This is a piece of new writing that I did in the Fall. I just felt like posting some original work today!
Margot could not figure out why she kept coming back here. She took a long sip of her vodka spiked lemonade, knowing that she wasn't supposed to drink, yet doing it anyway. It made her feel grown-up and sneaky. Tonight she wore a short and very tight black mini dress paired with bright red pumps and naked hose. On a larger woman this outfit would of looked slutty, on Margot's small, childlike frame it almost made her look like she was dressing up in her mother's clothes. Only the small, deep lines on her face gave her age away. Margot took another sip of the slightly sweet beverage and wiggled her shoulders in a pathetic attempt to make her size A chest look larger. Margot had put her hair in a conservative upsweep and applied minimal eyeliner and lipstick in an attempt to make her daring outfit seem more innocent. It didn't matter, no one was looking.
The dance floor was full. From her perch in the balcony, Margot saw things like dry humping, hands roaming in clothes, and kisses that were far too sensual to be seen in public light. The Disco Zone was not well lit. The music was pulsing and the lights were blinking. Margot had been coming here every weekend for the last six months. The wait staff recognized her. Jesus always gave her vodka lemonade. Both Janet and Jesus waited on the balcony. They knew that Margot would drink exactly three of these drinks. They remembered from week-to-week and she tipped well.
Sometimes Margot felt the urge to join the pulsating amoeba that was the dance floor. Secretly she had hoped that by coming to the same place often that she would meet someone who would take her down there himself. Margot both wanted and feared such involvement. The last time that she allowed herself to get involved an explanation about the faint scars lining the insides of her wrists was requested. When she gave it, the relationship was gone, couldn't get his pants on fast enough, they weren't even buttoned when he stumbled out the door. Margot smiled to herself and signaled Jesus that she was ready for another round.
Tonight Margot felt different. They didn't know that she went on her unsupervised outings to a bar. They didn't know that she had enough family money to keep an apartment on the side. Dear old doddering Dr. Winnepeg pinned high hopes on Margot's ability to get better. Her fragile childhood and adolescent abuse, the impulse of her family to wipe away these transgressions through gifts and money, Dr. Winnepeg did not label them insurmountable obstacles. He took professional pride in her challenging case history of doing poorly in institutions. This time would be different Dr. Winnepeg told her, this time she would overcome.
She had overcome a lot. The Bulimia for starters, although Margot still could not seem to gain weight. "Hey, look up there, grandma's back!" The group of young men who pointed her out every week smiled maliciously from the dance floor. "Oh just leave the poor old lady alone. She's just a barfly," said the girl, the one with bleached blond hair piled in waves atop her head. They made their way out onto the dance floor. Margot lost them in the dark. She took another sip of her drink and tried not to cry.
The night that she jumped from the balcony, Margot was wearing shimmering silver tights, ankle high black boots, and a deep purple colored Flashdance sweater. Her hair was down and fanned out around her small head when she hit the floor. This was her third attempt and they say that the third time is always a charm.