The little girl grew up doe eyed, but there was little true about this in what was going on in her mind. Impressions mattered and she could give her best one, as long as she cared enough or was bothered by her parents for it. The funeral home was their livelihood. and she had to represent how their family worked. How business was done. Establish trust and treat the rest like a shady car salesman. Who wouldn't trust a small child? Why would they lie or claim otherwise? And you didn't just begin to yell or tell someone off in the presence of their child. That was rude. Not that it didn't happen, but it was less likely. Someone had to act like they cared about what words she heard and covered her ears.
But there was a long standing relationship in all of this. The way that she could sit in a sandbox, at the age of two. It was more parallel play than bothering with other children. It was by choice. She didn't know how to respond to them. Just watching when something or someone caught her attention. Ignoring them and enjoying herself otherwise. When and where someone or something did catch that attention, there it was. Other children wanting, willing, wishing for some attention. They wanted to play with the newcomer. So friendly and inviting. It didn't matter that she wanted them to give her a toy that wasn't hers. It didn't matter that it wasn't theirs either. Go take it from them, bring it back to her. How they would, with or without tears and manipulation. They liked her, they would do it for that short lived attention. More to be that one that put a smile on her face. A little treasure won and she hadn't even got up from her spot in the warm sand. Her mother watching from afar, but not caring enough to get up and teach her otherwise. This was how she was supposed to be.
The other children's crying, it had to be that they were tired or their own fault. Whatever could a little girl like her have done to anyone? She was there all on her own being quiet and behaved. No one paid enough attention or realized what happened or that she was hiding that toy in the sand. It was covered up just enough that the parent had forgotten about it and it was now hers. She could do with it as she pleased, and oh how she would. Part of her own collection and she wasn't about to to let any of it go.
Years would go by and her little chubby legs would thin out. Her whole body would, but not entirely. Still smaller than the other children. Her growth was always behind them, as if she were simply a younger child. She hated how it was brought up, pointed out, laughed at. More reason not to care about what others thought or cared for. Rachel just twirled in her little bright dresses, left alone to her own fate. Dark hair floating around her as she spun, not caring if she ended up dizzy. Because the dress floated, and the way it did it made her free. Flying and free from everything. Taller than anyone else, no matter what they said. They would pay later. She didn't know how or care, but it would happen because they would need to learn. Mostly due to the fact that she was an only child and never knew how to handle being treated like that. It set her off, pushed and pulled at emotions she wasn't used to handling. A flat look, narrowed eyes at the backs of those that offended her.
A little boy came up to her, couldn't have been much older than her. Taller, more lankly built, and matching skin tone. A smirk on his lips, big brown eyes, and his hair stood up awkwardly. Almost as if it thought it was supposed to be part of some sort of mohawk that wasn't actually there. He wanted to play with her. She appeared to be having so much fun there. The added compliment of her being pretty. Even then she wanted to roll her eyes. His front teeth were missing, and she wanted to giggle at his attempts to speak, but that was as close as that went. But an idea grew in her mind, and there it was. To start something with those that picked on her. She didn't think it would work. There was this excitement in her to watch that it had.
Skipping like the little imp she may as well have been, she pretended to go past the scene, but she was watching. She couldn't go off and fight in her dress. Mom would be mad again. Especially if there was a grass stain on it or someone bleed on it. While the boy went and got their attention, the poor kid not as bright as he needed to be in this instance, she rushed in as everyone's backs were turned to her.
Items from book bags laid out flew in every direction before a thud could be heard. One of the kid getting hit with a rock as hard as she could right behind the knee. It caused him to drop forward, in shock from the hit and from the hit itself. Her aim had already been made that much better with practice at the funeral home. She needed more to do that, she was too young and mischief was the creation of minor weaknesses.
The other kids there, they turned in shock, unmoved, not sure what to do with themselves. A few went rushing for their own items, only for Rachel to hit the one that had a knee down with their own book bag. She took off running right after that, all the way home with the biggest smile on her face. Where was Devin when she had a story to tell?
Fists closed, thumb out. You don't want to break your thumb. Stance had to be proper. Legs open, comfortable, feet lined with shoulders. Bent at the knees, but not overly so. Give it a bounce. Not so much that you think you're in a Rocky movie, but that didn't stop her from pulling those punches, playing pretend. Her own dark hair pulled back into a long ponytail, whipping back and forth and she pulled uppercuts and jabs. Her eyes already on a prize that wasn't before her. A smug grin on her face, determination set. She wanted a fight. The physical drive was in her. It was difficult to shake and she never wanted to. The only time i was acceptable was to actually hold it back for better. To get more satisfaction out of ruining one of those little cheerleaders that sneered at her choice of clothing. The way her makeup was done or where her family worked.
She was tough, imagining each of them, the words practically in her ear with each swing. The movements that rushed into her father's palms, the misses that would get her smacked in the side of the heat. It only furthered her anger, her rage, and caused her to focus more. She refused to allow tears to drop, to bother her, even if that meant her vision was blurry. There would be times when she didn't hold a choice in the matter. The smack caused them to fall, but they would along with the sweat. She was their good little girl, their perfect little angel that could never do wrong. And here she was, making him proud by not admitting defeat. If he didn't call time to stop, to break or walk away, she wouldn't. It didn't matter how tired she was, Rachel just pressed on. There was a drive and determination there, but she wasn't going to be weak. It didn't matter what others saw, if they only saw weakness. Let them. They would learn the hard way. She was going to fight tooth and nail. No one was going to just overtake her for anything. This wasn't competition, this was more than that. This was her life and she wasn't going to be at the bottom of it.
The bright, flowery little girl who enjoyed spinning in those little sun dresses, long gone and brought to life with someone who favored purple and black. The effervescent blue that came now and then, where it pleased her. Mostly along the lines of sadness or despair. There was a draw to it. A beauty that she could find in the oddities of life, no matter how lowly or unwanted. If anything, these traits made her want to learn more, to better understand it. Drawn in by the strange and unlikely. Everyone wanted and liked the bubbly, happiness. She wanted more, because all of that came off empty. Unappealing in ways that she couldn't believe people found themselves drawn. The world was full of so many facets. Why not see all of them, experience the best and the worst?
It wasn't the gore or the anger, the sadness, the death that made her feel so comfortable. It was what lie beneath it all. The depth at which one could go and be held or carried to another place. It wasn't like everything else, being so one sided or empty headed. At one with the crowds of people that didn't hold one real original thought in their own heads. They would try all they could, but it was obvious what happened. It was always forced attempts, the want to be different, but incapacity to do so. Because none of them actually moved outside of their own little world. She held more than this, had seen more than the average preteen and even teenager. There were places opened to her that no one else could imagine. And she was proud of this. Craving, wanting the best of what should be the best here.
The smiles that would be hidden, not because they made her weak. Because that was a face that needed to be disguised. A fight to give what was wanted against whatever tide it came through from. Later to willingly take that minor spin in front of the mirror like she used to. The one she committed to before work to watch it flutter around her like the lost memory it was. One she couldn't go back to.