Structural Integrity

Very rough short story

Structural Integrity

The scoreboard flashes the scores behind the haze of cigarette smoke.  116 to 116.  The crowd roars and throws empty cans of PBR onto the derby track.  Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation” pulses through them, the old warehouse walls look like they could collapse at any moment.

“I’ve never seen anything like it, folks.  I’ve seen broken bones on this track, I’ve seen girls carried out of here on stretchers, and I’ve seen Dustin Diamond’s sex tape but I have never seen anything like this.”  MC Tyler is wearing a red headband, matching wristbands, and a red jumpsuit.  He continues into the microphone, “The championship bout between the Denver Roller Dolls and TXRD has come down to a single jam.  Will it be Honey Punches of Throats or Anne Smashaway who rolls their team to victory?  Let’s find out.”

“Go mom!  Kick that girl’s a*s,” shouts Honey’s ten-year-old daughter.  Honey Punches of Throats rolls to the starting line, adjusting her neon green fishnets as she goes.  She looks at Hillary.

“Go mom! Kick that girl’s butt,” says Hillary.  A drunk man with no hair bumps into her, spilling beer down her blonde hair and kid sized Led Zeppelin shirt.  “Watch where you’re going, you...butt hole,” snaps Hillary.  She adjusts herself on the rail for the best view away from the drunken oafs.  

Honey rolls up to the finish line, adjusting her neon green fishnets as she goes.  She pants in an attempt to catch her breath.  All of those years smoking has slowed her down quite a bit and the countless hipchecks and wipeouts haven’t helped.  Anne Smashaway waves to the intoxicated crowd and joins Honey at the starting line.  They battled all night, but Honey was the one dripping with sweat and blood from her thick arms and legs. 

Smashaway sizes up Honey and looks into her eyes.  “Don’t you think you’re a little too old for this? I mean, shouldn’t you have a walker or something?”  Her long black hair lay in curls down her slender back, covering up a tiger tattoo on her arm.  In the stare down, Honey can’t seem to find any wrinkles around Anne’s young eyes.

“My grandma plays better than you,” says Honey, wondering if there was roller derby in the after life.  “Suck a juice box and then talk to me.”

“We love you Honey!” shouts a random gawker.  She gives a smirk, but then focuses her attention on the track before her.  Four other players from her team are in front of her, ready to block a path for her from Anne Smashaway’s team.  One hit from them can knock you off that podium.  One hit from them can knock you out of the sport.

The first whistle blows and the two crouch into position.  Honey blocks out the screaming crowd and the MC’s banter.  She focuses on the Hillary and the track ahead.  The second whistle blows and like a horse race Honey and Marilyn are off, nudging each other with their elbow pads.  Honey is on the left and uses this to her advantage.  She rubs shoulders with Anne and  puts all of her weight on her right skate.  Slowly the weight forces Anne closer and closer to the edge of the track, but her powerful legs slow down Honey’s efforts. Honey jams her foot in front of her, bringing her to a dead stop.  Their shoulders no longer press against each other and Smashaway falls across the track. Honey hastily steps over her.

“Didn’t your mommy ever teach you how to tie your shoes?” She shouts and skates away from the pile of pads and roller skates that slowly rise from the floor.  Honey skates crossovers around the first bend of the track and catches up to the pack.  Four girls from Denver Roller Dolls stand between Honey and four points.  Each girl she passes from the other team gives her team a point.  She has to pass four of them before she can end the final bout.  One Denver Roller Doll slows her roll, ready to hip check Honey.   Honey’s teammate, Alexorcist cuts across the track, collides with the DRD girl and sends her flying off the track.  Honey passes her easily, thanks to Alexorcist.  Three points to go.

Honey Punches of Throats quickly looks over her shoulder.  Anne Smashaway is cruising towards her, passing Alexorcist.  The two skate next to eachother once again.

“You’re tricky, Honey,” the young and fiery voice snarls, “for your age.”

“That’s because I’ve made it past the fifth grade, junior.”  Honey pushes forward, trying not to show weakness even though her legs ache and burn from the the countless laps around the track.  Her green urethane wheels grip the track as she tries to navigate her way to her way to her last obstacles.  Their heavyset figures cover most of the ways past them. The last two points.  The dark red words on the back of their jerseys -“Punchahontas” and “Snow Fight”- become clearer as Honey rapidly approaches them.  Honey hopes they won’t notice her squeeze between them.  Punchahontas and Snow Fight look back at her in sync and lean in.  Honey crouches to avoid the massive forces of fishnets and muscles.  The crowd silences for a moment, mouths open.  Honey pushes her way through the mass like a baby fresh out of the womb.  The crowd bursts out of their seats.  They cheer and scream and throw beer cans.  Honey clears the pack of derby girls behind and slaps her hips to end the bout.

“That’s it folks!  This year’s WFTDA Champions are TXRD’s All Scar Army!  Honey Punches of Throats has won this championship for her team time and time again and tonight has been no exception,” announces MC Tyler.  “Honey Punches of Throats, I wouldn’t mind eating her for breakfast.”  Honey flips him the bird before snatching the trophy from his hands and sharing it with her team.  He smacks her butt and she slugs him in the face.  Hillary and the crowd join them on the track, MC Tyler rolling on the floor.

***

“Mom that was freaking awesome.  I didn’t think you were going to make it through those princesses,” says Hillary.  They pull up in the parking lot of their apartment.  Honey cleaned the blood off her arms and legs, but still smells like she was skating around in a hot, musty warehouse full of sweaty drunkards.  Hillary smelled the same way.

“I know I can’t believe it either.”

“I want to be a roller derby girl when I grow up.”

