RE: Trailer Trash 6 pt 5 (Patreon)

   “Mom?” Tabitha asked in a weak voice, cracking her eyes open.

   “I’m here,” Mrs. Moore jolted up from the seat at the side of the small room and rushed to her side. “I’m here, Sweetie. I’m right here.”

   Lifting up her right hand—it felt heavy and sluggish—Tabitha immediately felt her mother take it firmly in her hands. It was still a struggle to see, but it was difficult to tell if it was because the small room was too dimly lit or too bright. Impossibly, it seemed to be both at the same time. Mrs. Moore’s faintly smiling face was lined with worry as Tabitha looked up at her in a bit of a daze, and despite the circumstances it was the first time she was really struck with how her mother still had that glimmer of her gorgeous old self within her.

   “I love you, Mom,” Tabitha croaked out.

   She was back where she belonged. This was the mother she was never, ever going to let go of, and although the delusions of that surreal fever dream were beginning to dilute and subside into faded almost-memories, Tabitha’s resolve remained firm. I’m not going to let you go. I’m going to save you. I mean it.

   “I love you too, Sweetie,” Mrs. Moore whispered. “I love you too. So much. We thought we’d lost you. They said—they said you were gone. God gave us a miracle, he brought you back to us. You’re a miracle, Tabby Sweetie.”

   “Then,” Tabitha said slowly, “let’s go to church. Sometime.”

   “You want to go to church?” Mrs. Moore asked in surprise. “We can do that, we can start going to church.”

   “Really?” Tabitha blinked.

   “Of course, really,” Mrs. Moore promised. “If you want us to go to church, then we’re all going to church. Every Sunday.”

   “I figure,” Tabitha breathed, “that, it can’t hurt. Right?”

   “You’re right, you’re absolutely right,” Mrs. Moore said quickly, trying to smile. “I don’t know why we weren’t going. He’s—He’s been so good to us. We’ll find a good church to go to.”

   “Elena’s family. Presbyterian,” Tabitha said. “But, ‘Licia and the Williams’—Methodist.”

   Speaking in complete sentences somehow seemed like a huge hurdle, and whatever soup of morphine they were feeding into her IV had Tabitha feel like she was right on the cusp of falling back asleep at any moment. It was incredibly tiresome, but even through the fog of painkillers the side of her head felt raw, as if they’d sheared off part of her skull to access the bleed on her brain.

   No, not a bleed on my brain, Tabitha told herself. Not for sure. That was just something from my dream. Probably. I’ll need to ask what actually happened here sometime soon. Get everything straight.

   “Presbyterian and Methodist?” Mrs. Moore repeated. “We’ll go to whichever one you want. We can try them both. Elena, Alicia, the Williams—everyone’s been in to see you. Hannah stops in every day and holds your hand. You woke up for a bit, tried to say something to Elena, but we couldn’t figure out what it was before you were out again. You just went out like a light.”

   “I—” Tabitha frowned, furrowing her brow. “Sorry. Don’t remember.”

   “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Her mother quickly reassured her. “You can talk to everyone when you’re feeling a little better. Everyone just had to rush back when we got word that you were making a recovery. It really is a miracle, Tabitha. You were so close to—well. It’s Heaven-sent, that He gave you back to us. I love you so much, Tabitha. I didn’t know what I was ever going to do without you. Frightens me even imagining it. I, I just couldn’t—”

   “I’m here,” Tabitha promised, attempting to squeeze Mrs. Moore’s hand with her own. “Can’t leave. Too much to do.”

   “Can’t leave—too much to do?” Mrs. Moore repeated, wiping at her eyes. “Oh, Sweetie. I love you.”

   “Love you, Mom,” Tabitha mumbled as she drifted back into unconsciousness.

*     *     *

   “Nothing here, either?” Mrs. Seelbaugh failed to hide her disappointment. “Nothing?”

   The Sandboro Mall was once again the first place her mother thought of to try to cheer Elena up, some small comfort or semblance of normalcy to interrupt the strange gloom her daughter had fallen into. Instead, each of their familiar shopping haunts filled her with disgust and self-loathing, and Elena glared across the racks of flannel and plaid in distaste and crossed her arms at the rows of distressed jeans on mannequin displays.

