Oh who am I kidding?

I'm a hella damn big deal, bitches.

Boys want me. Girls want to be me. I choose who rules and who suffers. And I could give a fuckin' shit if you don't matter. It's my world.

Being in my exclusive circle has distinct privileges. First of all, you get the honor of calling me a friend. That is until I grow bored with you or tire of what you can do for me. Then it's sayonara, sucker. No hard feelings. No feelings at all, actually.

I'm so many things. All way awesome. All totally special. And all not you.

I am Class President, Head Cheerleader, Homecoming Queen, Valedictorian, Captain of the Debate Team, Miss Teenage Southeast Texas and main squeeze of the hottest teacher in the whole school.

Oops, did I just say that? Shame on me.

But not really.

Mr. Krantz, Jimmy, and I have been seeing each other on the sly for three months now. Ever since he offered me a ride home in the rain from after hours study hall in his sweet charcoal black Mercedes Benz 944. We shared a joint on the way. And then he pulled into a secluded dirt road in the woods about a mile from my home, where we proceeded to fuck each others brains right straight out of our heads. And we've been doing it damn near every night since.

I think I'll keep him. For now.

Any-hoo, more about me. Today is the day I show my sensitive side and pull a shift at the local battered women's shelter. Hey, it looks good on a resume. And the coffee and cookies are free and mostly tolerable when you're slumming.

I can't relate to these chicks in this place at all. I mean what losers, man. Just because you don't have the balls to leave your son of a bitch old man why do they need to build a place just for you to whine and lick your wounds. Fuckin' pathetic if you ask me.

This evening I'm in the gym helping referee a basketball game between the residents and the staff. I hate basketball. I can just barely stand football. Kinna weird, huh, seeing as how I'm Head Cheerleader and all. Oh well, it's impressive to slip into an interview. And that's all I ever care about anyway, of course. Whatever makes me look good.

So the game is moving along, ho hum, la dee frickin' dah. Whoa. It's gettin' pretty physical out there tonight. And super chippy. Damn, they're really mixing it up nice and nasty, aren't they? If I call a foul I'm seriously afraid somebody's gonna go savage on me.

And then like all of the sudden this one lady starts freaking out. She's getting all agitated, yelling and cursing at the top of her lungs, pushing anyone near her. She's shouting something about "...exactly what he used to do to me! I swore I'd never take that shit from anybody ever again. You understand?! NEVER AGAIN!" Or something like that.

Shit, woman, Chill out already. Nobody wants to be shoved around and no one cares. Just shut up and play, will ya? Or I'll slap a technical on your ass.

I call out to her from the sideline.

"Please calm down, m'am. There's no need for this kind of behavior, is there? Now just relax and stop acting all crazy. Awrite?"

I have never seen eyes so red with rage in my life. It's frightening. She starts stalking toward me, fists in a ball, ready to knock the holy hell out of me.

"Who the fuck are you, ya little priss?! Don't ever tell me to do nuthin', ya hear?!"

Suddenly she is standing right in front of me, slinging spittle in my face as she keeps right on tongue lashing at ear-splitting volume.

"You ever been punched so goddamn hard in the stomach you lost a child. Huh?! Have ya?! Oh, noooh. Not daddy's little princess. What are you doing out of your high castle tonight, ya skinny little bitch? Fuck you! I'm gonna kick the piss right out of your rich girl ass right now!"

She takes a swing, but I duck. In an instant residents and staff wrap her up in their arms and start dragging her out of the gym. She puts up quite the fight, kicking and thrusting like a wild animal. But she's overpowered. You can hear her still screaming as she is led out of the gym and back to the main unit. I swear I could hear her crying, too.

"Well. That was fun, wasn't it?", I said with a snicker, trying to lighten the mood. Nobody laughed.

One of the staff members speaks, addressing the group. But mainly me.

"Viola's had it rough. I mean really rough. It's a miracle she's still alive. Her unborn baby wasn't as fortunate. She's angry. Bitter. Hurting. Inside and out. We thought this game tonight would be good for her. Turns out she's just not ready. Not yet anyway. She'll get there."

The lady looks directly at me. She manages a half smile.

"She will, hon."

The game now officially over, I bid a quick good night and walk out of the gym to my car, a late model Cadillac mother and daddy gave me as a surprise 18th birthday present last fall.

I have this feeling. This weird kinna thing going on in my stomach. I've never felt like this before. Ever. But then I've never been put in my place by anybody before either.

I'm still not entirely sure. But I'm thinking this may be what it feels like to be humbled.

Aw, screw that shit.

The feeling in my stomach? It's now an itch between my legs. And I know just the guy who's gonna scratch it for me.

And I'll cover up the goddamn bruises after. Like always.

John Smistad



"The Quick Flick Critic"


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updated by @ceri-shaw: 01/19/19 10:30:05PM