Slither - Edward Lee [19]
When Trent turned around toward Annabelle, Nora elbowed Loren back, and silently mouthed the word Bullshit.
"Isn't it legal for cancer patients, though?" Annabelle said.
Loren replied, citing the latest from the New England Journal of Medicine. "It has been proven to drastically reduce intralobular pressure in the eye as well as negate nausea symptoms in various antitumor therapies ..."
Nora let the rest of the conversation drown out.
What is wrong with me? she asked herself. She knew she was a smart, perceptive person-an academician and a credible scientist. Here, though, all of a sudden, she felt as though she didn't fit in. Doesn't matter how smart I am. That's not what the big picture's all about. She bit a nail. I'm not PART of the big picture .. .
The environment enthralled her: This was her element, a tropical island rung with marine life. It's the blonde, she knew.
Annabelle was just as professional as she, but also vivacious, beautiful, socially magnetizing ...
Nora simmered in more envy, eyeing the photographer's pose near the table. Showing off her body, sure, but also part of the crowd, engaging ...
Fitting in.
The curvy, limber body radiated vitality, not just sexual, but something deeper. She was a picture of health, charisma, and moreover, acceptance.
And I'm not, Nora realized. I can spout my sour grapes at her all I want but it doesn't change the truth. I'm a virgin curmudgeon, a gawky nerd who's so socially disconnected it's a wonder anyone wants to be around me at all, even Loren. She felt frumpish in the baggy khaki shorts over the drab black one-piece swim suit. I'll probably make a terrific old maid. Now all I have to do is wait about thirty fucking more years-
"-not that I'm in favor of legalization, mind you," Loren was saying, still plugged in and animated in the discussion, "but from the cold scientific standpoint, it's hard to argue with a clinical physical addiction rate of zero, even as opposed to the roughly fifteen percent for alcohol."
"Yeah, but every long-term pot smoker I know," Annabelle offered, "is kind of . . . a moron."
"Plenty of statistics on that side of the fence too," Loren stated. "Pot smoking goes hand in hand with an incontrovertible reduction in longand short-term memory, thematic apperception. Plus, it remains the leading cause of amotivational syndrome."
"What's that mean?" Trent said.
Nora finally snapped out of it and offered, "It makes you a moron."
"See?" Loren laughed. "The professor speaks! I told you she didn't slip into a coma when we weren't looking."
/eez, Nora thought. I really am the life of the party, huh?
"What about you, Professor? Have you ever smoked it?"
Nora blinked. The question had come from Annabelle. "I ... uh . . ." Then she smirked. "No."
"I think it's a bunch of silly crap," Trent said. "Call me a redneck, but I'll take a can of Bud any day."
"Still big money in it, though," Loren posed. "I'll bet that plant you burned was worth hundreds of dollars on the street."
Nora couldn't resist. She wanted to watch Trent's reaction. "Secluded island like this? Inaccessible?" She feigned a laugh. "Shit, Lieutenant. You could start your own little enterprise out here, and make ten times more than Uncle Sam pays you."
"No, with my luck, it'd be ten times less," Trent replied, "spending the next ten years in an army prison," and then he laughed himself. - - - - - - - -- - -
Nora had to admit, her comment didn't seem to jilt him one bit. I guess I'm wrong about everything, she thought.
Then Annabelle shrieked.
Every face jerked toward her. Annabelle shuddered, tensed up, her fists at her bosom.
"What's wrong!" Loren exclaimed.
Annabelle pointed to Trent. "There's-there's-"
"What is that?" Loren said.
Trent snapped, "What the hell's wrong?"
"There's-there's-there's-" Annabelle stammered some more-
'Something on your back," Nora said.
Trent's eyes bugged. "What? A fuckin' tarantula? What?"
Nora saw it easily. Hmm, she wondered, but she didn't want to take any chances.