Bree Prequel: A little Background 'bout my favorite Whore

Bree wanted to go back to Wisconsin. She remembered a simpler time without responsibility, when choosing between deep fried cheese curds at A&W or a double chocolate dipped cone at the DQ was her biggest decision on a Tuesday afternoon.

She longed for the days of her dowdy red striped uniform and jaunty hat, the one she used to hate and modify by rolling up the sleeves and duct taping the skirt to break the length rule. That greasy twat of a manager would pull out his wooden ruler and make her kneel on the ground next to errant fries and milky residue from the ice cream machine, always standing in front of her first (legs spread) looking for the reaction of his male counterparts, loudly espousing the dangers of Bree flaunting her knees to the high school boys.

He touched the back of her neck once while she was kneeling.

She was overly pleased with her new drink concoction and slowly spun the red straw in the tall thick glass, relishing the twinkling tinkling of the melting cubes, internally chucking at her own personal joke. Fake blowjobs in the Wisconsin Dairy Queen…she almost let the smile touch her lips, but that tooth had fallen out last Sunday.

Southern Comfort, root beer Schnaaps, Diet Coke and a splash of lime, this new beverage reminded her of Saturday afternoons when Rodney was out mowing the lawn. She and Dot would raid the liquor cabinet to mix obscure alcohols that her step-dad wouldn’t notice being missing. It was best to be drunk after her mother left.

Everything was finally becoming clear. She was making connections and decisions with fury and conviction. That tooth brought the finality of it to the surface.

Bree’s “real father” was a dentist. That was her mother’s story (WHORE!) and no expense was spared for her perfect teeth. They used to glimmer and shine like new white tennis shoes. She won best smile every year. She became a serial flosser at 6.

She still made money with her mouth.

She wanted to be a beauty queen. She twirled her batons and threw them three stories in the air, spinning in her spangled dress, brazenly exposing her knees to the screaming crowds. She had talent.

Bree still had talent, but not the kind she could share in Wisconsin.

You could almost see how pretty she was behind the deeply embedded smoke wrinkles and scars from picking the bugs that lived just beneath her skin. Bree was convinced that they started growing in her gums and had spread to her face. She looked hollow and desperate with the newly missing tooth.

Children and dogs walked away from Bree; the smelled her danger and sensed her downfall when she tried to smile.
She was grinning maniacally now as she slurped the end of her glass. She needed another and called out to anyone who might be listening, “First you stop flossing, then you give bartender’s blowjobs in the dirty bathroom for Southern Comfort, what’s next?”

He started fixing her another drink without hesitation.