She turns to face me, standing beneath the one light in the empty parking lot. The scars on her face illuminate, and I can almost remember where each piece of shrapnel was located.
“My sister and brother-in-law won’t talk to me. My nephew is dead, and my niece isn’t allowed to contact me.”
Life after tragedy is never the same, but apparently, in Bambi’s case, it’s particularly disheartening.
“What about you?” I ask the same question but in a different way, hopeful for a change in her answer. After all, it isn’t the life around us that makes us who we are. It’s the life within us that forces us to keep living. Wow, you’re quite the philosopher tonight, Jags.
She glances up to the starlit sky and closes her eyes against the darkness bearing down on us. A slight gust of wind blows her dark hair into her face, and the effect stiffens her posture. “I can lie to you and tell you I’m this strong chick who has her shit together, and that I walked away from that attack with only the scars on my face, but that would be a lie.”
“Yes, it would,” I agree. It’s obvious by the chip on her shoulder that the heaviness she carries around comprises a large part of who she is. I never knew the person she was before the explosion, but I’m willing to bet that girl was very different from the woman I’m talking to tonight.
“I hate my life. I hate every morning that I wake up. I hate every breath that I take. I hate the seconds I accidentally look into a mirror and catch my horrid reflection. I hate when people look at me for longer than necessary.” She exhales loudly, and the minty breath from her mouth acts as a punch to my face. “But do you know what I hate most about my life?”
I suddenly don’t want to know this answer. “What’s that?”
“I hate it when a man hits on me because he only saw one side of my face.” I want to tell her I would have hit on her if I saw the other side of her face too, but I’m a jackass more often than not, so I might not have. More than likely, I would have been too busy wondering what happened to her, what she had gone through, and why the scars were so sloppily lined along her cheek. “Thank you for not disagreeing.” I was too busy considering the truth when I’ve already been called out for agreeing with her statement. I’ve never been one to lie, nor cherry coat my thoughts. Though, in this case, the truth would just add another scar to her body.
“Look, Bambi, just for the record, it was never my intention to take you home with me tonight. I was just looking for a little late night chat to clear the old noggin. Although, if you don’t have anything better to do, and I don’t have anything better to do…”
She laughs, a gut rolling laugh. “Wow, you are an impressive man, you know that?”
“You could just say no. Jesus,” I shoot back.
“No, I will not sleep with you.”
“Who exactly mentioned a word about sleeping together? I was going to ask you to get a damn cup of coffee, but clearly, you have bigger needs than I can fill right now.”
The laughter ceases and she rolls back on her heels as she places the tips of her fingers into her back pockets. “You impotent or something?”
“No,” I reply snippily.
“Where do you live?” she asks.
“Where do you live?” I reply.
She nods her head toward the other side of the lot where the entrance of a trailer park is. “Right over there.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. We’re neighbors.”
“Bull,” she says, pulling a butt out of her back pocket. She tucks the white stick between her lips and reaches back into her pocket for a lighter. I watch her light up, close her eyes, and inhale as if the nicotine were breathing life back into her soul.
“You callin’ me a liar, Bambi?”
“You don’t live in that park. I’ve seen every person who lives there,” she says before taking another long drag.
“I never said I lived in the trailer park. I said we were neighbors,” I correct her.
“Well, unless you live inside of the bar here, we’re not neighbors.”
I point to the half-lit blinking sign behind the trailer park. “Right over there.”