Desperate

DESPERATE 08/25/08

Chapter 1. The order of things

As usual, I’m alone. It seems as though I will be forever. I don’t want to be alone; I actually think I’m afraid to be. Whenever I’m just by myself I can’t help but over think. With over thinking comes doubting, and with doubt comes over-whelming grief. I’m suddenly saddened and stricken with guilt of all the things I’m over thinking about. I make friends easily and know how to entertain, majority men more than women. I feel odd whenever I receive a suitor though. I know from the start that they won’t stay very long, or is it the other way around. Nevertheless, No one understands me which makes it harder for outsiders to love me. At first I didn’t even love me, I don’t think. Gosh, confused can’t even begin to explain how I feel. I sound like a mad white woman. I am mad, but I am not white. My ma is Native American wit some African, my pa on the other hand has a little sugar in his tank, white sugar that is. Not that fruity sugar if that’s what you thought. So I’m mixed, to say the least. I have a little brother that’s thirteen, but as tall as I am. He’s going to be on the NBA, I swear it or my name isn’t Sally. Well my name isn’t no Sally, but you get the picture.. But this story, ahem, is not about them. It’s about me.

What about you, you say? It’s simple really. I’m talking bout love. How many times I’ve felt it, been in it, and how often it ran away. I couldn’t see why anyone wanted me from the start, but then I realized everything looks better from the outside. I guess this was what everyone talks about, by saying I talk too much.

I finally get out of bed and take my precious time heading to the bathroom. I take a quick shower and brush my teeth, got to keep them pearly white. I was never high maintenance I think to myself as I pour myself a cup of Folgers coffee: 2 creams, no sugar, I like the bitter taste to wake me up in the morning as I prepare to go to work. Yes, I work. At the Diplomacy article review. Could you tell I was a writer? Of course you did. I write 1 or 2 articles in the opinion section of the paper. I know, wow that’s so cool. Not! Just know that I’m trying to move up on the ladder, but I find the review kind of sexist, I don’t know that’s just my opinion. But it’s whatever. I guess I should rejoice, at least I moved from the obituaries in a year. So what if I go to therapy. Ok, sometimes I don’t go, but it’s kind of boring now. Could you blame me, really? Rhetorical question, don’t answer that.

After I’m done with my coffee, I place the empty glass in the empty sink. You can tell I eat out a lot. I head straight upstairs to my room again, and pull out my gray JC Penny’s bought suit for only $60.00. Yeah, I’m a cheapskate. So what if I prefer bargains over good merchandise. Ever here of quantity over quality, well my family invented it. That’s right; my family started that little trend. My great, great, 1920’s great ancestor was like. “By god, that cookie is way cheaper than the one at that other store, I’ll take it, in fact add 19 more “quantities over qualities-my good man” See, I don’t make this stuff up. I’m too positive for that nonsense.

(Ring Ring) My house phone rings obnoxiously. I hesitate to answer so the caller I.D. pops up on the second ring. I realize it’s my mother calling me, so I immediately pick up the phone.

“Hello?” I answer automated like.

“Jennifer, I’m so glad you’re not at work yet.”

“Why, what’s up ma?

“Well, Someone came by today asking for you.. Silly boy, he didn’t think you’d leave this dump.”

“It was a guy ma? Who was it?” Holding out my arms questioningly like, as if she can see me.

“Something like Travis, or Teddy…..” She starts guessing, because she doesn’t remember.

“You mean Trevor.” I say more as a suggestion than a question.

“Yes, that was it. Who is that anyway?”

“He’s another possible suitor ma.” Rolling my eyes, and looking at the dirt in my nails.

“It’s like you’re a whore.” Joking, without laughing.

“Ma!”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how’d you mean it.” Getting seriously frustrated, placing my free hand on my hip.

“I just meant; you’ve been talking to a lot of different guys lately.”

“Why do you care?”

“You are giving them my address and phone number instead of your own.”

“Oh that, well, what if they turn out to be sociopaths, stalkers, or something worse.”

“Oh great, send them to your dear old mother, she’s lived long enough anyway.”

“Ma, that’s not what I’m doing. You’re like a screening tool.”

“What! So I’m a tool now?” Sounding offended.

“No ma, look I got to go to work. I love you.”

“Give that bone to another dog…”

“Ma!!!!!!!!”

Laughing. “I love you too.”

