Sensual Politics

eight

picture: mirrorball; and when I break it's in a million pieces

08

eight

Betty inspected the mess in her room. Shirts, shoes, swimsuits, scarves were pouring out of her bottomless suitcase. Unpacking's a bitch. It's been a day and a half since she was back from her vacation. She had spent the entirety of yesterday napping and chatting with her mom, delaying the inevitable torturous work for today. Now, she felt exhausted just by looking at her belongings. Her reluctance to work and the last bits of summer laziness creeping into her again.

That, and James.

She had not stopped thinking about him for a single moment. If not directly, he always remained in the shadows of her ever present mind, taunting and haunting her with cruel flashes from the day of prom. With some quality time away from town, she had done a lot of thinking; deciding to reconcile with him as soon as she can. In the hindsight, she understood the reasons for their fight were quite childish and immature. She can do better.

But there was something else. Call it instinct, or gut feeling, Betty felt the air change around her. She had also been thinking about this particular feeling all summer but never had the guts to face it headfirst. She blamed it on her excessive thinking mind, that always assumes the worst of people. Something about the way James talked to August that night made her insides churn. She felt it then. She feels it now.

Taking a deep breath and forcing her thoughts to simmer down, she plucks out her cardigan from the heap of clothes. Her fingers graze the soft material, first over the pale white threads of wool, then the patches of stars. She lifts the fabric to her nose and inhales.

His scent faded away over the summer.

The door next to her bursts open, taking her by surprise. She jumps a little as her Mom gives her a quizzical look, then surveys the room.

"You better clean that up, young lady," her mother motions to the clutter in the room. Before Betty could reply, she continued, "There's someone at the door for you."

All at once she could feel her pulse throbbing in her throat. "Who? Is it James?"

"No. It's a girl. I'm sure I know her but can't recall her name." She appeared to be thinking for a moment, "She's definitely not a friend type. Do you want me to tell you're not home?"

"What? No, mom. Why would I do that?"

"Just a suggestion." Her mom chuckled and briefly raised her hands in a surrender motion. "You look like you need the help."

So it was apparent that she was freaking out. For a weird moment, Betty thought of August. Curiosity made her drop the cardigan and follow her mother down the stairs.

"Tell me if you want to organize a getaway," her mom winked and left for the kitchen. With her heart in her mouth for reasons she couldn't come up with, she walked the short distance to her door and stepped out. It was the last person Betty was expecting to show up at her front porch.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Jeez. Nice to see you too, Miss Perfect," Inez Reynolds said with an exaggerated roll of her pretty eyes.

No wonder her mother was acting like that. Inez was the self proclaimed queen bee slash gossip girl of their high school and Betty couldn't find a single reason as to why she was talking to her. They were not friends by a far reach. She tends to stay away from Inez and her crowd. So if it was one of her usual schemes, and she wanted Betty to get involved somehow, she wouldn't hesitate to slam the door on her face. But Inez said nothing and kept looking at her face blankly, occasionally fumbling with her freshly manicured nails.