   “Can I just… walk around on my own a bit?” Elena asked.

   “Of course you can!” Mrs. Seelbaugh quickly dug into her purse. “Do you want some twenties, or—”

   “I don’t need to buy anything,” Elena shook her head, trying not to get annoyed. She knew her mother was doing anything and everything to help, she knew her Mom cared, just right now with her mood... every little thing was an aggravation that seemed to get under her skin. Elena needed some distance for a little while. From a lot of things. “Just want to go around on my own.”

   “Of course—I understand completely,” Mrs. Seelbaugh acknowledged with a slightly pained expression. “I was getting hungry anyways! I’ll just grab a pretzel and sit at the bench by the fountain at the intersection there. Will you be—um, will you please try not to go too far down the way? Please? Just the stores in sight of the fountain. Or, you cou—”

   “I won’t go far,” Elena promised, stepping in to give her mother the hug she knew the woman needed—her Mom was positively radiating worry and concern. “Thanks, Mom.”

   For the next thirty minutes Elena threaded her way through the aisles and racks of the nearby stores with a listless expression, examining the wares with detachment as she fought to distance herself from the Elena of before. The jewelry store held less interest for her than ever before, the shop filled with purses, wallets, and watches bored her, and looking at shoes seemed too old Elena. The Waldenbooks held promise and she knew there was escape somewhere in the hundreds of books arrayed on those shelves, but a pair of cheery teenage girls were babbling and gossiping there and the compulsion to leave overtook her.

   Having no other stores left to explore and with her mother sneaking awkward glances in her direction from the bench by the fountain, Elena trudged despondently into the place she didn’t belong—the Sandboro Mall’s Hot Topic. The despondent blonde almost scowled and walked right back out again— the displays right in the entrance were all South Park merchandise and wrestling paraphernalia; black shirts with nWo or Austin 3:16 on them. Glancing around at the walls she saw band tees for Korn, Sublime, and No Doubt, also all on black shirts.

   Why is everything BLACK, though? Elena thought to herself, already turning to leave.

   “Yeah, can I help you?” a punkish young woman behind the counter said with reluctance.

   The girl looked completely absurd—her hair was a garish shade of neon green and arrayed to taper into six-inch spikes that jutted out from her scalp in every direction. Between the spikes her roots were growing in a dull, ashy and damaged color. The Hot Topic employee was glaring daggers at her through eyeliner drawn on so heavily that Elena couldn’t help but think of it as Halloween makeup, and both her lip and brow sported piercings.

   Beside the employee behind the counter was a much older man—perhaps her dad’s age, who wore a leather vest over a sleeveless band shirt and had tattoos running down both arms.

   “Hah, don’t mind her!” The older man barked out in a surprisingly cordial voice. “What can we help ya find, Little Miss?”

   “Um,” Elena tried not to stare. “I don’t know. I’m. I don’t know, I’m looking for… a new me?”

   “A new you?” The man seemed to light up. “You’ve come to the right place!”

   “No you haven’t,” The punk girl disagreed in a deadpan monotone that reminded Elena of the MTV Daria cartoon. “A new you isn’t something one buys or puts a price tag on. Mr. Gary’s just trying to make a sale. Mindless consumerism is everything that’s wrong with—”

   “Pardon my employee Ziggy here—she gets a little confused,” The man said with a good-natured chuckle. “I’m sure we have something here that’ll be just what you need.”

   Elena couldn’t help but stare at the punk girl’s nametag, which did indeed read ‘Ziggy.’ Figuring she didn’t have anything to lose, she let out a slow breath and decided to lay her cards on the table.

   “I don’t really know what I’m doing. I just… don’t want to be me anymore. I don’t like who I was, and I want to… distance myself from it, as much as possible?” Elena mumbled out in embarrassment, gesturing across the dark apparel on display. “I just. Don’t know if all of this is me, either.”