I pack my briefcase and rushed out to my Volvo. Once in the car I searched through my purse to find my raspberry lip-gloss. I don’t wear lipstick, that’s like so messy and I don’t need none on my teeth, not these marble like whites. I apply my shimmer shine on my lips, and pucker up in the rear view mirror. Thinking to myself (go get ’em girl). I drive off and get caught by lights every 10 minutes, which makes me think I had a better chance on the freeway. Too bad I’m scared of the freeway. My cousin, Maria was in an accident not too long ago, and I just developed some real bad trust issues, that’s why I’m supposed to be going to therapy. I don’t see how she can do it. Not have a mental complex about being in a car, I guess that’ll just be me with the problem then. I make it to work, and park in the employee’s parking lot. The public parking lot seems closer, and I think we should switch them, but hey not for me for the heavier people. Maybe that’s just me. I see Craig parking four spaces in front of me. But I like to walk, so that’s why I park so far away. I need the exercise. Being 144 lbs, and 5’6, I would say I really don’t need to exercise but I like to. Talk about a stress reliever.

As I get out of my small green Volvo, I’ am tempted to call Craig over seeing as how he is somewhat of a best friend to me. Fortunately, I don’t have to. He spotted me amazingly and is headed straight over. In the review Craig does the sports column, that’s mainly his whole life. He’s a sports fanatic, almost how I am with gossip. Although I despise sports, I still love him very much.

“Craig, hey buddy. You ready to work”? Laughing at an accelerated rate.

“Jennifer, now you know, I only come to work to get the coffee and donuts.”

Craig is a comedian. It’s his endearing hazel eyes that sucks you into his electrifying personality.

“One of these days management is going to hear you, and fire you for your smart remarks.” I say.

“Your preaching to the choir Jenny, I can’t hear you. Maybe what you say is true, and that’s only if they get their cow like butts off their high horse inside their corporate offices to do that.”

“Wow, such harsh criticism coming from the man driving the 08 Pontiac Grand Prix..”

“Hey, everything I own I earned which is more then you can say for those which were just born into wealth, and given a great career cause they pappy owns the company.”

“You are so wrong. Not everyone that’s on the board is corporate scum bags.” Then I head towards the entrance door as I finish my last statement. You can’t just disagree with Craig, no you must fully engage into a heated debate when it comes to our job.

“Jennifer I’m just saying…” Craig rebuts but is left with his own thoughts…

Then he takes the political approach to your debate, where he isn’t going to apologize for what he has said, he’s just going to try to make you understand it better. “Craig, watch out corporate scoundrel at 7:00 o‘clock.” I say as I dart in the entrance of our building.

“Morning, Craig.” An executive says to Craig while coming from his rear.

“Oh, morning, Mr. Crawford.”

I’m cracking up inside on my way to the elevator. That Craig sure is a hoot. I love messing with him. I get on the elevator as I push the button to close Cindy rushes in to catch the elevator before it goes up 10 floors and leaves her behind.

“What floor are you going to Cindy?” I ask, as if its something new to me, she’s on the 7th floor. Why wouldn’t I know, I mean every guy on every floor talks about the girl they’ve had on the floor 7 now distinguished as Seven Heaven. She’s the company ho in case you’re wondering.

“Girl, you already know.”

I hit the button, and it begins to go up flights of stairs. I avoid eye contact with Cindy knowing how she is; I don’t want any type of craziness going on in this elevator. My day started off good, and that’s how I want it to end with no in-betweens. Man, I can see Cindy looking at me in the corner of my eye.

“Hey girl, I like that outfit you wearing. Look at you looking all professional.”

“Yeah, we’ll you got to come to work dressed to impress.” I say as I give a smirk out the corner of my mouth because I refuse to face her.

“I figure you take this job seriously don’t you.” She asked.

Accidentally turning towards her, granted me a hell of a whiplash effect trying to turn back towards the door. I believe I was too late, the next thing I know Cindy is stroking my hair.

“Why’d you turn away so fast? You probably hurt yourself poor baby.”

Oh did I forget to mention that Cindy is a bisexual Nymph.. She does it to any and everybody. Yea just the type of girl you want to bring home to ma ma. I’m not mad at her though, at least she has bigger balls then any male I know, she’s not afraid to go after what she wants. I guess that’s what got her into being the office trash. She’s too forward if you know what I mean, and of course you do, I already told you.

“Um, so how’s David your roommate?” I ask about the only man I know of that hasn’t already shacked up with her.

“Honest to God truth, I think he gay. No lie.”

“Why would you say that Cindy?” I ask in the politest way I can. Cause what I really wanted to say was: Is it because he hasn’t already nailed your trifling butt. If anything she should be grateful that he hasn’t made a single un-wanting advance, but I think she would want it. She is that type of whore. Last year at the Christmas party, she made her way around the office in her Santa Little helper outfit, and gave special gifts to all the gentlemen. By special I do mean blowjobs, in the privacy of everyone’s personal office or for delivery boys, just the locker room. How do I know, only because every guy talks about it, but not only that, you could hear it from every place in the whole freaking building. Yet, who am I to judge….