So Different

Ruthie Robinson

Genesis Press, Inc.

This book is dedicated to the Angels-on-earth instructors at the Chris Cole Rehabilitation Center and their students.

Last Saturday in January – Exhibition

Team Thunderstorm vs. Brass Knuckles

Demented Divas vs. Prissy Missies

You can never judge a book by its cover.
Her grandmother had said those words often enough to her growing up, and at least in derby—if not in life—Mariah knew those words to be true. In derby, women of all colors, all shapes, all sizes—from 3X to teeny tiny—came to duel, to pit their skills and heft against each other. You might assume that the overweight women were easy, and that the pint-size ones were pushovers, but she’d learned differently—the hard way, the derby way—that
all
women were kick-ass tough.

“Okay, Austin, Texas, it’s Mariah Scary, jammer for Brass Knuckles, lined up tonight for the final jam against Team Thunderstorm’s jammer, that speedy, yet paranoid, Delusional,” Jimmy Deranged, the announcer for tonight’s derby, said. He was decked out in his customary orange-checkered suit with black hat over blond, shoulder-length hair. With the addition of his black-heeled platform shoes, he looked like a pimp. He was supposed to stand in the announcer’s booth, but nope, he stood outside of it, roaming the building, dragging his mic around—as far as he was concerned, he was the main attraction.

“Yes, I hear you,” he said to the crowd, like he and they were old friends. “Team Thunderstorm, dominating force that they are, is up by 45 points, and it’s looking like the party’s over, turn off the lights, for the Brass Knuckles. But we know, ladies and gentlemen, we know what’s at stake here. Don’t we?” Jimmy asked. He put his hand to his ear, the age-old sign for
I can’t hear you
, waiting for the screams and shouts from the crowd to grow. “It’s about not leaving with your tail between your legs, folks. That’s what’s at stake in this final jam. The Brass Knuckles have nothing to lose.”

The crowd’s noise level rose. “That’s what I’m talking about. Let them know you love them,” he said, standing up, arms raised in victory, as if he was the winner of a prized boxing match.

Mariah heard her name, a sharp boost of encouragement amidst the shouting that rained down from the multitude of fans, made loud and boisterous by the combination of the sport that was derby and too much Lone Star Beer. This flat track skating rink was her second home, a place where she felt accepted, soothed by the noise of the crowd, energized by the beat of the band playing in the background. She was among women who were different from her but alike in this one way. She stood on the track, a ways back from the pack, waiting to start the final jam.

She turned her mind to the game, drowning out the noise, singularly focused now on scoring points for her team, of making her way through the pack first, of kicking some Team Thunderstorm’s ass, even though last place was looking like the path her team would take this season,
again.

She glanced to her right, where Delusional stood, bent over, one knee up, preparing to take off as soon at the whistle blew. D was a good friend of hers off the track, but at this moment she was the enemy, the one standing in her way—the person who had dissed her last week. She was the bitch that had been rude to her brother, or one of her students, or the people who got in her way whenever she tried to do something different. They were all part of tonight’s anger, converted into the highly combustible fuel source that made her mean and determined on the track.

Mariah looked ahead at her teammates, Good & Plenty, Miss Thang Sally, Dirty South, and AlterKayShawn. They were the blockers for this jam, all lined up in front. They were against some mean bitches that belonged to Team Thunderstorm, her best friend Casper included in that mix. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, it’s the final jam of the night,” Jimmy said. The referee had blown the first whistle to get the pack moving a few seconds ago, and there went the second whistle for the jammer. Both jammers took off and Jimmy started in with the play-by-play.

“It’s Mariah Scary lined up with nothing to loose, pushing Delusional to the ground. She makes her run for the pack. D is back up and heading toward the pack. Oh, but wait, mean like a mother-sucker Greybolt may have a thing or two to say about that, as she gives Mariah one mother of a hit. Mariah’s down, but not for long. She’s back up, coming around the turn, moving toward the pack again. She darts down the outside, her teammate Good & Plenty gives her a whip around Casper the Friendly Ghost and she ducks under Dirty South’s arm. What a wicked slip as she gets by the always-looking-for-a-fight AlterKayShawn. Ladies and gentlemen, Mariah Scary is your lead jammer and headed back around for more with Delusional fast on her heels,” he said, watching Mariah, bent down skating low and fast around the back curve.

