Disasterpiece

Prelude.

There is a lot you can learn about someone by looking through a persons possessions, for instance before I went looking for my Metallica CD in my housemate, and best friend, Josie’s room, I had no idea that her ex boyfriend found pleasure in the use of a whip. Or the time I was trying to find my birth certificate in my Dad's filing case – who knew that when I was one my parents got divorced, only to be remarried six months later, and then divorced a month later, again? The world is a crazy, and in some cases a masochistic, place and as much as finding out dark secrets accidently is somewhat eye opening, people's eyes never seem to open as much as when they find out what my most prized possession is.

Or at least with a few more payments it will be mine.

Chapter One.

Ever had to sit at one of those bus stops with those benches made of splintered wood and one end is covered in graffiti and there are globs of old gum wedged in between the slates? And you really don’t want to sit on that bench but the bus is going to be at least another fifteen minutes and your way too fucking tired to stand, so you just bite your tongue and forget that it is probably some homeless person's bed and sit?

Well my rear end was currently sitting on one of those benches on Second Street in Des Moines, Iowa – my home town for the last twenty-nine years. Yes, twenty-nine, not thirty, not twenty-nine and a half, or twenty-nine and six months and seven days. Just, twenty-nine. I pulled my jacket closer as a taxi drove past advertising some business on its side; the number to call was of course 955 30 30, and the number plate of the car following; VJL 30. The world was against me, but I was not going to budge, my birthday did not exist any more – I was ageless, and thirty was so not happening.

Leaning my head on the smudged bus stop glass, my gaze travelled across the busy tarmac and over to my favourite place in the whole world. Smiling inwardly my eyes ran over the shaped, discoloured stones that lay in messy rows next to dead flowers and smashed picture frames. Finally they came to a stop in an empty space under the biggest willow tree I had ever seen – my space.

Petrol fumes suddenly filled my nose and my view cut off as the bus pulled up in front of me. Heaving myself dramatically from the bench, I stumbled onto the bus and made my way to the back - catching a quick glimpse of my space before the bus rounded the corner.

The sky was just turning to dusk when I finally got off the bus, adjusting my shoulder bag, I walked quickly down the street, and ducked into an alley about half way down, taking a deep breath. The smell wafting from the dumpsters down here would be enough to turn most people around, but I had been smelling and filling the same bins for almost eight years now - and the smell was not the worst thing to come from those bins.

"Hey Vixen wait up yo," I heard someone call from behind, turning around I cocked an eye at the familiar face now running breathlessly towards me.

"Brandon, you seem to be in a hurry,”"I observed sarcastically once he reached me. Bending over and wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his jacket sleeve, Brandon puffed loudly a few times before nodding.

"I know, I left my freaking keys at home again and I don't need boss getting up me for not using the proper entrance again ay," he explained as he stood up straight. Brandon was about a foot and a half taller than me, with short shaggy back hair, a dimple on his chin and a few rings adorning his eyebrows. That description might make him seem quite menacing looking, but when you only stand in the four-foot range, its not hard for most people to be over a foot taller than you.

"What if I forgot my keys too?" I teased as we turned together and headed down the alley towards the only door adorning the brick walls. Brandon scoffed and nudged my shoulder, that was the only response that needed to pass between us - even if I had forgot my keys, boss wouldn’t yell at me - or anybody who was with me - for coming in through the front; considering he was my Uncle and I was his favourite niece, he wouldn't dare.

Pulling the keys from my bag, we pushed our way though the heavy metal door and walked into the employee lounge. It was quite a cosy place really, to the right there were a few lockers adorned with various stickers and magnets; to the left was a fair sized kitchenette with all the necessities; and spread across the middle of the room were three dark green couches, a flat screen television and coffee table piled high with music magazines dating as far back as the seventies.

Brandon left my side and headed towards the bathrooms as I turned and made my way to the lockers. Pulling open my locker, I grabbed my name tag from my bag before shoving it in. As I pulled my arm out it knocked against the locker door and sent the photos I had pinned up inside flying to the floor. Cursing, I shoved the badge quickly threw my shirt and bent down to pick up the mess, well the three photos in total that basically summed up my entire existence to date.

