Smelly Imbeciles Have Hearts Too

I want to rip my fucking hair out!

A vanilla candle illuminates the beige walls of my bathroom as I stand on my furry blue bathmat lost in my own reflection.

I peer into my dark brown eyes. They glare back at me. Taunting me.

I look away and gaze at the stapled brown Sally’s beauty bag resting on top of the dirty marble sink.

Should I?

I shift my focus back onto the mirror and examine myself.

Mirror mirror on the wall… why why why did I have to be cursed with this disgusting ratty orange hair?

I hesitate.

Screw it. Let’s do it.

I tear the bag to shreds, yank out the level 4 dark ash brown hair dye, and a volume 20 developer, slide on some blue plastic gloves, stir the mix in a bowl, and splatter it on my head.

(A few moments later.)

I ogle at myself as I sift my hand through my new dark locks.

For the first time in my life, I feel beautiful.

(8:15 the next day.)

I practice flipping my hair back as I strut across the school bathroom.

Girl, you look hot.

I smile and flash a little wink at myself.

Too much?

Way too much.

Then, doubt floods through my brain.

Is anyone going to like it?

Will anyone even notice?

BING BING BING

Oh, shit. Class just started. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I yank my backpack off the bathroom floor and bolt into the hallway.

Oh God, I’m late, and now everyone is gonna stare at me, I mean I completely remodeled my entire identity, what is everyone gonna think? They will love it. Of course they will? But why am I so Goddamn nervous?

I freeze in place.

Oh no.

This is way too much.

Are people going to like it?

What if people hate it?

This could quite possibly be the most epic preposterously awful shameful public humiliation in the history of my life.

No that won’t happen. Shut up Roxanne, you look gorgeous.

I stampede down the marble hallway, Room 322, come on faster, I could feel my heart thumping, Room 326, Oh shit is my shoe untied? Whatever, keep moving. I heard this teacher is a real douche about tardiness. I gasp for air as I hustle faster and faster. I could feel beads of sweat piling on my forehead. Shit. Shit. Shit. Hurry.

A-ha! There we go! Room 328.

My heart nearly bursts out of my chest.

You got this.

Just take a deep breathe.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Okay. I’m ready.

I cut into the classroom and dart towards the only seat available and….

OOOOOOOWWWW!

Oh shit.

I groan in agony, as I slowly lift myself back onto my feet.

Stupid fucking shoelace.

Each and every set of eyes glares at me, piercing through my skin.

Just get to your seat.

I cover my beet red face as I trudge towards my seat but then…

“How about that for an entrance,” chirps a high pitched voice from the front of the room.

The Humpty Dumpty shaped man proceeds to clap his hands slowly.

Then faster.

Then louder.

All whilst choking on his own laughter.

The rest of the room sits in frozen silence.

Oh God. Say something.

I wince holding back tears, “Uh, I’m so sorry”

“What is your name, Miss?” I felt his spit splatter onto my forehead.

“Roxanne Braveheart.”

“Ah right. I hope you are aware that it is class policy that you show up on time, and you were exactly…”

He slowly unbuttons his shirt’s cuff, meticulously uncovers his sleeve, folds it over his wrist, and glances down at a silver Rolex.

“1 minute and 49 seconds late.”

I WANT TO DIE! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?

“I’m sorry.”

“Since today is the first day I will grant you a pass. But next time I will show no mercy, Miss Braveheart.”

In what hellish evil Satan worshipping world is this mercy?

“Okay, thank you.”

“Now be seated.”

I sprint towards the only remaining seat.

But then…

I make a fatal error.

I briefly glance into the emerald green eyes of Coco Jones.

Under her breathe she mutters, “Looks like someone’s going through a phase, didn’t know she could possibly get uglier.”

I tightly clench my fists and rage wells through my veins.

Just Breathe.

Breathe.

Don’t look back.

“Now as I was saying, I am Dr. R.B. Buttesügger,” he pointed at the chalkboard behind his head, “B-u-t-t-e-s-ü with an umlaut g-g-e-r.”

“Uhhhhhhhhh,” A grizzly voice groans. “So like your name is buttsucker! That’s so weird. Buttsucker.”

I didn’t even have to look back, I knew it was Brogan Atworth, the biggest smelliest imbecile at this school.

“First, I prefer that you raise you hand when you have a question. Second, that is a common but costly mistake. It is Buttesügger. If you make it again you will lose a half percent from your final grade.”

Brogan barks back, “Ha buttsucker,” before falling to the floor laughing.

(Five minutes after class has ended.)

Okay. I survived. Not so bad.

It was worse than my darkest nightmare.

But I survived.

I reached into my rusty blue locker.

I need American History, Great Gatsby, and Intro To Preca...

I feel my pony tail yanked from behind as I come tumbling to the grimy marble floor.

As I rub my sore knee cap, I look up and see a golden blonde french braid drooping over my head.

“What the Hell?” I shriek.

“Um, oops.”

She flashes a snide devilish pearly perfect glowing white smirk.

“By the way when did you become a goth bitch? Your hair looks even worse than before. Didn’t know that was possible.”

Tears well up in my eyes.

Hold it.

Do not let her see you cry.

Just as the flood gates begin to open…

A husky voice intervenes, “Ughhh Coco just because you feel ugly despite doing makeup for two hours evey day, and getting a boob job doesn’t mean you have to, like… like be such a fucking bitch to everyone.”

Coco rolls her eyes, “Alright then,” before stomping away.

“Here,” Brogan reaches his slimy hand out.

The putrid smell of raw eggs assaults my nose as he groans, “I think it looks good.” He steps back. I could see him hesitate. Sporting a shy toothy grin he pleads,

“Wanna like… go out… or something… sometime… or like… whenever.”

“Uh, sure.”

And that was the day that Brogan Atworth showed me that one does not need a brain nor a hygienic regimen to have a heart.

Originally published on Medium https://medium.com/illumination/smelly-imbeciles-have-hearts-too-9534f777a449