Honey Bear

Mary was dissatisfied. Her steak and cheese sandwich was sub par. It was not the juicy-melty-cheesy feast she was hoping for. “Shit,” she mumbled under her breath “nobody wants to kiss a girl with steak in her teeth” and she attempted to use her finger as a toothpick. The room was cool and there was a faint smell of pancakes lingering in the air from hours before. She took her now saliva covered finger out of her mouth and examined her nails, scowled, then shrugged at their current state: chipped like trailer trash.
A wobbly waitress with a name tag that read Dorris flounced past the table and dropped off the grease-stained check. It was time to leave apparently. Mary reached for her purse and scrounged up the $7.50 for the tab. As she plunked it down on the table a sculpted Greek-god of a man walked past her. Suddenly inspiration struck and she grabbed a napkin to scribble her number on, hoping to get up the nerve to slip it in his pocket. Unfortunately a lanky blonde with red lips sat down next to the man. Mary sighed. She didn’t have the balls to pass it to him anyway, she assured herself.
As she hoisted herself out of the booth Mary put on her obtrusive purple coat with the ugly rhinestone buttons. She walked out the creaky door with bells on it and onto the sidewalk. The sky looked gray with fluffy white polka dots looming over her head. Those were the best kind of clouds. “Rain, damnit” she muttered. And it did. The first raindrop fell directly on her left eyelashes, blurring her vision for a split second. The second fell in her ear, leaving her with an annoyingly wet blob floating around her eardrum. Quickly the drops turned into downpour. Seattle natives don’t carry umbrellas -- those are for tourists and wussies, and Mary was neither of those. She loved the rain: the way it slid down her skin, gave everything a pearlescent sheen, and how it made the city smell like a forest.
Mary Boots had brown hair the color of a chestnut that flowed down to her waist in a thick mass. She wore outdated sneakers that were too worn in to give up and a perpetual smirk that made her look (as other said) “mysterious”. Her head was full of empty thoughts as she headed toward the bus stop, until she walked past a couple eating each others face. Sudden flashbacks of high school came back to her- couples groping things that shouldn’t be groped in public and blocking the hallway while they sloshed each other’s tongues. A mix of jealously and disgust washed over her. “Happy fucking valentines day”
She walked in the downpour and arrived at the little bench of the 24 bus stop.
“Slut face ho bag!”
Mary’s jaw dropped in shock. “Excuse me?” She turned to the woman on her left.
The woman was wearing tissue boxes on her feet and a Santa hat. Her breathe reeked of Saltines and cracked lips revealed a set of misfit dentures and a white goop coated tongue. “The Devil’s got you. I can see it in your hair. Devil’s tangles!”
Mary decided that today was not the day to ride the bus. “Walking it is,” she grumbled. Each step she took burned off those steak and cheese calories, with the draw back of puddle water seeping into her disintegrating sneakers. She approached her driveway now drenched in soggy clothing. Glen’s beloved truck was in the driveway and she saw him sitting in the window. “I resent our mother. I fucking hate my name” he said, “What the hell kind of name is Glen, anyway?? I’ll tell you exactly what kind of name it is. It’s the name of a large man with obscene amounts of back hair.” He had a scowl on his face, obviously this had been on his mind a while. “I’m going to change it.”
“Alright,” Mary giggled her bird-like caw at the statement.
“I think Claude is a manlier name.”
“No way. Claude is the name of a pudgy German boy with chocolate smeared across his face.”
“Fine, let’s hear your recommendations.”
“Hey, it’s your name not mine. I’ll call you Batman until you decide on something more appropriate. You can’t get any manlier that Batman.”
Mary walked into their red kitchen with chalk colored tiles and headed straight for the cupboard. She took out the bear shaped honey and squeezed its contents directly into her mouth. “Some woman told me I had devil tangles today at the bus stop,” she said with a mouthful of honey. Glen wasn’t listening. He was busy making a list of possible new names.