I paused for a moment as I looked over them, a sad smile began to creep over my face as memories came flooding back. The first photo was of me and my best friend Josie when we were six; chocolate ice cream covered our faces and dripped down from the upside down cones on our heads - we were laughing at each other hysterically. Nothing much had really changed in that department, Josie and I were still best friends, and now house mates, and there always managed to be some kind of disaster waiting to happen when we were together.

The second photo was filled with the smiling faces of at least ten people all posing for the shot. It taken when I was about fourteen, but everyone else’s ages varied from that to twenty. I ran my finger numbly over the faces that I could no longer picture clearly in my mind, except of course Josie's. I think this was the happiest time in my life; we use to be like a gang, just walking around the streets of Des Moines all the time, drinking, laughing and making dumb songs up on acoustic guitar. I stopped on one face for longer than a moment, but quickly flipped to the last photo before I could think much more about him.

This photo had been personally edited by me and a big black marker one drunken night after the bar had closed. You could now only see my face giggling in the camera flash, my wavy black hair and red highlights making my green eyes stand out even more; my arms were wrapped around a black scribble of someone I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with...the reason why I have no life now.

"Wow I didn't know you went out with Mr. Squiggle, I went out with Mrs. Squiggle once," Brandon remarked as he peered over my shoulder. Jumping up, I smacked him in the shoulder for startling me and threw the photos into my locker before slamming it closed.

"Unfortunately this one didn't come from the moon," I replied with a sigh. Brandon grinned weakly at me and then grabbed my hand and dragged me towards the front. I wasn’t great friends with Brandon or anything, we didn't hang on out weekends and stuff like that; but I liked the guy, he was the kind of person that didn't ask questions, just shut up and took everything as it came, no strings, no explanation needed - he just got on with his shit you know?

"Hey darlin' how you going?" Uncle Frank called as Brandon and I round the corner and walked into the front bar. Brandon let go of my hand and went off to clear some tables as I went up to Uncle and bear hugged him.

"Oh you know, hanging in there like always," I replied into his flannel shirt - it reeked of old beer and cigarettes. Uncle Frank laughed and pulled away from the hug, rubbing his hand aggressively through my hair.

"That’s my girl - now why don't you go help Brandon clear those tables before the hoard comes in?" he suggested. I nodded and ducked under his arm, grabbing a wet cloth from the sink I walked around the bar and began to wipe down the wooden tables that filled the large smoky room. There were about five regulars sitting around the counter having a laugh with Uncle Frank and one other person sitting away in the corner booth by himself, which was pretty usual for this time in the afternoon. But soon it would be getting dark, and especially on a Friday night, you get all of the workers coming down for a drink and a game of pool and then the partiers who just want to come out and get shit faced. Uncle Franks bar was probably the most popular in town; it had a homey feel that even outer state people felt comfortable in.

I quickly cleared the tables and shoved the dirty mugs into the dishwasher, saying hi to a couple of people I knew as the place began to slowly fill. I went out the back and grabbed a few bowls, filling them up with peanuts I shoved the bowls sporadically across the front bar and set to work pouring customers orders.

It was getting on to twelve and the place was alive and very, very loud. If it’s one thing I know first hand its that the drunker a person gets the louder they talk, and the louder they talk the louder their friends talk, and the louder their conversation is, the louder the conversations around them become until everyone is yelling at each other. Usually this doesn't bother me, but tonight it was giving me a headache and making me contemplate yelling "bomb".

"Hey darlin' can you take those three Guinness over to table thirty and then you can knock off," Uncle Frank yelled in my ear. I turned and gave him a questioning look considering how busy it was he needed all the staff he could get, but he pressed his finger to my lips and shook his head. "You look dead on your feet - go catch up on some sleep," he smiled, then kissed my forehead and turned back to the customers. I knew I shouldn’t take advantage of his generosity but the idea of sleeping sounded so good right now.

Grabbing the Guinness I dodged and ducked my way through the crowd, ignoring a few cat calls and drunken slurs in my direction, I made it to table thirty - yes thirty - and set the Guinness on the table. "There you go guys, should be nice and set now," I said as I looked up. There were four people sitting at the table, they all looked up at me and thanked me as they passed the Guinness around. I caught the eye of one of the guys who cocked his head and squinted at me, but before he could say anything I bowed my head and ducked quickly away from the table.