Out of the Black - Lee Doty [20]
Wait a minute! She grimaced and examined her canines in the mirror. No melodramatic fangs... maybe only when she was angry. "Grrrr!" She made an angry face in the mirror. "Grrrr! Rrrrrgh! Grrrrr!" She tried more diligently- nothing.
She was about to try an even louder, more embarrassing growl when she heard a flush from one of the stalls. So she wasn't alone after all... great. She fought off the impulse to flee before the flusher came out of the stall to pretend not to stare at her. Her face burned with embarrassment.
Maybe only when she was humiliated? She checked her teeth again- nothing.
Emboldened by her inability to grow fangs and her reflection's general opacity, she slowly lifted her chin, exposing a dark red... hickey? No.
Yes. A hickey? This explained why the transit cop hadn't made her get medical treatment... there was no horrible gore of injury, only the red badge of teenage affection. Sweet crap no!
Oh yes. Her hand came up to inspect it. As her fingers brushed it, a tingle crawled across her feet. That was weird. She touched the mark again and the same static electricity tingle moved across her legs, back, and then her face. It felt like a network of electric filaments extended from her little love mark throughout her body. She spent a few seconds just exploring the feeling- weird!
The skin of the hickey felt hard beneath her fingers. She bent closer to examine it in the mirror, head pulled to the left to offer her a better view. On closer inspection, it seemed more like a burn than a hickey; it was hard beneath the surface like a subcutaneous scab.
Her investigation was interrupted when an elderly woman exited the farthest stall. Sure enough, the lady did a terrible job of pretending not to stare at the fat, wet, bloody, growling chick ten centimeters from the mirror examining her sadomasochistic hickey.
After a few seconds of eyes-closed, this-is-not-happening paralysis, Anne turned on the water and pretended to wash her hands. She managed to keep her moan to a low, tight "Mmmmm" as the soap and hot water entered the gashes on her fingers and palms. She couldn't stop washing though... the point of pretending to wash your hands was to avoid drawing even more attention to yourself. Besides, this had to be good for the cuts, right?
No. The first sob caught her off guard. NO! But there was no holding back the tears. They joined the red-tinged water in the sink. In the mirror, her flushed face was contorted by grief. The sobs broke up and punctuated her moan of pain. It was unbearable and unstoppable.
She felt a light hand on her shoulder. She looked up, and saw the little old lady from the stall attached to the hand. The lady looked at her like she wanted to help, but didn't yet know how.
"It's okay sweetie," she said, "It's all going to work out."
Anne shrugged helplessly. She tried to say she was sorry, but only more unintelligible sorrow came out. Anne surrendered to the humiliation. She leaned on the sink and let her head droop. The weeping was absolute, and for a moment, all consuming.
During all this, grandma didn't move, she just stood there, hand on Anne's shoulder, squeezing occasionally. The way tonight was going, it occurred to Anne that she should probably keep an eye on the old woman's purse.
After the storm had passed, granny let go of Anne's shoulder. "You're soaked." She said, noticing Anne's smallest problem. "Let's see if we can't do something about that."
Anne actually did the abortive defense-flinch as the lady's purse came up, but the lady opened it and pulled out a small plastic pouch. "This ought to help!" She said in a voice thinned by age and softened by concern. "I've never had to wear it... I only bought it in case the weather report is wrong and I get stuck downtown without my raincoat." She held out a clear plastic bag containing a bright yellow disposable rain poncho.
"I couldn't..." Anne started.
"It's okay!" Grandma interrupted, "I've got a box of twelve at home- ordered