Bad Bad Girls

It is the tradition of the people in this world that they try it out. Some end up in one or the other hole. I wish not to be objectionable. I wish only to state facts. The rich can't go through the eye of the camel.

Many of them dispute this his and her opinion is that they do a lot and make a lot of people happy. Offend not they do as this has nothing to do with my story, I am just observing a fact.

I am a poor woman who went to school but did not graduate, then spent some time in night schools. I am not observing this as a fact of the paupers, but what the school system had on offer. That there was a factor involved at school bitching and girls shouting out loud that they disliked my thoughts.

"Was I their mum or grandmum?"

They excelled at maths and scholarship, university material, and how dare a shop and factory goods speak about their morality in that manner?

My silent disapproval would make me pay for them. I could not help my thoughts, and they wanted them wiped from my face so they dealt with me in their own particular manner because they were rich and powerful, and I was poor. From another country that did not prosper and was not to their liking, not even recognised.

Julia set me up.

The girls went on the rampage, settled the deal and set me up. The teaching staff were most deluded and did not even realise what had happened. In fact, I did not know what had happened.

Look, it is nothing when she set me up.

The teacher's pet was so used to taking what she wanted that she disliked not doing anything else. She went for the jugular. The shop, she asked, for the shop, why should we have a shop when she wanted it?

"Here is the plan, Wendy, so look, it's like taking teeth out." Julia sold the idea of her amputing her leg and going with one. Wendy was so impressionable did as she was told.

Poor Wendy disliked work, had a brain, but was never as clever as the rest of her gang.

"Will it hurt?" asked the poor girl. Wendy was a whimp.

"I'm doing you a kindness," said cunning Julia. They all were laughing at us, all of us; we disliked them, and they were gross to us.

Rich pretend friends are the more enduring when they stop at nothing to take and make the world a better place. Julia, at that time, was obsessing about the housing situation and disliked the homeless and the benefits of housing. Wendy went to her through like a dose of lemon. She had to do it for her; the kindness would benefit her so much.

"Of course it will, but then you will be housed and with her forever. Look, you do not want to live in a council flat?"

"No, I dislike the idea. Her mother is now being amputated, and as you are replacing her, so should you be. Otherwise, it will not make sense even if she knows."

"Won't she feel that Wendy is not her Mum?" asked a frightened someone, I think Pauline.

"And the husband won't ask to sleep with her?"

"What if he does"?

"We nail him, make him into an impotent."

"One must do what one must. Are you chickening out?"

"No one must know at all."

The children of the rich are bored with what they have and want it better for themselves, like little darlings out to suck the world dry.

"Try what out?"

"Look, go out and sleep around, then you can see what is what!" said Julia to Wendy, and Wendy went.

"To dress their desires on the common object."

"We are the camel." Sighed someone else. I laugh at them. Their dwarves instead of the reality of giants. Why? Because they do not feel. Do they feel my resentment? No, nothing of the sort. Do they feel my danger? No. But all they think about is sex.

That is when I began not to see anything did not know how important it was to feel things. I was in limbo and disliked them all. They knew this, and behaving like themselves, they went for me.

"How to topple a fiend is our main aim, and we will come at it from every direction until we get it right. I'm not right, Jennifer?" said this other girl, whose name I could never remember. But I knew she was something.

It must be the right names, as if Pauline, Jennifer and Monica, the eternal trio, were beset with the thoughts of behaving in a manner that made everything right.

"Of course you are, I am blowing bubble gum the size you can't see as real," said Julia, having settled our lives forever.

At the school where the students were the teachers, the size of the classroom was about twenty or twenty-five.

When it went to thirty, they had to bring in a supply teacher, so they disliked marking the register and left it at that.

"Who are they?"

"People." She said in vagueness.

"People who are entitled to everything."

"Like whom?"

"Like the Jerklly and the Hyde."

I felt like jelly because they were double-sided and evil. I did have a fascination for horror, and the classroom was a somewhat comforting place to be in.

Everything would have worked out differently if I were a different woman or type. I did not know what was what. Disliked memorising faces and names, and went about with the dramas at home on my mind.

The constant shouting and her crying all the time. Mother was almost always in some fear of being harmed or being hurt by the monster she had married.

"Her IQ is equivalent to Wendy's."

Sheer enjoyment was written on their faces.

"Shall we"?

"It will make us the coolest girls in any of the gangs."

"The shop will, of course, work out."

"We are the queens."

"They are the slams."

"Oh, they have a daytime life?"

"Totally."

"What a creep you are."

"I am?" I said I thought I was never that I was just away from a kiss and life and excitement, and did day dream about such stuff.

That took all that away from us and made me this bitter woman. Now odd and misshapen and made unnaturally clinging to the knowledge that made me.

"Yes," Monica asked.

"They come and come to unleash the potential in you all."

