way, I needed what he was going to do to me.
I listened closely as he told Scout to head home and as he began to pull the latch on the door open. He was coming for me and I knew that today would only be worse than yesterday.
Before It Happened
Location: Temple, Oklahoma
One
I walked up to the old dusty bar that seemed to be barely standing up anymore. The wooden structure looked termite ridden and the old sign that was centered on the front of the roof once upon a time, was now hanging diagonally. I tilted my head to the left to read as I walked in. Trackside Tavern , it read. Considering I had followed abandoned train tracks to get here, the name seemed to make perfect sense.
I pulled open the old tin screen door and walked in, wondering if anyone would ask for my identification in a small place like this. I had been lucky so far with dive and hole-in-the-wall bars since I had run away from home. Just by looking at me, any bar owner would know that I wasn’t old enough to drink alcohol, let alone be in there, but none of them ever asked for ID and let me be, so long as I paid my tab when I was done.
Pickpocketing was my primary source of income. I had become damn good at it too, even though I hated being a thief, but I needed to keep going and find some way to sustain my runaway life style so I did what I had to do. I walked up to the bar area and hopped up on a wooden stool with ripped burgundy leather cushions, and crossed my arms on the bar top. Two seconds later, I pulled them off trying not to make a face due to the stickiness of it and decided it would be better to just leave my hands on my lap.
“What are you having, sweetheart?” an older gentleman with gray hair and a greasy ponytail asked. He leaned on the bar, giving me a pleasant smile with whatever teeth he had left.
“I’ll take a burger please,” I replied, returning his smile. I learned a long time ago never to judge someone based on appearances. I had spent too long trusting the right people because of pretty faces and ended up having to get away from the life I used to live because of it.
“Coming right up,” he promised with a nod as he walked away from the bar area and disappearing through a swinging door near the back of it.
I cleared my throat and glanced around. It definitely was one of the nicer dive bars I had been in, even if it was barely standing. The place was just about empty too; besides me there were about five guys sitting at one table playing cards and drinking beers. I watched them for a little bit and smiled each time one won the hand because it was cause the others to throw up their hands and “call bullshit.”
“Here you go,” the bartender/cook said when he returned about twenty minutes later with my burger.
“Thanks!” I said happily, picking up the greasy delight and glancing around for a ketchup bottle. I found it, squeezed a generous amount of ketchup onto my burger, then put the bottle back. Ever since I was a kid, I remembered making sure that I would “draw” something new on my burger each time I had one and this time I decided to draw a star which I promptly covered with the bun.
The first bite was delicious and satisfying. The burger was hot and cooked perfectly, though I did pull the bottom bun off to remove the lettuce and tomato he had stuck in there. I was never a big fan of vegetables or the beatings I got for not wanting to eat them as a child. I felt my mood starting to sour at the memory, so I pushed it away and took another bite when I heard the screen door screech open then close with a slam.
I felt myself starting to become full after the next bite, so I put my burger back on the plate, reached across the bar for some napkins, and held them to my mouth for a moment. Again, it was just a habit from childhood that I would get in trouble for. Girls don’t burp, my first set of sadistic foster parents would try to instill in me. Girls don’t yell. Girls don’t wear pants. Girls don’t
I listened closely as he told Scout to head home and as he began to pull the latch on the door open. He was coming for me and I knew that today would only be worse than yesterday.
Before It Happened
Location: Temple, Oklahoma
One
I walked up to the old dusty bar that seemed to be barely standing up anymore. The wooden structure looked termite ridden and the old sign that was centered on the front of the roof once upon a time, was now hanging diagonally. I tilted my head to the left to read as I walked in. Trackside Tavern , it read. Considering I had followed abandoned train tracks to get here, the name seemed to make perfect sense.
I pulled open the old tin screen door and walked in, wondering if anyone would ask for my identification in a small place like this. I had been lucky so far with dive and hole-in-the-wall bars since I had run away from home. Just by looking at me, any bar owner would know that I wasn’t old enough to drink alcohol, let alone be in there, but none of them ever asked for ID and let me be, so long as I paid my tab when I was done.
Pickpocketing was my primary source of income. I had become damn good at it too, even though I hated being a thief, but I needed to keep going and find some way to sustain my runaway life style so I did what I had to do. I walked up to the bar area and hopped up on a wooden stool with ripped burgundy leather cushions, and crossed my arms on the bar top. Two seconds later, I pulled them off trying not to make a face due to the stickiness of it and decided it would be better to just leave my hands on my lap.
“What are you having, sweetheart?” an older gentleman with gray hair and a greasy ponytail asked. He leaned on the bar, giving me a pleasant smile with whatever teeth he had left.
“I’ll take a burger please,” I replied, returning his smile. I learned a long time ago never to judge someone based on appearances. I had spent too long trusting the right people because of pretty faces and ended up having to get away from the life I used to live because of it.
“Coming right up,” he promised with a nod as he walked away from the bar area and disappearing through a swinging door near the back of it.
I cleared my throat and glanced around. It definitely was one of the nicer dive bars I had been in, even if it was barely standing. The place was just about empty too; besides me there were about five guys sitting at one table playing cards and drinking beers. I watched them for a little bit and smiled each time one won the hand because it was cause the others to throw up their hands and “call bullshit.”
“Here you go,” the bartender/cook said when he returned about twenty minutes later with my burger.
“Thanks!” I said happily, picking up the greasy delight and glancing around for a ketchup bottle. I found it, squeezed a generous amount of ketchup onto my burger, then put the bottle back. Ever since I was a kid, I remembered making sure that I would “draw” something new on my burger each time I had one and this time I decided to draw a star which I promptly covered with the bun.
The first bite was delicious and satisfying. The burger was hot and cooked perfectly, though I did pull the bottom bun off to remove the lettuce and tomato he had stuck in there. I was never a big fan of vegetables or the beatings I got for not wanting to eat them as a child. I felt my mood starting to sour at the memory, so I pushed it away and took another bite when I heard the screen door screech open then close with a slam.
I felt myself starting to become full after the next bite, so I put my burger back on the plate, reached across the bar for some napkins, and held them to my mouth for a moment. Again, it was just a habit from childhood that I would get in trouble for. Girls don’t burp, my first set of sadistic foster parents would try to instill in me. Girls don’t yell. Girls don’t wear pants. Girls don’t
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