***
“You need some help, sweetheart?”
“Nope,” I answered, the P popping, as I continued what I was doing, not bothering to look up.
“You sure? That’s a mighty big hose for a little thing like you.” I rolled my eyes before turning around to face the douchebag. There was no doubt he was impressed with his innuendo if the smirk on his face was anything to go by. “Pretty thing,” he drawled, a beer in one hand, his shirt tight over the belly he was sporting. “Let me give you a hand,” he leered, his eyes firmly fixed on my chest.
“Oh, would you?” I simpered, backing up a step and he strutted over, taking the black septic hose. He proceeded to straddle it, no doubt thinking he looked sexy, instead of idiotic.
“Let me show you where to put it,” he said eagerly, no doubt thinking he’d be invited inside as soon as he was finished.
“Please do,” I replied, my hand on the tank’s release valve. “It’s tricky.”
He chuckled condescendingly, “Bubba can handle it.”
“Good to know.” I watched him struggle for a minute, twisting the hose the wrong way before he held it up.
“I think you got the wrong one, baby,” he stated, immediately blaming me for his lack of knowledge.
“Or maybe you just don’t know how to handle a hose that big,” I answered, turning the release valve. Instantly, the hose gushed from our full tank, spraying him with watery shit. “Oh no,” I cried, raising my voice dramatically. “I accidently turned the knob.”
He sputtered, finally dropping the hose which continued to ooze smelly shit. “You little bitch,” he roared, reaching for me.
A click stopped him in his tracks. “I wouldn’t,” Mom warned, her tiny stature more than compensated by the .38 special in her hand. “Move on.”
“That cock tease just covered me in shit,” he snarled, breathing heavy, not moving. “She owes me.”
I leaned back against the RV, crossing my arms. “The way I see it, I did you a favor, Bub…ba,” I answered, drawing out his name. “Your looks could only be improved.”
He sputtered, lunging toward me, when the pistol fired. He let out a high pitched scream, whirling around as Mom cocked the gun again. “You crazy bitch,” he screamed.
“You stupid fatass,” she rejoined, looking bored. “Consider yourself lucky, Bubba. A little shit is better than a shallow grave.”
“I hate digging,” I said, making my voice whiny and Bubba started to realize crazy ran in the family. “I just did my nails.” I pretended to examine my fingernails, knowing he’d completely missed the blunt cut, unpolished nails since his focus had only involved my boobs.
“Psycho bitches,” he spit, backing away warily. “I don’t need this crazy.”
We didn’t respond, just watched him until he was out of sight.
Mom sighed. “You don’t get them often, but when you do, they’re the total package.”
“DIPSHIT. Drunk, ignorant, patronizing shits,” we recited together.
“Stay or go?” I asked, leaning down to pick up the hose and Mom shook her head.
“Go, he’s got friends.”
I nodded. “I’ll hose this off.” I gestured to the dirty ground.
“Fill the water tank too in case we need to boon dock tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured as she turned away. She swung back around instantly, wagging the pistol in my face. “You put the safety on, didn’t you?” I asked, my eyes crossing with how close she had the gun to my nose. She lowered it hastily, answering my question.
“Don’t you apologize for that piece of shit,” she snapped, surprising me. “Never back down, never cower, and never let someone make you feel less than you are. Give them hell, my beautiful princess. The blood of Rebels runs through your veins.”
I blinked at the fierceness in her voice, but my attention caught on one word. “Rebels?” Mom didn’t talk about her family and she’d never once mentioned my father. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was a clue. She stared at me silently for so long I didn’t think she would answer. “Mom?” I asked uncertainly.
She swallowed, her expression turning resolute as she came to a decision. “You’re a Rebel, Cadence. You were born into it.” I must have looked puzzled because she grasped my arm. “Like a princess, you were born to be a Rebel.” The way she kept saying it, made Rebel seem like a title and not an attitude, confusing me. “They’ll help you.”
“Who? Who will help me, Mom?”
She took a deep breath. “Your father.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, suddenly feeling younger than my fourteen years.
“Because I won’t always be here to protect you.”
“No,” I shook my head in denial. “No, I don’t care.” I didn’t want to hear any of this. Mom not being there was impossible. She was the strongest person I knew. I didn’t need some Rebel father. I grabbed the hose and started spraying the ground, drowning out her words. She watched me for a second, her mouth downturned, before twisting the water off.