Epizeuxis: Repetition of the same word, with none between, for vehemence. Synonym for palilogia.
“Hell, hell, hell and more hell!” It was the story of my life. For as long as I can remember, nothing’s gone right. When I was two, my car seat flew out the car when my father took a curve too fast. To this day, nobody knows how the car door came open, but I think my blankie got caught in the door when my mother closed it after she loaded me in. Blankie kept the door from closing all the way. Also, my mother never buckled in my car seat. It was an accident waiting to happen. Whenever I asked her about the accident she would give me a thimbleful of gin and tell me to “Shut up and be grateful.” She did that until I was five. After that, she just hit me.
What was I supposed to be grateful for? My face had skidded across the pavement tearing off my lips, nose, and and eyebrows and leaving lines etched up and down my face like pin stripes.
I can’t afford to get my face fixed so I use Halloween wax lips and wear Groucho Marx eyebrow nose glasses. The lips make my speech incomprehensible. It’s a trade-off. The nose covers the two holes in the lump of flesh that used to be nose. The glasses are useless, but they make me look intelligent.
One of my goals in life is to have cosmetic surgery. I save every penny I can working at the car wash. I’m still trying to collect from Dad’s insurance company, but whenever I contact them, there is a mechanical voice that says “Negligence, negligence, negligence. You are ineligible to file a claim. Cease calling. Claim closed.”
Last week I tried to have a little fun. I went to the beach. I was trying to get a tan and my lips melted in the sun. They dripped down my chin. I was so embarrassed I ripped them off and peeled the wax off my chin. A woman walking by looked down at me and screamed at my lipless mouth. A crowd gathered around me. Some fat guy got in my face and said “We don’t like your kind around here.” I asked what my “kind” is. He said “Freak.” That did it. I put my backup paper bag over my head and ran to the bus stop in my bathing suit and flip-flops, leaving behind my blanket and cooler.
There. That’s just two examples of the hell of my life. There are hundreds more, but I don’t pity myself. One day I’ll be repaired and able to face whatever comes my way. Maybe somebody will love me.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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