Put the Blame on Mame
Barely puberty, when she heard the word
“Slut.” She was unsure of what it meant;
she heard daddy call mommy that, and
mommy call Aunt Marga that. Aunt Marga
never visited afterwards. She never
thought she’d hear that word again until
that day as she was pushed from the swings
by Stacey Macey and her friends (they call
themselves the new Disney Princesses).
Mommy taught her to be smart through words,
daddy gave her wisdom through absence.
She played with the neighbor boys, rough-
housing, cops and robbers, hide-and-seek
throughout her childhood, never imagining
that she was different from them. And yesterday
she and Travis were skipping hand-in-hand
as Stacey Macey as Cinderella watched. Now,
bruised from the fall and filthy from the mud,
she covered her face as Jasmine, Ariel, and
Aurora chanted that word again and
again, pebbles kicked into her face, her shirt
being torn by the rocks. It would’ve been
nice if this were the last time she’d hear that
word, but as she grew up, with Cindy and her
gang, that word was ironed into her, as she
was chased down the hall, cornered in the
lavatory, humiliated at prom. After high
school, she thought she’d seen the the last of them.
(Most of them ended up miserable housewives
to drunken strong arms.) She faced the world
the word still branded on her. She took off her
shirt and all men see is that word. She’d put it
back on and all women see is that word. Facing
the mirror, her face disappears replaced by that
four letters thrown at her back in grade school.
S. L. U. T. One day, a nice guy met and fell in
love with her. Out of desperation she married
him and had three kids. Everyday, her husband
would kiss her on the cheek and whisper how
beautiful she was. Everyday, her kids would
hug her and tell her how much they love her.
But every word, every kiss could still not fill
the darkness as that four-letter word haunted
her. One day, she met Stacey Macey, a broken-
down Cinderella, from riches-to-rags, working
the street in tattered fishnets and a chipped tooth.
Stacey Macey was bending over a car, propping up
her breasts. As the car drove by, ignoring her,
Stacey Macey looked up and saw the girl who, thirty
years ago, she pushed down from the swings and called
a slut. She said hi. She went home and gathered up
her kids. She kissed them one by one. When her
husband returned, she held him in her arms in the
most tender way she’d ever held him before.
This is the 100 Songs Project, a 100-day writing challenge based on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Songs. Every day, I write a short poem, prose piece, or play based on, reacting to, rejecting, accepting, or doing something related to one of the songs in the top 100 list.
Please consider liking Deelaytful on Facebook. We’re doing a promotion in preparation for the 200th post in a couple of weeks. If we get 500 likes before the 200th post, I will be uploading a video of myself singing a medley of Disney Princesses songs on YouTube.
- Come What May (deelaytful.com)
- (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life (deelaytful.com)
- Buttons and Bows (deelaytful.com)