Left for Garbage

me.
    I only got to talk to him - well, we texted - one last time after that, before the cops put me in jail. He asked why I hadn’t told him about Deeley being missing and why I’d seemed all happy and shit, but he asked like he’d already been turned off, and he sounded super-judgmental, so I didn’t think anything I said at that point would be good. I wish I’d told him now that the reason I seemed so happy was because I was happy. Even after losing my own baby, I loved him so much and was so into him that in his arms I could forget my tragedy for a while. I so wish I’d told him that. I’d write him now and say it but I can’t find out his address. He’s probably gone back to New York and hooked up with someone else by now. One thing I know for sure is that even if he’s in the arms of some hot babe out there, I’m not jealous. I know she’ll never compare to what Aaron and I had, even though our time together was so brief. He once said my breasts are the most beautiful he’s ever seen. I know he was completely in love with me and probably getting ready to propose. This is just another thing that I’ve lost that I can thank my mom for.
    There are all kinds of things in the news and over the Net now about my personal business. I feel such betra yal all around me. My fugly pen pal, slash quotation marks, slash friend, slash snitch I wrote to in here stabbed me in the back and gave my letters to the cops and then probably sold them to the media. Well, good. Maybe they’ll pay her enough to get plastic surgery and liposuction. She needs it. Though, God, I shouldn’t make fun of anyone for their weight. I’m blowing up so bad in here because of all the starch and I’m getting zits again, too.
    Speaking of which , some dyke jail guard in here was told by that lame district attorney who is trying to kill me to take pictures of my tattoo, the one I got for Aaron – ‘The beautiful life’ - so she takes them and naturally, given my shit luck, my back is all broken out at the time, and what do you know, not two days later there’s my back zits in living color in the ‘National Enquirer’. Nice!
    Meantime , my mother is the new voice of the media, Miss Meet the Press, meet me in my front yard, or at the grocery store, or outside the jail while visiting my ‘poor daughter’ . None of my friends have any compassion, either; they’ve all betrayed me. My ‘sex talk’ with Aaron was not meant for the cops or the public to get a rise out of, but that got sold too. So much for the gag order the judge imposed. What a laugh and a half .
    I don’t know why I’m missing Aaron so much, but I am. I guess he’s a diversion my mind can go to, being he was the last man whose arms I was in, maybe the last man whose arms I will ever kno w. He couldn’t get enough of me and I loved every minute of it. I’m not ashamed of the amazing sex we shared. I don’t even care that my parents have heard about it. I am … was … a mother, after all, a grown woman, which was something my mother always failed to realize with her constant telling me what to do, like I was Deeley’s age or something. God, I get crazy pissed when I think of how she treated me. I see my mother on the news almost every night and all she’s doing is making things worse for me.
    You’d think by now she’d have learned to shut up. I don’t have any desire to see my parents anymore and I told the jail that. So, of course, my mother seeing an opportunity to get on TV, her favorite place in the world, calls all the media and tells them she is going to come to see me whether I want it or not.
    Two funny things hap pened that day: one, she didn’t get in; and two, the media didn’t show up either, except for some local rag who got a picture of her sitting outside the jail, waiting for hours for news cameras that never came.
    When I’m in the spotlight, when that time comes, I will be photographed and quoted and taped for every blink of my eye and every smile I give , or tear I shed, as Salvatore says there need to be a lot of those. I’m the one they want, I’m what America wants. Take that, Charlotte Hope! You should call your show ‘Eye of Denise’, because I’m really the only reason anyone watches you, and OMG, is that bitch going to have the lawsuit of a lifetime when I walk my ass on out of here, totally exonerated, with my head held high! Who knows, maybe I’ll be hosting her show by this time next year. I can if I want to. The