* * * * * *
Mary awoke with a blanket over her head, feet on her pillow, and a splitting headache. As good of an idea as downing a bottle of Southern Comfort to drown your single sorrows sounds, her hangover would argue otherwise. “I am 23. I am single. And I live in a house with my brother.” She grumbled and reached for the bottle of aspirin by her bed.
It was morning, the sunlight was bursting through the blinds onto the carpet and she could hear Glen in the kitchen. The light felt like needles on her eyes and she looked ghostly pale in the mirror. She trudged in to find the lights off in the kitchen and Glen setting a box of cereal and a bottle of Jack Daniels onto the table. “Hey Batman, didn’t have enough to drink last night?”
“Don’t be a smart ass. Rock star breakfast. Cures any hangover,” He poured some cornflakes into a bowl and dowsed them with a few shots of Jack Daniels in place of milk. “And no more Batman, I’ve decided on Miles.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Ok, Batman…Miles.” She knew the cure for her ailment, and reached into the cupboard for the familiar friendly bear filled with honey and finished off the bottle. For Mary, honey was an addiction. It was the perfect food: sweet and satisfying.

* * * * * *
Pop up windows always pissed Mary off. They always rubbed in the fact that you were single and weren’t having sex. “Try match.com today!” “Find your soul mate!” “Threesome video, Click here!” They just keep popping up. Even after clicking the little X in the corner, they still invade your screen. So Mary gave in. “Congratulations advertising conglomerates, you’ve done your job. I, Mary Boots, am now a registered member of Match.com.”
Mary found a decent picture, tried to be witty in her profile, and started to browse. As she scrolled through the dozens and dozens of profiles of desperate men, she grew sullen and decided to give up.

* * * * * *
“Two new messages,” the screen read. Mary opened her match.com account and saw the following:
1. Message from: Frank Guntz
“Hey Mary, I’d like to slide into your boots…if you know what I mean”
Occupation: Secretary, Favorite TV Show: Bay Watch, Ideal Woman: “Big tits with an ass to match it.”
2. Message from: Glen Boots
“Tisk Tisk Tisk, Mary Mary Mary. Welcome to the wild world on online dating. Don’t bring any crazies back to the house.”
Occupation: Best Buy Sales Associate, Favorite TV Show: Anything on the Game show Network, Ideal Woman: “Knows how to use a beer bong”
“Forget this, if I want something cute to cuddle with at night I’ll settle for a puppy.” Mary scowled.

* * * * * *
Farmers markets: the home of fresh vegetables and dirty hippies – Mary loved them. Every Sunday she would walk down to the adjoining neighborhood and pick out three lush heads of Romaine lettuce, a bag of pistachios, and homemade beef jerky. She walked down the pathways packed with booths and old women selling hand-knit scarves and ponchos as the sun was just beginning to peak through the 10am clouds. Eyes closed, Mary took a deep breathe and smelled the smell of the market: peaches and kettle corn. She gave her ears a turn and listened to the sounds of the market: kids screaming, dogs barking, and old women chortling over market prices.
As she was coming to the final corner of the market, she saw a familiar women sitting on a bench and playing a harmonica. Mary walked closer to the woman and recognized the Santa hat and tissue box shoes. The woman played louder and stomped her feet, as Mary sat down next to her.
“I know you, Devil girl.” The woman said. “Mark my words, he will find you.”
“Who?” Mary inquired.
The woman didn’t respond. Instead she hoisted herself up and shuffled down the street in tissue boxes, still playing the harmonica. “Born out of eggshells / and lusting for life / her mouth drooled gold kisses / while she sang blue songs” the woman melodically sang. Mary had a knack, if that’s what you’d call it, for meeting interesting people. “Well let him find me, I could use a good lay” Mary muttered.
She walked home with the old woman’s eerie song playing in her head, attempting to metaphorically apply it to her life but she gave up. As she approached the Boots household she saw Glen sitting in the window with his beloved truck as per usual in the driveway. Mary closed her match.com account after sending Frank Guntz a pissed-off reply to his message. She walked into the red kitchen with chalk colored tiles to once again find the familiar friendly bear and squeeze its contents into her mouth. “Let him find me.” She repeated.