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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/882575-Goldie-Gets-Hers
Rated: 13+ · Prose · Comedy · #882575
Oh, you think you know the real Goldilocks?
"Yeah, whachoo lookin' at!" She takes a long drag from the cigarette hanging from her lips. "You act like you've never been on the inside." Her graveled voice cutting an edge through the smoke. "Look at ya! Yeah, I know your type and I'm sick of 'em." She flicks the butt against the wall that makes up the northern boundary of the exercise yard. Almost to herself, "Think those damn bears had it so bad!"

She slowly walks to the link fence, grasps the fence, and stares out seemingly lost in some reverie. Her face softens, taken over by the memory, her voice takes on a far off, almost tranquil quality.

"You know, I wasn't always this way. My dad was the CEO of a major honey production company. You may have seen the stuff on the grocery shelves, in those little bear shaped bottles? Yeah, we had it good! No curds and whey for me, no sir. Only the best. The BEST! Nothing was too good for their little Goldilocks! Anything I wanted I got! If I wasn't happy nobody was happy!"

She laughs, not one of those joyful laughs but the kind that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Yeah, Goldie had gone bad. I shrug, trying to look calm as she continues.

"They were never home, though, my folks. Just sorta drop in and pat me on the head, like I was a the dog. Hey, you got a cig?"

I do. I learned early on never come to the big house without some cigarettes. I take out the pack and hand it to her along with a lighter trying to keep my hands steady.

She takes a long drag and instantly calms down. She turns, leaning against the fence now, one foot propped against it and runs her hands through closed cropped gold.

"So, one day I decide maybe I'll go into the woods. You know, just kinda for a walk. That's when I met her. One of the baddest girls in Storyland. Oh, she had a line that could catch the toughest fish. Everyone thought she was so sweet, and innocent. Yeah, she could run game. Told me about breakin' into houses and takin' stuff. It sounded fun, you know, a little edgy, dangerous. I don't know, I just needed somethin' more."

Here she stops and takes another drag. She stands there leaning against the fence, pensive. The seconds stretched like a rubber band. Knowing any minute it may snap, I prompt her, "So, this girl, she have a name?"

She laughs that humorless laugh, void of all human feeling. "Red." One word, but it has the power of a thousand.

"Wait, are you trying to tell me Little Red Ridinghood is not what she appears?"

That laugh again, except this time there is a sandpaper edge that scores the air.

"Oh, yeah, she could run game. That whole goin' to Grandma's scam. The old lady had one foot in the grave and the other one cut off. Yeah, she was bringin' goodies alright. She and the Wolf were runnin' a meth lab out of the old ladies house. See, I wasn't smart. I was like everybody else. You know, I believed that whole story about the Wolf trying to have his way with her. Yeah, good cover. Flutter the eyelashes, make the doe eyes, a few fake tears, psh, girl can act."

"But you wanna know what Red has to do with me, right?"

I nod amazed at how little I know about the fairytale world.

"Well, she told me about this old lady who lived by herself, except for this mangy little dog. It would be an easy hit, just for fun. See, I didn't need the money. It was all about the thrill, all about making people suffer."

"So, uh, what did you do?"

"Man, we took all her food! Yeah, cleaned the cupboard out. Even took the stupid dog's bone. Yeah, she was somethin'!"

She laughs so hard she is crying. I wonder if this is the only time her eyes shed real tears. She takes the last hit from the cigarette drops it and grinds it with more force than necessary, crushing it into the ground. Once again, staring out past the fence; however, this time anger starts dancing across her raw granite face. Suddenly, words explode from her mouth, "I always hated those bears."

"What, excuse me, bears?" But she isn't listening, she's off and running.

"So, good. Thought they were better. Papa Bear was in charge of honey acquisition. Always talkin' about not bein' able to go on business trips without his family. Yeah, can't leave 'em. Baby Bear was getting to the age where he needed his old man at home. Got tired of hearing it. So, The Bears were goin' to the company picnic. The Big Company Picnic, one big happy family. The old man didn't even know I wasn't there. I called Red, she got a hold of the Pigs."

I interrupt, "The Pigs?"

"Yeah," she spits angrily irritated by interruption, "as in Three Little?" That wry smile of disgust, "I guess you didn't know the whole Wolf thing was about a drug deal gone bad. Man, you live in a fantasy world!" She shoots me a looked that warned me not to interrupt again.

"We broke in and tore the place up. Yeah, had a regular party. I made sure to destroy everything that belonged to BB. You know, you always hear about honor among thieves, but I'm here to tell ya it don't exist. Seems The Bears left the picnic early. I was upstairs going through the bedrooms, trying to see if there was somethin' worth takin'. I never heard them. Red and the Pigs had made a clean get away but I didn't hear 'em. See? I was upstairs. I climbed out the window and ran. Ran for my life. But when you're the only kid in Storyland with long, curly, golden locks, well, I wasn't hard to pick out of the line up."

This time when she laughs it almost makes me cry. The despair of a life lost.

"So, there ya go. Hope I made your day. I gotta go now."

She holds out a hand gnarled and calloused from working the pile; however, this time when she smiles there's something soft almost friendly about it.

"Listen," she says,"thanks for hearing the whole story. No one ever wants to hear the whole story."

She's embarrassed for revealing a softer side. I just take her hand, smile back, and give her the pack of cigarettes.
© Copyright 2004 Texas Belle (texasbelle at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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