Whittier and the Corporate Whore

I swore that I would never go back. When I had to go the first time, I cried. I traded in real frogs from the pond for a metal one that I got for a dollar from the huge yellow discount tent at the end of a gravel parking lot. It was a reminder of truth and where I must return.

The mutilated song played in the background and I turned my back on it and me. I had to cut open the tube and scrape out the last bit of toothpaste before I would surrender. Even though the kerosene did not stain, the stench lingered on my shoes; I couldn’t salvage the toes of my pantyhose though and the purple gauze dress didn’t matter anymore.

For three years, I wore a bracelet that had the words “CORPORATE WHORE” engraved on it. I never went there without it. No one ever noticed. No clients, no co-workers, no UPS man, no postal clerk…no one. The damn bracelet went unnoticed.

I cursed the zebra print curtain that hung in front of the stairs that led to a mysterious place that did not interest me at all. I just wanted them to get rid of the curtain. Every time I walked into the lobby at the end of the day, I looked at the mountain and screamed in my head. I know you Whittier and you will set me free. Perhaps if I could see it too, I would set myself free. I saw the ugly side of that mountain with the broken down tramway, cell phone tower and golden arches at the base. I only went in there to pee. No Big Macs for me. I could have peed somewhere else, but it was appropriate to make some kind of connection.

It got dark too soon. I was burning daylight. Each step was a chore but I managed to find a way to walk. The bird’s nest showed up after the leaves fell off of the bush. I didn’t need to see it when the leaves were there, so it worked out well. The nest gave me enough energy to get to the next thing.

When I had to cut the tube again; I had to return. But it isn’t because of the toothpaste. It’s because there is something there beckoning my return. Apparently I missed something. The Zebra curtain still hangs in front of the stairs that lead to nowhere, it stinks in the lobby and even though we are not closed, they turn out the lights to save money on the electric bill. Some of the people are different and some are the same, but nothing has changed at all. I look up at Whittier in silent dismay. My heels echo on the gritty floor. I always wear patchouli and I don’t think I’ll ever go to McDonald's to pee. I didn’t start wearing the “Corporate Whore” bracelet until a few days ago. No one noticed.

I had to write this to liberate all of the words that have been waiting patiently in the sensible corner of my heart.