An ongoing story about a girl named Quinn.
|Chapter Two: Back to the Beginning.
Quinn’s parents started off well enough. High school sweethearts; the typical cheerleader/ football player power couple. Just after graduation they married and had a beautiful black haired baby girl. But just as love leads to heartache, responsibility led to alcoholism and an unnecessarily cruel marriage. A bastard child with the supermarket checkout boy, ten years later then led to divorce and another child, neither bastards any longer. To put it simply, Quinn’s mother had an affair that resulted in a little brother, Tanner, and a little sister a year after that, Sasha. They got married a month before Sasha was born.
Quinn wasn’t a great student, although she loved books and learning. School just wasn’t a priority. There are people who write about life and people who live it. Quinn wanted experience, she wanted adventure. Actually she could throw both away if only she could have love. And not this bullshit that every other skank at school thought she had every time she opened her legs. Quinn had tasted it once. But a taste is a taste and not only does it make you crave more, it isn‘t the real thing; it‘s an imposter, almost like a thief.
But that one little taste had her craving. And the desire devoured her. She ran away so many times, let her hair billow behind her in the wind, her face splash against the fiery cold wind of the desert. But every turn she found herself running in circles trying to catch her own tail. And one day… She just walked away, leaving her tail behind her.
She had a quiet charm. She was beautiful but not like a movie star or even the girl next door. She was beautiful in the way poetry is beautiful. She didn’t move with grace, but as she walked on her heels you could almost feel her passion lifting her off the ground. But, no, she was more subtle than that. She was a bit of a loner and that was probably her biggest draw. Human beings are grossly attracted to sorrow. And sorrow was definitely something Quinn embodied. Sorrow seemed to pour from her. The smell of tears clutching onto that tail of hers like a giant, invisible flea.
And the men, or boys, or people that followed her after the graduation she could have but did not attend, were horrid. Used only for entertainment and company and yet each one thought they got through to her, that they were the ones who could save her. She kept it this way for her own safety. Once in a while she could convince herself it would be different. But after the toxic rush of newness ran out she snuck away in the dark to find her next fix.
Quinn had many people she referred to as friends but in her mind they were only lowly subjects in her court of white roses. Friends were unnecessary burdens that came and went like flights at an airport. At this point in her life she was oblivious to loneliness; felt it was made up for fairy tales and so-called great literary pieces. Her voice, her mind, her own living self was all she needed. And really, that was the truth.
Instead of wasting away in her desert dump, she took a job at a local pet store and saved enough money to rent a room in a slightly safer area of town than she had grown up in. DESCRIBE HER ROOM.
Driving was not an option. She felt it was too much of a hassle and deep down she knew that it was the very last piece of childhood she could hold onto. It seemed silly but she knew that once she obtained that stupid piece of plastic, she would no longer be a child. That scared her more than her mother’s early morning rages. She had lost so much of her childhood, she only wanted to preserve what was left. Plus, walking was punk. And she liked feeling dirty and poor- she was accustomed to the lifestyle.
The local community college was in walking distance and she walked her punk self right up to the first window in the second hall of the fourth building on campus. “I’m here to register for fall classes.” She always thought it was odd how people had to speak when they went to a specific place to handle specific business. Like when someone walks to the “PAY BILLS HERE” sign at the electric company and the person behind the counter just stares. Eventually they may ask “How can I help you?” but Quinn felt it completely awkward to force the customer to speak first.
“What the hell are you doing at my window?” Quinn hated his voice. Pity was her gut reaction to the thirty-something man with so much bitterness and resentment toward the very youth he once guided. After recognizing Mr. Pedersen, Quinn slid her paperwork packet under the partition and pointed to the sign above the window that said Admissions and Registration. She gave a real smile, feeling as if she had a tally mark on her side of the cave.
Dominick Pedersen was the most unique advisor to have ever advised a teenager in the history of advising. If the definition of unique is telling said teenager that she was “an ignorant spic that just needed to drop out”. The handsome truth was, she was Italian and Irish for the most part and had a C in her Spanish class. Funny, coming from an educated man with a minor in Ethnic Communications. She had seen the puny little plaque on his desk and wondered where in the hell Grantham College was. When Quinn said something in passing to another teacher, the word spread like Chlamydia on a cheerleading squad. Eventually she was summoned to the vice-principal’s office through the old fashioned sound system, where he and Mr. Pedersen anticipated every excuse not coming from her mouth. The only words she let out were “Okay” and “Let’s just be friends.” Of course this was in response to “How would you like to see me in Saturday school Miss Novelle?” But the point was, she was being ambushed and she automatically withdrew, knowing damn well the fight wasn’t worth it. No apologizing, just a wasted weekend and a few hours of reading for letting her great counselor call her a stupid spic.