Discomfort in the Desert

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It was over. I leaned against the front of my truck, staring in through the front window... trying not to glare. He sat, happily, in the corner booth with her and the rest of my "family." He had no more use for me... and I had nothing left in common with these people but our trailer-towing-related misery. I would have run from that place if I could, making my poor truck's engine scream accross the entire continent... but I still relied on them for gas money; still had their thousands of dollars worth of goods strapped to a trailer and parked in a trash depot... goods that I would have to turn around in the morning, on my own, to go retrieve, re-pack, re...tire. So many shredded tires... a result of being handed no authority but all the blame. I sighed and pushed away from the hood of the truck. It left a thick strip of dust on my clothing... everything was covered in dust and reaked of struggle. I practiced my handstands and tried not to think about my abandonment issues, the fact that I had allowed myself to get molested by his friend, after everything that had happened, the way that he didn't believe me... looked disgusted at me and smiled sweetly at her... or the way his father had smiled when he had shamed me for being poor... Their smiles flashed in my mind and twisted into snarls. I didn't let them see me cry again after that. I didn't cry again for a long time. I turned back in the morning and did my job, happier than ever to be in my own company.

Created: May 15, 2017


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