“You can be anything you want to be.  But I’m glad you want to be a badass!”  The two climb the stairs to their apartment.  Honey opens the door to a cramped room, with a single couch, a small TV and a small dinette for two.  “Take a bath, we have to get going early tomorrow.  You can eat breakfast at the diner.”

“But you said we were going to the movies tomorrow,” says Hillary.  She follows Honey into Honey’s bedroom.

“We will, but I have to work too.  You know, thats why we have a place to live, food to eat, water to bathe in.  Now get your a*s in that tub.”  With a moan Hillary drags herself to the bathroom.  When she is out of sight, Honey collapses onto her bed.  Her legs throb, her arms are limp, and her back aches.  She can feel bruises filling in on her arms and her left butt cheek.  She focuses on the ceiling fan, powerfully spinning round and round, shaking its foundation on the ceiling.

***

“When does practice for next season start?” asks Hillary.

“You know, I’m thinking I might not play next year.  You know, I’m getting kind of old.”

“Mom, you are not old.  Even if you are you are still the best Jammer in the whole league.  You shouldn’t let something stop you.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t know if I can handle the hits anymore.  I messed up my knee last night, and I’m thinking this might be a sign for me to stop before I really get hurt.”

“What, you never get hurt.  I don’t want you to not play derby.”

“I don’t want to either.  But if I stop will you still look up to me?”

“As long as you’re taller than me, I guess.”  They pull into the parking lot of “Manny’s Diner.”

“S**t I’m almost late,” says Honey.

Honey rushes into “Manny’s Diner” with a slight limp, dragging Hillary with her.  The sun has barely started to warm the Texas dirt beneath their shoes.  She lets go of Hillary and hurries to the back to clock in.  Just in time.  She doesn’t see Manny anywhere, so she slips into the restroom.  The mirror reveals only a few bruises on her arms, and a cut on her face.  Honey takes out her foundation and dabs it on her bruises.  Someone starts banging on the door.

“Just a minute,” Honey shouts.

“I don’t pay you to go to the bathroom,” says Manny.

“You don’t hardly pay me at all,” she puts her foundation in her apron and gives herself one last look in the mirror.  Those wrinkles seem deeper today.  With a deep breath, she opens the door.

“And where is your name tag?” asks Manny.

“I guess I forgot it.”  She quickly grabs some silverware to greet a table.  She stretches out her knee on her way to the oversized rednecks.  Hillary watches from the counter.

“How ya’ll doin today, my name’s--”

“Two orange juices,” says the man to her right without looking at her.  The bill of his hat covers his eyes and he looks like a lumberjack in his red plaid shirt. The other man is wearing a Hooters shirt with holes in it.  She grips her pen hard and feels Manny’s eyes on her.

“Sure thing,” she says.  She goes behind the counter to fix their orange juices and one for Hillary as well.  “What are you having today, Hil?”

“Bacon and pancakes, please,” says Hillary.

“Bacon and pancakes it is.  How about you decide what movie you want to see tonight while Manny makes your--”

“Hey, honey,” a voice calls to her.  She turns to see if someone recognizes her from the night before.  “come settle something for us,” says the redneck.  Her sore muscles tighten and her head starts to pulse.  She puts on the fake smile she’s been using for years to drop off their orange juice.

“Now me and my buddy here have been arguing this for a while, and I think you might be able to help us out,” asks the plaid redneck.

“Alright, what is it,” asks Honey as she puts down their glasses.

“My buddy here says that a lot of waitresses like yourself are waitresses because that’s what women are good for.”  She puts her hand on her hip and her fake smile quivers.  “I, of course, know that isn’t true.  See, the truth is, older women like yourself are waitresses because you used to be models.  I mean look at ya.  You could have been a model before, but you know how age works.  You start gaining weight.  Look at me for example.  I used to be a football player but I’ve put on a few pounds over the years.”  She tries to laugh.  “Anyways, I was saying that you must have been a model when you were young, but you didn’t have a back-up plan, right?  A lot of women don’t get an education and waitressing is the only way to make ends meet.  Well, with dignity,” offers the man.  He looks her up and down with a cheeky grin.

“Well personally I don’t think there is much dignity in giving food to pigs like you.  In fact watching you speak is making me sick.  Partly from the sexist remarks spewing from your mouth and partly because the waves jiggling through your goiter are making me sea sick.  You know, its smarter to piss off your server after your food comes out.”

“Where the hell do you get off talkin’ to me like that, woman?” asks the man.  He struggles to get out of his chair. 

“What are you doing?” screams Manny.  “I am so sorry sir.  This will never happen again.”

“Well I should hope not.  And I hope you have the decency to fire this girl.”

“Of course, sir,” says Manny.  He turns to face Honey.  “Get your crazy a*s out of my diner before you scare off any other guests.” 

“Gladly,” replies Honey.  She limps back to Hillary pulls her out of the restaurant past Manny.  

The two sit in the car with the engine off.  “Mom why did you do that?”  Honey takes a moment to answer.

“Sometimes you have to stand up for what you believe in.  Even if it means losing your job.”

“But now what?  All that’s changed is that that guy is pissed, you don’t have a job, and I seriously doubt we can go to a movie now.  You should have just kept your mouth shut,” says Hillary.  Honey doesn’t answer but instead turns the the car on and drives home.

***

At the apartment Hillary storms up the stairs.  Honey takes them slowly.  Her knee is stiff and bending it sends pain shooting through her leg.  Once inside she uses the couch to brace herself on the short walk to her bedroom.  She opens the door to find the ceiling fan on the floor surrounded by broken drywall and dust.

“F*****g great,” she says.  She stiffly walks to her bed and lies down.  Hillary stomps over to the side of the bed and looks down upon Honey.

“I don’t want to be a derby girl anymore,” she says.