“Okay, folks, Mariah is back at it, coming up on the back of the pack, smooth like butter sliding over toast. Dirty South gives Greybolt a hit. Not so grey anymore, are you, Greybolt? More like a soft white as that gives Mariah score number four, and back around Mariah goes, looking to add to her point total.

“Oh, but wait, Mariah tangles up with Casper, who is known for making women disappear, and there Mariah goes, flying off the track landing on those that love to sit near the track, who catch the girls as they fall. Mariah calls off the jam, scoring a total of four points for the jam and for her team. That’s it, folks, Team Thunderstorm is the winner and back in the high life again. Off to another dominating season,” Jimmy said as the winners made their swing around the track, arms raised in victory. “Better luck next time, Brass Knuckles,” he said to her team as they made their way to their team’s bench.

“Thank you, folks, for coming out. We look forward to seeing you in February, where you can see a rematch of Team Thunderstorm and the Brass Knuckles. A big thanks to the Demented Divas and the Prissy Missies, the first half of our double header tonight,” he said.

Mariah rolled around the rink, making her way to her team’s bench, where she could gingerly sit for a second and catch her breath. She was tired and would be one hurting puppy in the morning. But for her it was worth it, worth all of the bumps and bruises, the time practicing, the absence of life outside of work and derby. She loved being here with these women, her friends, comrades in arms, as varied and as real as you could get.

* * *

Thirty minutes later Mariah sat in the locker rooms of the Rail Yard, disappointed and beat, concerned for the Brass Knuckles and their not-so-impressive start to the season. She was not holding up much hope for February’s rematch, either.

“Keep your head up. It’s hard. We’re some tough bitches,” Casper said to her best friend as she entered the dressing room, taking in Mariah’s state of undress as she sat on a bench next to the lockers.

“Should you even be in here, the enemy’s camp? You’re asking for trouble,” she said, glancing up at Casper.

“From your team? Not likely. Most of your team’s gone anyway. And what’s taking you so long? I’m ready for Pinky’s and to watch you, the new, improved, more polite Mariah at work.”

“Don’t know about that,” she said.

“No going back on your word,” Casper said.

“Yeah, I know, and I’m not. I’m coming, just moving slow. I ran into Greybolt’s elbow. I think it’s going to turn black,” Mariah said, pointing to her eye.

“You’ll live. Hurry up, or I’m leaving you.”

“Leave, then. I drove my car. I’ll meet you there.”

“Sure?”

“I am. Go on,” Mariah said, shooing her away. She sat for a minute or two more after Casper’s exit before removing her shorts. She grabbed her towel and made her way to the shower, stopping to look at herself in the mirror. One had to love this sport to withstand the damage it could do—and did—to your body.

Her black eye would be a brute, she thought, examining it as she leaned in closer to the mirror, running her finger around it. And whose hand prints were on her arm? She scanned the rest of her body, spotting the bruise on her left hip, which had become the source of most of her aches lately. How many times had she fallen on her ass?

She sighed and took herself over to the new state-of-the-art showers, part of the state-of-the-art locker rooms that belonged to the new state-of-the-art complex, built mostly for the derby about three years ago. Inwardly, she was kicking herself for agreeing to try and be more user-friendly—to give men a chance. How often did Casper ride her ass about her attitude? This time she’d added that Mariah was turning into Miss Thang Sally, who hated anything male. That had gotten her attention and scared her enough to try and see if she could do a softer, less confrontational, more open Mariah.

She stepped in the shower, turning the water to scalding, and sighed at the relief it gave to her sore and abused body.

* * *

The following Tuesday, ten minutes before eleven, Mariah exited the city bus a few blocks over from Dr. Barnett’s dental office. And on time, too. It helped that she worked nearby. Arriving at the scheduled time for things was always a bit of a challenge for her. In two minutes she’d reach his office, right on time for her six-month cleaning. She needed him to look at a tooth on the right side. She thought she may have a cavity, another bane of her existence.

She entered the dentist’s office and proceeded to the counter, signing her name on the waiting list. She looked up as the receptionist, Jupiter—her parents must have been high on reefer to have given their daughter that name—waved her closer. Mariah knew from past trips that she was in her early twenties, with a kid, and into any—and everyone’s business.

“What’s up?” Mariah asked, leaning in to avoid being overheard by the others in the waiting area.

