Something
told her to turn her head. There he was. She didn’t know whether to turn tail or
fling herself at him full force. There seemed no middle ground.
Instead
she just smiled and gave a small wave.
Her
first impression was that of fear,
which surprised her less than she might have imagined. The fear came from
somewhere south of her throat but north of her chest, in that no-man’s land
where food still got stuck even years after she’d had bariatric surgery. Gary
got so angry when she ran off to throw up – just
sit with it he would say, as if he was some sort of Zen master and she just
some proto-Buddhist idiot. Sit with it
and see if it goes away. But fuck that. Two seconds in the bathroom with her
finger down her throat and trouble was vanquished.
Now
was different. Trouble lay in that cavity, turbulence on tap. A hurricane, but
a wanted one. Category 5? Bring it
down, bring it on.
No need
to ask the storm’s name.
