A Wasted Life. 3.6k adult. In the 40's the word "Gay" had a diffe (standard:drama, 9030 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 18 2020	Views/Reads: 1375/1001	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Teenage MaryLee has an awful secret. Her dreams are about women. One night, half-drunk, she makes a simple mistake that ruins her life. Running away only finds her more involved in the 40s gay lifestyle.

She stares at a revolver, a dull look in teary eyes. Alone in a rented
room, still in her late teens, MaryLee sits on a rickety kitchen chair. 
That chair, a scarred wooden table, rusty steel-pole bed and a dresser 
containing only two of three drawers, and the revolver -- her Savior -- 
are her only companions. It's not quiet, sounds of traffic and revelry 
from a dance hall next door help prevent clear thinking. But, then, so 
do random thoughts whipping through a troubled mind. Nowhere to go to 
escape a murder charge. 

Foregoing light from a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling in favor of
that from a flashing neon sign outside, she sits in contemplation. The 
broken sign advertises the cheap transient hotel and flashes 
alternately in green and red. If she moves her head slightly, a broken 
section throws a bright white radiance into her eyes. MaryLee doesn't 
bother to shift her gaze in avoidance. 

The girl has been sitting for hours, moving only to pour a stream of
cheap whiskey down a sore dry throat. On several previous nights, the 
tears flowed -- but not now. It's too late for tears. Far too late for 
apology or regret. 

This time she will do it, end her existence. With no money and due to be
evicted tomorrow, time has run out. Tears and emotion gone, she's worn 
to the bedrock of a damned soul. Building up resolve, she has vowed to 
go over her life ... one last time.... Not for an alternate solution. 
None are available. She's simply trying to make sense of an impossible 
situation. Starting near the beginning, she sips straight from the 
bottle, relaxing to recall how.... 

*** 

“Honey, Julie called to remind you about the movie tonight,” her mother
informed her as MaryLee returned from the library with a stack of 
books. 

Plopping the load down onto a table in her room, she replied, “I know,
Ma. Us girls want to see that new show, ‘Spellbound' with Ingrid 
Bergman. It's supposed to be the best movie of 1945.” 

“Is that the one with Gregory Peck in it, honey?” 

“Dunno. Probably.” 

“What's the matter with fifteen-year-old girls today?” Her mother
laughed. “I thought he was the current heartthrob?” 

MaryLee didn't answer; the door to her room had already closed. She
hurriedly changed clothing, putting on a little makeup. Not enough for 
her mother to make her take it off but enough to brighten her face and 
hide acne spots. 

At an age when most young girls took an interest in boys, MaryLee found
herself attracted to Julie, another girl in their neighborhood of 
lower-middle-class housing. 

Even back then, she sensed that she was different. Her fantasies were
about her own sex. Sure, some boys were interesting -- but not the ones 
who were interested in her. It wasn't a problem, since she got along 
well with the other girls in school and had learned to control her 
feelings. She had almost been made class president the year before, 
losing by only a few votes. 

The girl went downstairs and out the back door, just in case -- so her
mother wouldn't see the makeup. She hurried to Janet's house. They were 
to meet out front. 

*** 

“Hi, MaryLee. I like that pink lipstick. How did you get permission? My
mother would never let me use the stuff. Says I have to wait until I'm 
eighteen.” 

It was Verna, a short stocky girl. 

“Hi, Verna. You look nice today, just as you are. You got that math


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