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Rated: E · Fiction · Women's · #2142446
The beginning of a story.. I am going somewhere with this and will post more.
Saturday, March 21st

Saturdays meant nothing to me aside from a double shift at Joe's Diner. I was the only waitress willing to work; I was unsure if this was because I was the oldest and past my partying prime, or if it was because I was a single mother with two daughters at home and I desperately needed the income. On a Saturday, I was paid double the normal waitress pay, and I was able to keep my tips, meaning that it was the only day of the week that I ever truly brought home any money.

Joe's Diner was just as mundane as it sounds. I was sure that there was a Joe's Diner in every small town in the southern states; Marysville was no exception. Joe's was open all night, and because it was conveniently located across from the only hospital within a one-hundred-mile radius, it stayed fairly steady throughout my shift. I generally worked in the evening and overnight, and I was always the sole waitress on shift.

The afternoon of March 21st began the same as any other. I basked in every second of my ten-minute shower, perhaps the only time in a day I ever got to myself. Afterwards, I reluctantly pulled my waitress uniform over my head and tied the apron at my waist. It was filled with wrinkles from being left in the dryer for two long after the cycle ended, and it could have probably used a lint roller. I chose to push these details to the back of my mind as I quickly traced my lips with a thin layer of red lipstick to make my fake smile more noticeable to the customers- anything to increase my tips.

I was headed out the door, car keys in hand, when I heard screaming from the girls' room. I dropped my purse and practically flew to their bedroom. They must have heard me running, or perhaps felt my footsteps as we resided in an aging trailer. When I pushed through the doorway, they were sitting quietly on the bottom bunk of their bed, hands in their laps.

"Someone speak," I demanded, "What's happening in here?"

Delaney spoke first. "It wasn't me mama. She's just acting like a baby because I won't share everything I own with her, and I shouldn't have to just because she's my twin."

Delaney was right, of course. I had always attempted to be fair with the girls since their father left and buy two of everything, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with my limited income. Delaney and Delilah had turned thirteen just two months prior, and their interests were getting more expensive every day. They were arguing about eye shadow; it must be so simple to be a teenager.
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