Houston 1972

The girl walked out to center stage with silent gusto and amazement. She glided like a saint, walking upon hopes and dreams. The air was filled silent tension. 

Her eyes were a cognac brown and her eye shadow sparkled a thousand shades of diamond glitter and chance. She had on heavy coal eyeliner that flowed into a wing tipped point and a fair amount of mascara that fanned out into bashful butterfly like kisses. Her face was porcelin and her lips were ruby red. She glided out across the stage, her bufont brunette tresses barely moving; very like the thoughts she had stopped thinking and emotions she had stopped feeling. Her dress swam through the air though, like an albatross through the sky. It was white and freeflowing. Pure and innocent, with beading at the top of the bodice. There were diamond like sparkles as the light caught the dress in it's web. Just for a moment, everyone seemed to catch their breath. 

Finally she made her way over to a man in a navy suit and forest green checkered tie. He smiled a pearly white smile and smoothed a hand through his hair. 

"Texas, you're question is, 'How would you plan on ending the Vietnam War?'"

There was a holler from the crowd and then everything was silent. The girl smiled broadly yet was silent as her eyes blindly searched the crowd. Time seemed to melt and all eyes were on the Texas beauty queen. 

She started forward and in a soft drawl whispered, "I don't know."

The man laughed lightly and made a big show with his hands. "A great thinker! Take your time, dear! All eyes will still be on the beauty queen as we wait."

The girl learned over closer and whispered more raggedly, "I don't know. I'm not gonna know."

The man smiled blankly and then grinned a fair semblance. "Alright, we'll come back to you Texas! Up next, Minnesota!"

The girl smiled shyly and returned to her spot with a thousand faces full of chagrin watching her every move. She smiled wide once more and then looked down, her mouth getting really small and her eyes getting wide, threatening to release entire ocean of faults. 

They never did get back to Texas. 

It was a mild June. The sort you hear about in stories of good old days and times past. The sky was twilight and set aflame with deep hues of indigo and tangerine and magenta. She was driven home that night in an old Ford truck. By then there were only faint streaks down her cheeks but she was praying that was the only mess she'd make tonight. 

She was dropped off in front of a small brick ranch. It was homey in the sense that it was like everyone else's home. She walked up the driveway carrying her heels, and slid open the back door. Inside was a woman with short auburn hair turning to and fro from a stove and countertop. The woman looked up at her worriedly. She then wrung her hands and tried to set in a warm smile. She nodded at her. The girl trembled a bit before walking placidly towards the living room. 

Around the corner was a slightly balding man sitting in a lofty armchair. He had a remote by his side and was watching something like football. She flinched as he turned around softly in the chair to greet her with cold eyes. 

"How'd it go?"

She looked down and shivered. "I-I didn't place. I didn't know the answer to the question."

The man nodded silently and got up. 

"Miss Peyton says it was gonna be something like What'd you think of Dallas winnin' the Superbowl or maybe about Jane Fonda, not Vietname."

'Nam," He said, "It's about Vietnam. You didn't know?"

"No sir."

"That's disappointing."

"Well it's not like you teach me anything anyhow." she spat. And she instantly regretted it. 

He tensed up and started to undo his belt. "I don't teach you anything?!"

She started to shake and back away. "No, no I didn't mean-"

He took out the belt and tensed it in his hands. The buckle shone bright in the setting sun. Tears were streaming down her face as the whips came like lightning or bites from a rattlesnake. And the venom seared into her skin and she cried and pleaded and the marks trailed up and down her arms and hands. The buckle glinted like a celestial epiphany as it seared into her porcelain skin; all the while sobbing out 'I didn't know'. 

The older woman stood watching, half hidden around the archway into the kitchen. The girl caught sight of her and pleaded out with a raspy drawl. The woman darted her eyes. 

She spoke quietly, "Jim," the man looked up, "Don't-Don't get her face."

The man and the girl both paused. 

The girl sobbed out loud, her face red and her eyes bloodshot. "Momma no," Her body quaked and dripped with ruby delusion and revulsion. Her white gown was stained with tears and mascara and blood; ruined with sin. The man struck once more on her elbow before retreating outside for a smoke. The woman retired back into kitchen and the girl was alone with her thoughts and wounds, both stung like venom. The carpet around her was tainted with bright red as she slowly gathered into her self. She let out a half hearted sob, before stumbling and picking up her dress. She dazedly walked out of the room.