The teachers were not into us at all, but they saw that somehow we would survive because they had. Somehow, if they stretched out the time, they would get the day through and pass on to their husbands their company because he had been absent-minded for some reason.

Monica asked if there was something in the cookery book they could discuss?

"With what?"

"With a cookery book, one has a glass of wine."

"Miss, should we discuss wine when Jesus made such a lot?"

"On page six?"

"I can't find it, Miss."

"Do you have the book?"

"Yes, I think so?"

"It is not the right book."

"I could have sworn," I said.

"Look at your neighbour's book."

"I will not have anything to do with her."

"Look at mine," said Wendy.

"No."

"Now go outside."

I smile, I know the answer.

Astutely, they glance at me in there without much sadness, just enjoyment.

I close the door and listen to another class, and go to the library, where I am met with kindness.

"What truth are you speaking about?" All the classrooms are busily doing something and asking some questions, as if when I close the classroom door, they get busier than anyone else.

"There is only one truth." I feel the truth that I am never going to find the right answer.

"I don't see."

"Hear, see connect."

But I cannot connect; there appears to be something so big not allowing me to.

"I do."

"You don't."

They all laughed out loud.

The class had made light work of whatever work they had done. They continue with their daily tasks, and material is added to their lives to aid them in whatever they were.

Hate can grow in a second in a soundless whisper, as if the continuum is never lost, when it adds up like a cash register, everything is registering.

What is it like beating one's head against a brick wall?

"I am as if a speck of nothing in this smallish building," I say to myself and that is sort of comforting me.

Nobody notices me at all. I find that even the most comforting and continue reading, but then someone is looking at my skirt again.

The thing that did kick the girls and that made them cry. The teacher had a radar gun and said no do not do that.

I went to school, and I did things like play in the playground. It was there that I was seen as abnormal. The Motherly woman was no use, she just disliked me so much did nothing but speak the praises of her dearest child, Julia. She was her mother.

Julia was embarrassed.

I thought she deserved her Mum, and I deserved nothing.

"Still are." Laughed she who must be obeyed.

Instead of gently talking with the girls, I would have a punch-up. So unladylike. Unnatural. The teaching staff was very worried. Such a hoyden. That I was. A girl called Julia said I needed psychology, and she never changed her mind.

She would become a psychologist to treat people like me. I said nothing. I am too polite to.

I asked not to be so treated, as I disliked being handled. I am going to be a doctor who can handle anything.

"What are you into?"

"Shame. My mother drinks secretly, my father drinks openly."

"I am different. I have two or three fathers," said Julia and I peep through the keyhole and see them at it like they would die from their naked bottoms up.

"How gross."

"Nothing of the fucking sort, it is pleasant to see them doing it before they die."

"And difficult."

"When they die, I am going to get the bed in order to see if they were in there or not."

"Absurd."

"I feel stuff,"

"Come, let us go and make smart and do silly things like get it right."

"I am saving myself for the marriage."

"Well, the sacrifices you go through, we feel for you."

"Well, I have to because I want the title and the richer I am, the more for the likes of us."

"Go after her?"

"She doesn't mix."

"Introvert thinking?"

"Bad."

"Why?"

"Yes, "

"I leave things unsaid."

"Why?"

"How good?"

"Ouch, I am very good."

"What?"

"I do mother's chores."

"Sleep with your Dad?"

"No."

"I wash the clothes and things."

"She does?"

"Like a servant?"

"It is worse than that." I am uncertain what else to say, so I toss my hair, adding that" it is something not right."

"Who on earth are you?"

"Attractive?"

I thought of myself as the envy of the class, and then found someone who was prettier than myself. I cried for a week.

"Probable cause of me being a vain girl and not right in the maths department, madden everyone like the daddies. "She will never make it right for us. Should we stand guard after the intercourse so that we get the right money for the services"?

"What makes you a bad girl?"

"I am a bad girl because I do not fit in."

"Be polite and ladylike," said the inattentive teacher, whose attention had already moved to the next brighter pupil. Her eyes lit up.

It was the polite Julia with a business plan, and she took us all by storm.

"I could not do it."

They chased me like their men must have chased them.

"Stop picking on me."

"We loathe you."

You shredded yourself. All the girls in the classroom were told they had to smell me or else.

Julia, since playing school, put channel 5 on herself. Sprayed it delicately on her wrists and sighed.

"Delicious." Sighed the other girls.

I so wanted to be right like them. Belong and be within the crowd.

"Yes."

Julia was clobbered. She looked so thoughtful.

She could play on that idea.

"How dare you read my face?" She said.

"I am not."

"You were you are not worthy."

Someone came to sit between us. Julia did not care to sit with me anymore. She said something in some vague language, holding her nose.

I was somewhat ashamed of what I had done.

I was middle-lower class, but Julia seemed to own the rights to the school.

The bitching went on.

She came from the aristocracy.

And we were privileged to have her.