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31_days2006-01-16 10:33 pm
maajna.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-01-16 10:33 pm
[16 January] [original] shortfalls, gray skirts and black upholstery
Title. shortfalls, gray skirts and black upholstery
Day/Theme. 16 January / "your cover's blown"
Series. original
Character/Pairing. Maggie Magdalene
Rating. R (for sexual themes and shameless Catholic propaganda, even though I am not Catholic)
Word Count. 1104
Her name is Maggie, short for Magdalene. She is sixteen-years-old and a Mama’s Girl. Her grades are mediocre, but her future is bright; her friends are a little immature, perhaps, but they are good girls. She giggles during Mass but prays each evening, Hail, Mary, Full Of Grace,
Our Lord Is With Thee.
And sleeps with a stuffed cat beside her head. She doesn’t usually dream but when, by chance, she does, she dreams of Caribbean waters and sweet alcohols.
She meets Vaughn, curbside, in a shiny black Porsche, who buys her with flattery piece by piece. He is in his twenties, a handsome man, but she is almost a woman anyway. And he seems so nice. Her friends compliment her but she knows they are secretly jealous. And when Mama tries to set her up with the nice grocery boy, she denies him. She speaks to Vaughn curbside after school, flirts, wears her skirt a little higher, her blouse a more open. She daydreams during Mass but prays each evening, Hail, Mary, Full of Grace.
And stuffs the cat underneath the bed.
Her name is Maggie, her middle name coquette. Vaughn waits for her outside of school. She feels proud to step inside his Porsche. Her friends don’t trust him because they’re jealous. He listens sympathetically while she tells him her woes. How her grades are mediocre but she still has a chance at college, right? How she wishes her teachers would just disappear. How her mother treats her like such a child. How she wishes more people would listen like he did.
He fills her with flattery like wine. You’re smart girl, its your teachers who are the idiots. Your mother does not see you for the woman you are. He puts his hand on her thigh and she is nervous, but she lets him. Vaughn wouldn’t hurt me, she thinks, because he’s the only one who understands me.
She skips Mass, just this once, to meet with him in the park, but she still prays each evening, Hail, Mary, Full of Grace.
Mama returns the cat to the bed. Maggie throws it away. And when she dreams, its Vaughn’s lips against her neck. Vaughn’s hands up her skirt. Vaughn lounging with her in Caribbean waters, feeding her sweet alcohols.
Her name is Maggie; she wasn’t at school today. Is she sick at home?
No.
We feared as much. Her grades are slipping; we thought you should know. College applications are due next semester. Talk to her, Mrs. Damas, we’re worried about her future. And call if there’s any trouble.
Yes, I will.
Her mother is frightened. When Maggie comes home, she asks where she was.
At school. Absent? There must be a mistake.
She doesn’t tell Mama that Vaughn paid for birth control; We can’t ruin your future, now can we? How he lay her down in a hotel room to help her relax, how he slowly took off her clothes, how he told her to remove his.
How he said, You’ll finally be a woman.
How frightened she was, how painful it was, how long he stayed inside her.
She skips Mass because she is not feeling well, and sleeps even through the evening. No prayer tonight. She dreams of his face quivering over hers and wakes up in cold sweat.
Her name is Magdalene, short for nothing. She is almost eighteen and her future is unclear. Her grades have plummeted; she can’t graduate. Just as well, she has grown too old for her uniform.
She meets Vaughn in the park, even though he is really in his late thirties, sun has cracked his Black upholstery, and he’s traded his Porsche for a Hyundai. Temporarily, he tells her, but she sees through his lies. But she won’t leave him; he is still the only one who understands her.
At home, her mother cries and she doesn’t ask why. She works on Saturdays; she’s too tired for Mass. She starts to pray, Hail… But surmises that the Virgin Mary will not bless her. Just as well, she doesn’t need a Virgin’s blessing.
Her name is Magdalene, but she calls herself Madison now because it sounds sexier. Her mother calls her foolish and just like that, she leaves home. Vaughn calls on her but she denies him and he doesn’t try again. He was too old, she thinks, and so am I.
She moves across town, closer to work. Her friends graduate. She sees them, but they do not see her. It takes time, but Madison works her way through continuation school, works her way through community college, works her way into a new life. Her mother calls often but ashamed, she never answers.
She never thinks of church or praying, but the calluses on her fingers and the knots in her neck. And when she dreams, she dreams of gray uniforms, of hair ribbons, of rosaries. When she wakes up, she finds tears strewn in her eyelashes. Just like Mary Magdalene. She wept, right?
Her name is Maggie, again short of Magdalene, once called Madison. She is twenty-four-years-old; she has a husband and a son, and even though she lost half of her heart, she made it out alive. She wakes up, she works, she loves her son and husband. Her life is dull sometimes, but she is happy.
One day, the phone rings; Mama died. Stroke, they said, or heartbreak. She goes home to attend the funeral and her old friends are there. They hug, they cry, they say, It crushed her when you left. For that guy, what was his name? Maggie pretends not to remember. She’s already wasted too many memories on regret.
Mama left her the house. It smells of incense and rosewood. Her room is exactly the same; even the stuffed cat, dug out of the trash, sits beaten and worn from too many tears. Maggie remembers being sixteen. Her Mama, Vaughn, friends, Mass, grades, school uniforms. She remembers the prayer, Hail Mary, Full Of Grace. Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
As she leaves, she sees a girl giggling to the reflection of an expensive car window. Maggie calls her over then sends the girl home.
He seems nice, she says, but they all do at first.
The car speeds angrily away. Her uniform never did match it, she realizes. It is five o’ clock. The church bells are ringing and she goes to them.
