The girl from absurd ride.

         Melinda stood in the plane’s bathroom, studying herself in the mirror and wading through her long blonde locks looking for missing chunks of hair and exposed pieces of scalp. Her eyes brushed over her teary-eyed face and she sniffed in the snot that had dripped down over her top lip. The snot tasted bitter, much like the events that had just unfolded in the cabin. She found the shining pink bald spot, raw to the touch, and started sobbing even louder, which made her head throb even harder. She grabbed her black purse and dumped her belongings out on the counter. Lipstick, a tampon, eye make-up, her wallet and three bottles of Advil fell out. She grabbed one of the Advil bottles, opened it up and poured several pills into her mouth, swallowing each and every one of them without sipping any water. She drew back from the mirror as if harmed by it and threw herself against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest, sighing in frustration and looking around the bathroom like a lost puppy. She would save herself the embarrassment of walking back to her seat with tears in her eyes by staying in the bathroom for the duration of the flight. Besides, she had every right to do so; some strange Willy Loman character with a bad comb over had just physically assaulted her.
         Her thoughts began to wander, wander back over the years that had molded her into who she was at that point. One stage of her life, in particular, carried a tremendous amount of weight on her conscience. The event always rested in the back of her mind, waiting like a monster to pounce upon any cheery thought that might come strolling across her thoughts.
         When young, Melinda had been a very simple, brunette girl. A girl with a simple mind, simple looks and a simple relationship with her widowed mother. Her mother was an artist who painted paintings that were much more beautiful than her daughter could ever imagine being. Whether her canvases were filled with scenery, abstraction or beautiful girls, they always made Melinda fall into jealous pieces across the smooth wooden floors of her mother’s studio.
         One day she had found herself in her mother’s studio looking upon a portrait of a young girl running down a field with a soccer ball at her feet. The girl had long blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes and soft tan skin that threw Melinda into the depths of inferiority. Enemies fell like dead birds around her feet, beat down by the girl’s power and intrigue. Melinda had never been successful at any sport she tried out for. In fact, she had never actually made the cut for any sport during middle school. Melinda’s mother was convincingly upset; upset enough to classify Melinda as excessively mediocre when describing her daughter to her friends at work.
         While Melinda had been looking at the painting of the beautiful soccer player, Melinda’s mother walked into the studio and looked at her daughter with a wary eye. “Can you please get out of mommy’s studio, I don’t want you ruining any of my paintings,” she said in a stern voice.
         “Yes mommy,” Melinda responded with disappointment in her voice. She ran up the stairs and looked back down into the studio, catching the eye of the girl with the soccer ball at her foot. Her mother stood by the painting, tapping her foot on the ground as the girl with the soccer ball tried to break free from the canvas and chase Melinda away from her mother.
         Melinda had laid in her bed that night, listening to her mother laugh downstairs. She’s talking to that damn girl. She’s standing down there with a glass of wine in her hand and she’s carrying on a loving conversation with that damn girl, telling her how much she loves her and how much she wishes that she was her damn daughter. Melinda sobbed, throwing her head into her pillow and screaming a muffled scream, hoping that her mother would hear. She didn’t hear, of course, she carried on her lengthy conversation with the painting and ignored any sign of life from the upstairs.
         “Well that’s just fine, just as long as you make that goal for me, honey,” She heard her mother say with a hint of disgusting pride in her voice. Melinda dug her face deeper into the pillow, searching for some kind of meaning in her life. Her mother continued to jeer and laugh throughout the night, eventually turning off all of the lights and sitting in her studio, finishing off the last of yet another box of red wine.
         “One day,” she began in a slurred voice, “you and I can go on vacation to Florida and drink wine together”. Melinda imagined the young soccer player with a smile on her face – always a smile to keep mother content. That stupid bitch doesn’t know my mom. Melinda continued to listen. She had been listening to her mother’s drunken rant for over four hours.
         “But we’re gonna have to figure out a way to kill off Melinda. We don’t want her moving in on our vacation,” she tried to say in a hushed tone, “maybe you can do that for me tonight“. Melinda gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth. I have to do something about this.
         Melinda snuck out of her bedroom and tiptoed down the hallway towards her mother’s room where her mother never slept - she stored her extra paint supplies there, though. Melinda grabbed as many acrylics as she could hold and a sharp-ended paint brush and made her way back down the hallway and into her bedroom. She stripped down and looked at herself in the vanity with the paints grasped tightly in her hands and her brunette hair hanging down over her shoulders. Mother will have to love me now. She’ll see I’m more beautiful than that damn girl. She squeezed white paint into her palm, taking one last glance in the mirror at her plain brunette hair. She began washing her hair with the paint, laughing maniacally as she did so. Squeezing more atop her head, she made sure to cover every last hair with white paint. To apply a tan to her skin, she spread brown paint over the entirety of her body. She held her hand to the side of her face and gazed longingly at herself in the mirror.
         Naked and beautiful, Melinda opened her door and lurked down the stairs with the sharp-ended instrument in hand. Her mother was asleep in a chair sitting next to that damn girl. The girl was still smiling, keeping mother happy even while as she slept. DAMN GIRL. Melinda lunged at the painting with the sharp-ended paintbrush and stabbed at the soccer player’s legs, paralyzing her from playing the sport she so seemingly adored. Melinda stabbed at the girl’s soft tan arms and then dug into the girl’s smile, ridding her of the happiness that grabbed mother’s attention. Lastly, Melinda ripped the girl’s blonde hair clear off the canvas, laughing hysterically and naked. Happy at last, Melinda stepped back, dropped the paintbrush and looked at the creation she had destroyed. Panting and sweating with paint dripping down her body, she sighed in relief and sat down on the smooth floor of the studio, smearing paint across the wooden paneling. Mother awoke with a startled, drunken look on her face.
         “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BABY?” she shrieked. Melinda laid back on the floor and rested her hands behind her head, laughing out loud, “I’m beautiful now mother, you don’t need her anymore.
         “You’ll never be my daughter,” her mother clarified as she picked up the sharp-ended paintbrush. Mother picked lifted the canvas off of the easel, grabbed the box of wine and rushed out of the front door screaming, “WE’RE HEADED TO FLORIDA, HONEY”. Mother never came back.
         Now, Melinda stood against the wall of the bathroom looking at herself in the mirror, much like she had done twenty years back. Her hair, now bleached blonde, hangs rough and tattered from the amount of disturbance it had been through. She studied herself in the mirror, noting her tear-stained face and rough complexion. I feel like going back to my seat now. She grabbed the lipstick and eye-make up off the counter and began the application. She looked at herself in the mirror longingly and smiled with her hand to her face. She threw all of her belongings back into her purse and opened the bathroom door, welcoming the warm air of the heated plane cabin into her life.