   “You’re right at that age where you need to figure out your identity,” The man—apparently Mr. Gary—nodded, stepping out from the central counter kiosk. “Went through it all myself, we all do. The best advice anyone can give you is that real change comes from within.”

   “Don’t listen to him,” Ziggy muttered under her breath. “He’ll use any bumper sticker sophism to try to sell you something.”

   “Ziggy, please,” Mr. Gary rolled his eyes. “Go look busy or something, will ya? Anyways, as I was saying—real change comes from within. Now, what does that mean, exactly? For other people, I couldn’t tell ya. But, for me, that always meant music.”

   “Oh,” Elena said, glancing around the aisles. “You sell music?”

   “We do sell a bit of music,” Mr. Gary admitted, looking up across the wall of band tees on display. “Wouldn’t recommend buying anything blind, though. Not at these prices, hah! Won’t even suggest any bands for ya—my tastes are pretty rooted in the time period I grew up in, and… well, discovering the music that moves you is part of your own personal journey.”

   “Wait, you’re looking for music?” Ziggy’s affected apathy disappeared. “I can recommend you some—”

   “Oh, now you want to sell something?!” Mr. Gary waved her off. “Get outta here with your garage-band punko garbage.”

   “Are you looking for music?” Ziggy ignored her boss to fixate on Elena. “What do you listen to now?”

   “I... don’t know. Normal stuff from on the radio?” Elena shrugged. Staring at the punk girl’s giant green spikes, the sudden impulse to reveal something swept over her. “I was actually thinking about cutting my hair real short, finding a, um. Totally different look. I... don’t really know what I’m going to do.”

   “Well, definitely don’t cut off all your hair,” Mr. Gary snorted. “You have great—”

   “You should shave it all off,” Ziggy disagreed with enthusiasm. “Or buzz most of it off, and then put the rest up in a mohawk, or spikes. My girlfriend Monique did my hair, I can write down her number for—”

   “Whoa there, slow down Ziggy,” Mr. Gary laughed. “If she ends up hating it, she can’t exactly put it all back right away, you know?”

   “Ugh,” Ziggy let out a long-suffering sigh and rolled her eyes. “You just don’t get it, and you’ll never understand. Don’t you have old man stuff to do? Corporate sellout paperwork or something in the back?”

   “Tell ya what,” Mr. Gary this time ignored Ziggy, opening up a plexiglass display case and tossing a small container over to Elena. “For you; on the house.”

   “Oh, and now you’re GIVING AWAY product?” Ziggy slapped both hands on the counter. “Oh, so yeah it’s fine when you do it, but the second I even want to discount a—”

   “Ziggy, stuff it—it’s my store, I do what I want,” Mr. Gary shot back. “Besides, it’s more like an investment. If she ends up liking it, she’ll want stuff to go with the new look, right? Pretty young girl decks herself out in Hot Topic merchandise, then she’s a walking billboard for us to all her friends and admirers. Opens up a whole new market.”

   “Whatever,” Ziggy growled with obvious distaste. “You’re not even my real dad. You disgust me.”

   “Go take your smoke break, get outta here,” Mr. Gary waved the employee off and turned back towards Elena. “You go to school here in Sandboro? West Martin?”

   “Um. Springton,” Elena mumbled as she turned the little tub she’d been gifted over in her hands—it read Manic Panic, and purported itself to be semi-permanent black hair dye.

   Dying her blonde hair black seemed… great, like it would present a whole different Elena in the mirror. Exactly what she needed. She’d never thought of herself drawn to the subculture until this moment, but now the pull felt strong. Carrie and so many of the Springton High girls continued to wrap themselves in the preppie pop princess aesthetic anyways, adding appeal to the urge to redefine herself from blonde to black.

   Maybe… this is what I need? 

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/// Gary and Ziggy are so fun to write that they're in danger of becoming recurring characters. Visit https://dinosaurdracula.com/blog/deadsites-hot-topic-1998/ for a slice of the time period.

Tomorrow's teaser is either an AH 18 and Up or the second part of the RE:TT Special, whichever gets finished first.