She's sorry, I can tell.
"Stick to what you know, sweetie. Trash."
My mouth was at the ground. Did my mother just call me trash? I reckon she did. Even worse, she wasn't finished.
"Trash works best with that complexion. It's not half as good as mine. Don't you think, Allison? Oh, wait. That's not your name anymore. I forgot. Isn't it Alc? What a trashy name. Fits you all the better, if you ask me. You just scream hooker with those boots."
I snuck a glance at my boots. They were, in fact, up to my kneecaps. I couldn't let her know I cared. Then, then she'd never be finished with me. I'd always be trash in her eyes. I distracted myself by pulling out my compact & lipstick.
Mother sneered at me. "I said you were trash, Allison. What are you going to say for yourself? That you're a clean dinner plate?"
I flat out ignored her. Tears were welling up in my eyes, making my skin blotchy, but my lips were looking pretty damn good, now. I pressed them together and blew my mirror a kiss.
"Jesus, Allison. Do you always wear that? You look like a fucking hooker. Move to Nevada."
OUT OF LINE.
"Excuse me, mother. Am I supposed to look like you?"
I stared her down. I gave her the best stare I could muster with the steadiest voice imaginable. I was undeafeatable.
"Yes, sweetheart. Because despite what I just said, trash is not for my little girl."
Now it was my turn to snicker.
"But, mother, why is trash fine for you? I know you're trashy. I remember when you were desperate enough and poor enough to get a trailer. Now, when was this, mother?"
She was mortified, sickened, and chalky white. I got one over on her.
"Allison.."
"Oh yes. THAT WAS LAST WEEK. Don't worry mother, I won't let your friends know you're.. what did you say I was, before, mother? Trash, was it? Yes, I won't let your friends know that you're trash, as you love to put it."
She was bent over the sink when I left, vomiting up every ounce of self respect she had left
and dead on her bed when I returned.