Branded

Alicia hadn't eaten in the 48 hours since Joe broke up with her, but she was on a manic high from the 24 pack of Mountain Dew she'd consumed during this time, the caffeine and sugar pulsing through her veins as she struggled to imagine life without her other half.  At first, she just laid in bed listless, waiting for him to come back and tell her it was all a mistake, that he hadn't truly fallen for the bubbly, blonde Julie that worked beside him at the new multiplex movie theater off I-10.  Hours passed and the clock ticked and no one came knocking at the door.  Alicia's roommate Teri had been in and out, but when Alicia had collapsed on her sour comforter in a pool of sobs Teri hadn't known what to do, patting her on the back and telling her it would be okay; that she'd meet someone else.

It wasn't okay and Alicia didn't want anyone else.  Alicia wanted him back.  She had to do something.  But first she needed energy.  Tired of Mountain Dew, she stood in front of the open fridge.  Food didn't appeal.  She grabbed a Zima from the veggie drawer, and let the bubbles course down her throat as she returned to the cave of her room.  She put on Guns and Roses, letting Use Your Illusion 1 fill the room, giving her company and lighting her anger.

Then Alicia grabbed her most cherished possession.  A pair of Gap jeans - the new boot cut style - a total splurge.  They fit her like a glove, and she'd sacrificed two weeks of Friday nights out to buy them.  When she wore them, they made her feel like she wasn't her usual fashion dunce self, instead she was sexy and hip, especially when she wore them with her cherished Pink Floyd concert tee.  With the Zima warming her starving belly, Alicia kicked off her Doc Martens and grabbed a permanent marker from the desk. She laid on her empty belly on the floor.  And without a second thought she started writing.

Laser light show
Tubing on the river
Road trip to Nashville
The fight at Boudreaux's

It doesn't take long for memories, Alicia's memories with Joe, to coat the jeans.  She writes madly, furiously, more and more memories from the two year relationship coating the smooth denim surface.  Eggplant parmesan.  Star Wars.  Midnight madness basketball.  She can't stop.  Hours she lays there, writing and writing, the memories rocking her body even as the second Zima spins in her sprinting mind.

When she's done, her jeans aren't blue jeans anymore.  They are black.  Alicia has coated every inch of surface, and she can't even read most of the words anymore, for the layers of memories piled over them.  She puts them on.  They still fit perfectly.  And now?  She is branded by Joe, like a horse by the sizzling hot iron, his mark permanently, painfully visible on her flanks for all to see.

 Image from Google

The prompt this week:  Jeans. They can evoke so much emotion in us: the hot jeans we wear on a date, the skinny jeans we can finally fit into, mom jeans we vow never to wear, the comfy jeans we’ll never throw out.
The assignment this week is to write a piece – fiction or creative non-fiction – in which jeans play a prominent role. You can even write an ode if you’re so inclined