“It’s been busy since
he
arrived,” she said. A sweep of her eyes around the room caused Mariah to do the same, now noticing the larger-than-usual crowd of women present.

“Who is
he
?” Mariah asked.

Taking in Mariah’s blank look, Jupiter motioned her closer. “Dr. Barnett Sr. has been out of commission for a while. He was hurt in a motorcycle accident; broke his leg and arm four months ago.”

“Oh,” she said, not surprised. Dr. Barnett, she knew from prior visits and discussions, was one adventuresome man, especially given his age. “Is he okay?”

“Sure, all healed now. Thankfully his son, Dr. Barnett Jr.—a dentist like his father—was available. He came down from Houston, to the rescue.”

“That’s good,” she said, preparing to find a seat.

“We’ll see,” Jupiter said, pausing for effect. “Dr. Barnett Sr. is taking some additional time off, maybe even the whole year,” she said, her gaze sweeping the room again. “I think he’s really just helping his son, giving him some time to get over his broken heart, time to decide what to do with his life. You know he dumped his fiancée before coming home,” Jupiter whispered, moving her head again to encompass the waiting area. “It’s the reason we’re so full. There are lots of single women in town who need good dental care.”

“Oh.” Mariah leaned in closer as Jupiter motioned for her to do so. She’d fall over into Jupiter’s lap if she got any closer.

“Dr. Adam Barnett Jr. is one fine man,” she whispered into Mariah’s ear.

“Oh,” she said again.

“Yep. Oh, you know how hard they are to come by these days—straight, good looking, employed men,” she said, her eyebrows lifted, smacking her lips, all self-satisfied.

Mariah lifted an eyebrow. “I see. Well, thanks for the heads up,” she whispered, and turned to find herself a chair to wait.

* * *

Yes indeed, Dr. Barnett Jr. was one fine man. He wore sexy, thick black-rimmed glasses that matched his black hair, which was full and spiky, that just rolled-out-of-bed look that men were wearing these days. His black-as-crow brows arched over nice hazel eyes. Yes, Junior D.D.S. was an excellent reason for dental hygiene.

Be open. Be nice.
Casper’s words echoed in her head again. Okay, she could play nice with him if he were willing. She doubted it, though. The rich and famous follow-the-yellow-brick-road types usually weren’t interested in her. Plus, she didn’t do hero worship or pick the popular anything. She always went the opposite way, just because.

Maybe Junior D.D.S. would be a good place to start this
be open, be nice
approach. She sat up straighter and kind of wished she’d dressed up, or at least worn something other than her jeans and plain t-shirt with her black Doc Marten-style combat boots—her work attire. She’d removed the hoodie she’d worn in deference to the cold out in the waiting room.

Mariah watched him as his eyes roamed over her quickly, not sure of his conclusion. He smiled a moment later, all pretty and white.

“It’s a bucal on 32,” Rachel, the dental assistant said, coming to stand at Mariah’s left shoulder. Mariah sat in her chair, nice paper napkin around her neck. At least she wasn’t drooling as Dr. Barnett Jr. stood looking at her X-ray on that little screen thingy.

He took a seat next to her on his little rolling chair and scooted closer. She could smell him now. He smelled good, some masculine scent, strong, and what a nice body in his scrubs. Those scrubs were filled out with muscular definition. He turned in his chair to face her. Serious was his look, smart behind his glasses.

“Mariah Sullivan, I’m Adam Barnett,” he said, before turning away to grab some rubber gloves.

“I heard. Junior D.D.S. down from Houston to give his daddy a hand,” she said.

She could tell she’d surprised him, watching as he smiled, looking at his hands as he pulled the plastic gloves on them.

“Hi,” he said. He looked up and her breath stalled in her lungs as he smiled his beautiful smile—teeth neatly lined up in a row, positioned right where they were supposed to be—an orthodontic dream. She sighed inwardly.

“Yes, it is. Junior D.D.S. at your service,” he replied, checking out one mother of a black eye that almost covered the right side of her face. “So I hear you may have a cavity. Let me take a look,” he said, turning away for a second to pick up some tool.

Mariah continued her perusal of his body, eyes moving to take in his thighs, which were straining against his blue pant scrubs. He had firm thighs. She couldn’t remember the last time she laid her hands on a good pair of thighs. He turned to face her.