Holy Mary, Mother of God.
Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.
Day/Theme. 16 January / "your cover's blown"
Series. original
Character/Pairing. Maggie Magdalene
Rating. R (for sexual themes and shameless Catholic propaganda, even though I am not Catholic)
Word Count. 1104
Her name is Maggie, short for Magdalene. She is sixteen-years-old and a Mama’s Girl. Her grades are mediocre, but her future is bright; her friends are a little immature, perhaps, but they are good girls. She giggles during Mass but prays each evening, Hail, Mary, Full Of Grace,
Our Lord Is With Thee.
And sleeps with a stuffed cat beside her head. She doesn’t usually dream but when, by chance, she does, she dreams of Caribbean waters and sweet alcohols.
She meets Vaughn, curbside, in a shiny black Porsche, who buys her with flattery piece by piece. He is in his twenties, a handsome man, but she is almost a woman anyway. And he seems so nice. Her friends compliment her but she knows they are secretly jealous. And when Mama tries to set her up with the nice grocery boy, she denies him. She speaks to Vaughn curbside after school, flirts, wears her skirt a little higher, her blouse a more open. She daydreams during Mass but prays each evening, Hail, Mary, Full of Grace.
And stuffs the cat underneath the bed.
Her name is Maggie, her middle name coquette. Vaughn waits for her outside of school. She feels proud to step inside his Porsche. Her friends don’t trust him because they’re jealous. He listens sympathetically while she tells him her woes. How her grades are mediocre but she still has a chance at college, right? How she wishes her teachers would just disappear. How her mother treats her like such a child. How she wishes more people would listen like he did.
He fills her with flattery like wine. You’re smart girl, its your teachers who are the idiots. Your mother does not see you for the woman you are. He puts his hand on her thigh and she is nervous, but she lets him. Vaughn wouldn’t hurt me, she thinks, because he’s the only one who understands me.
She skips Mass, just this once, to meet with him in the park, but she still prays each evening, Hail, Mary, Full of Grace.
Mama returns the cat to the bed. Maggie throws it away. And when she dreams, its Vaughn’s lips against her neck. Vaughn’s hands up her skirt. Vaughn lounging with her in Caribbean waters, feeding her sweet alcohols.
Her name is Maggie; she wasn’t at school today. Is she sick at home?
No.
We feared as much. Her grades are slipping; we thought you should know. College applications are due next semester. Talk to her, Mrs. Damas, we’re worried about her future. And call if there’s any trouble.
Yes, I will.
Her mother is frightened. When Maggie comes home, she asks where she was.
At school. Absent? There must be a mistake.
She doesn’t tell Mama that Vaughn paid for birth control; We can’t ruin your future, now can we? How he lay her down in a hotel room to help her relax, how he slowly took off her clothes, how he told her to remove his.
How he said, You’ll finally be a woman.
How frightened she was, how painful it was, how long he stayed inside her.
She skips Mass because she is not feeling well, and sleeps even through the evening. No prayer tonight. She dreams of his face quivering over hers and wakes up in cold sweat.
Her name is Magdalene, short for nothing. She is almost eighteen and her future is unclear. Her grades have plummeted; she can’t graduate. Just as well, she has grown too old for her uniform.
She meets Vaughn in the park, even though he is really in his late thirties, sun has cracked his Black upholstery, and he’s traded his Porsche for a Hyundai. Temporarily, he tells her, but she sees through his lies. But she won’t leave him; he is still the only one who understands her.
At home, her mother cries and she doesn’t ask why. She works on Saturdays; she’s too tired for Mass. She starts to pray, Hail… But surmises that the Virgin Mary will not bless her. Just as well, she doesn’t need a Virgin’s blessing.
Her name is Magdalene, but she calls herself Madison now because it sounds sexier. Her mother calls her foolish and just like that, she leaves home. Vaughn calls on her but she denies him and he doesn’t try again. He was too old, she thinks, and so am I.
She moves across town, closer to work. Her friends graduate. She sees them, but they do not see her. It takes time, but Madison works her way through continuation school, works her way through community college, works her way into a new life. Her mother calls often but ashamed, she never answers.
She never thinks of church or praying, but the calluses on her fingers and the knots in her neck. And when she dreams, she dreams of gray uniforms, of hair ribbons, of rosaries. When she wakes up, she finds tears strewn in her eyelashes. Just like Mary Magdalene. She wept, right?
Her name is Maggie, again short of Magdalene, once called Madison. She is twenty-four-years-old; she has a husband and a son, and even though she lost half of her heart, she made it out alive. She wakes up, she works, she loves her son and husband. Her life is dull sometimes, but she is happy.
One day, the phone rings; Mama died. Stroke, they said, or heartbreak. She goes home to attend the funeral and her old friends are there. They hug, they cry, they say, It crushed her when you left. For that guy, what was his name? Maggie pretends not to remember. She’s already wasted too many memories on regret.
Mama left her the house. It smells of incense and rosewood. Her room is exactly the same; even the stuffed cat, dug out of the trash, sits beaten and worn from too many tears. Maggie remembers being sixteen. Her Mama, Vaughn, friends, Mass, grades, school uniforms. She remembers the prayer, Hail Mary, Full Of Grace. Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
As she leaves, she sees a girl giggling to the reflection of an expensive car window. Maggie calls her over then sends the girl home.
He seems nice, she says, but they all do at first.
The car speeds angrily away. Her uniform never did match it, she realizes. It is five o’ clock. The church bells are ringing and she goes to them.
Holy Mary, Mother of God.
Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.