Perhaps it was a dream, she thought. Perhaps if she pinched herself, she would wake up. But she didn't want to wake up. She wanted to stay in this dream world where she was pretty, popular and NOT fat. Her mother, Geraldine, liked to speculate, often through verbal ridicule that her daughter often slept as much as she did due to depression. Which in partial was true. Reality for Brittany Haselrig, sucked. Actuality for her was Southeast High School, in Hartwick, Texas, where she often found herself the butt of Mary Lee Clayton's insults and painfully unnoticed by Nick Wilson, captain of the football team. If she opened her eyes, before her she'd see an old farmhouse, chipped and stained. A neglectful stepfather, who married a woman strictly for her good looks (which Brittany did not inherit by the way) not to be outdone by his trophy wife, who in turn only married him because of an inheritance that she was almost certain he would one day get. Seeing her mother usually only took notice in materialistic things, she was surprised that her mother took as much interest in Jerome Grossman as she did. It didn't make sense to her why a woman wrapped up in her own shallowness would ever want a balding, fat man, who didn't seem to have much in life. Then one day it all came together when Brittany learned that her Stepdad's father was part owner of farmland, his share worth somewhere in the neighborhood of nine million dollars. They'd have to wait until his death of course to collect, but for that type of money, her mother didn't mind being patient. Brittany on the other hand did.
Not that Brittany resembled her mother in terms of avarice. For Brittany it was more a matter of timing. She was a senior in high school, already through half the year. Only a little over three more months to go. She hated herself for hoping one day she'd hear about her stepgrandfather's death, but she forgave herself as to why. She had nothing against the man she had only met a handful of times. He seemed a nice enough. Much like Jerome himself, J.R. as they called the Grossman patriarch, preferred to be left alone. At 90 years old, Brittany often imagined she'd come home from school one day to see her Stepdad in distraught, and her mother going for the academy award to act just as upset, at the death of J.R. She imagined as Jerome would eventually be left to grieve alone, that she would listen to her mother damn Uncle Sam to Hell. Inheritance tax whatever it would be, would still leave them with more money than they ever thought they would have, but her mother wanted all of it.
And who was Brittany to judge? She liked to think of herself, at least on a moral level, to be better than her mother, but was she? That she questioned. She wanted that money. There was no attempt at false modesty here. Maybe not as much as her mother did, but she wanted it. And furthermore, she wanted it now. Maybe Mary Lee Clayton would still think she's better than her, but Brittany would have the fancier, more expensive clothes. She'd out do Mary Lee Clayton in terms of jewelry and most importantly she'd outdo Mary Lee Clayton with the most expensive car her mother would allow her to buy. It was bad enough that Brittany had to drive a Geo Metro to school. A car that Mary Lee Clayton referred to as "the turd." The teasing and bullying were about all Brittany thought she could handle, until the Geo one day blew a gasket. For two solid weeks, Brittany, a senior in high school, had to ride the bus. Humiliating enough as it was, Mary Lee Clayton made sure to remind everyone as often as she could. Oh, what Brittany would give to roll into school in a Bentley or Porsche. See what Mary Lee Clayton would have to say then.
And then, there was Nick Wilson. It was funny as much as Brittany loathed the superficiality and cursory demeanor of Mary Lee Clayton, she secretly hoped that Nick Wilson might be at least a smidgen that way. She knew that there was no way, as she was, that he would ever want to be with her. She was middle class, unpopular and unattractive. Money, she dreamed, might make the difference. Even if it would never blossom into anything other than a one time get together, she'd invite him on a limousine ride to Houston to the most elegant and sophisticated restaurant she could find. No way would he turn that down. And if he did, then she'd invite him to sit in box seats at a Houston Texans game. An offer, no Texan, other than a Dallas Cowboys fan, could ever resist.
It was quite the fantasy. One Brittany found herself in whenever she closed her eyes and dreamt. A world where, even if it was pure imagination, she for once got to be better than Mary Lee Clayton. Make her feel small. Make her feel for once in her stuck up, better than thou art, maleficent ways inferior to someone else. Brittany felt an enormous guilt at the resentment she felt for J.R. for being as able and healthy as he was. She repressed the thoughts to the point of subconsciousness, but even at that point, she could not deny the feelings. He'd live well past her graduation date. Well past the opportunity to have those days, those moments, to where it'd finally be her turn to look down at Mary Lee Clayton. Resentment she found to be stronger than guilt or regret.
She tried her best to only dream of the future. Something that had the ability to change. The past, as much as she yearned for it, would never be again. She thought it illogical and furthermore detrimental to think of yesterday but it crept its way into fantasy anyway. In her dream Bobby Haselrig, her father was still alive. He hadn't died those years ago from mesothelioma. He wasn't buried in a cemetery in far away New Mexico. He was still alive and they still lived Aztec. She still attended Vista Nueva, where she still wasn't popular, but at least she had friends. And better yet, no enemies. No Mary Lee Clayton.
As the alarm clock rang a third time Brittany debated in her mind which fantasy she enjoyed more. The one where she had money and she could up Mary Lee Clayton or the one where she was back in Aztec, and she didn't even exist. Suppose it didn't matter which one was better, neither was the option she'd have when she opened her eyes. Instead she'd open them, shower, brush her teeth and hop in to her "turd" for another day of torment at the whits of Mary Lee Clayton at Southeast high.
"I don't get why you let that alarm clock go off so many times!" Her mother yelled unable to fathom why her daughter always seemed to stay in bed as long as she could. She didn't know why they had to go through this every morning. She knew her daughter heard her, same way she heard the alarm clock the previous two times it had gone off. Maybe only if she could see what Brittany saw, maybe then she'd understand why for as long as she could, she would keep her eyes shut.
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