Spit or Swallow?
By Heather Chandler
Heather Chandler looked at herself in the mirror
hatefully. "This party sux (sort of what I was
doing just 10 minutes ago)," she smiled to
herself. "No one really knows the real me. I put
on a big front. No weaknesses, no regrets, no
embarrassments, no weaknesses. I'm gorgeous and
popular. I'm worshiped at Westerberg and I'm only
a junior. Everyone wants me as either a friend or
a fuck. No one knows."
"I'm so fucking weak. Weak when it comes to the
pressure. Pressure is what I put on others, but I
get a mighty handful of it myself. You bet your
Swatchin' ass I do!"
"What pressure am I under? I have to look this
hott 24/7 and be a mega-bitch to run an entire
school. I have to put Heather 'pillowcase' Duke
in her place so she doesn't get the idea that she
could ever replace my precious ass. I have to be
sweet, pure, and smart. Daddy's girl, Mommy's
little angel, and little brother Tommy's
looked-up-to older sis. The girl who'd never
drink, or commit sexual perversions (tehehe), or
mistreat the Martha Dumptrucks of the world."
"Hey, but who are those fuckers to judge me? Mom
& Dad hate each other. 'Verge of Divorce.' Just
another croquet ball to my cerebral cortex. They
play me against one another. Vie for my
affections and all that crap, while she's nipping
at the cooking sherry (nipping, HA!), and he
stays late working, giving his revealingly clad
secretary (who's not much older than I am, might
I add) a raise. Raise her all right, and she
raises him too...or at least a part of his
anatomy, that is."
"Drunken bitch! Adultering bastard! Fuck 'em!
Fuck 'em all! Tommy's the only one I give 2 shits
about anyways."
"That's not where the pressure ends. Fuck no! I
got the future yuppies of America like David
forcing me to give them head with stupid lies
like, 'I can't help myself, it's just that you
look so hot tonight,' and for what?
Sophistication from association with college
courses? Eat my cuse!"
"I can run an entire school, but I can't tell
some guy to stick it back in his pants. I can
force even angelic, and good-conscience Veronica
into helping me terrorize the chub club. I can
start a fuckin' Swatch & Diet-Coke trend, but
when it comes down to it, I've no power. I'm just
a tiny pawn in life's palm."
"I'd die if anyone knew the real me. Knew I was
weak. Knew I had those books I'm Okay, You're
Okay and The Castrated Family stashed in my
locker to help me cope with my dysfunctional life
and family. I'd die."
"Death. Death doesn't sound too bad though.
Sometimes I just want to make it all go away.
Take a bottle of sleeping pills. I can't. They'd
find me I know. Pump my stomach. Make me look
like the stuff that would come out of me. I'd die
if people saw me look anything but fantabulous.
Shallow, yes, I know, but that's the life I
lead...the life of a Heather. I couldn't handle
the rumors that'd spread. Conversations abruptly
stopping as I entered the room. The whispers, the
stares, the notes."
"Notes, my own game turned against me."
Heather Chandler's eyes never left her image in
that Remington bathroom mirror. She sipped the
cup of mouth wash that she had poured for
herself. Her swishing ceased. "Spit or swallow?"
she thought to herself. She guffawed inside her
membrane. She had been asking herself that same
question just 10 minutes ago with David.
She looked hatefully at her reflection. "Spit!"
she screamed inside. Her body obeyed the command.
It obeyed it so well that it spit the mouth wash
right at her loathing image.
She chose spit.