3
his neighborhood was dirty, she made a note not to wear sandals here anymore. her pointer and thumb toes pinched the thong between them, pinning the bottoms to her sole, squeezing out any foreign detritus trying to make its way between her and her shell of clothing. she brushed her hands up and down her arms one at a time, shooing away the impossibly invisible flies that landed and made the hair on her arms twitch delicately. she repeated this on the back of her neck, making pains to seem casual and unharried to the onlookers peeking through the empty knots of the boarded windows. this is it, she thought, he's finally under my skin. he's inside me before he's even inside me.
she used to carry pepper spray in her purse until it leaked one day, staining her wallet and a lucky bracelet her little sister had woven for her in high school. she'd been a little pissed, but got over it fairly quickly when she realized that her wallet just holds money, the bracelet was kind of ugly, and she had never used the pepper spray, even when faced with a situation. situations didn't come up very often, but when they did, her mind settled like a bedsheet and folded back into itself, letting the body react. a set of footsteps following her around a dark corner caused her pace to slow, her calves to flex a little more purposefully as she guided her feet in a straight line along the concrete runway. the torso of a male suitor, however unwitting, pressing into her back at a club elicited an about-face, her amused and almost coy eyes challenging her partner to meet her gaze, daring him to keep pressing forth. a hand resting between her knees at a party caused her to almost instinctively point her toes against the floor, raising her knees and letting gravity tease the hem of her skirt an inch or two higher up her thighs. even if she had taken the spray out, she couldn't have gotten the cap off; her body would've refused. good riddance.
a crescent of sweat felt cold at the bottom of her back, underneath the elastic of her summer dress. which house did he live in again? they all looked the same, in that they were all old victorians condemned by the city, too expensive to fix up, too historic to tear down, and why would you bother anyway? shit in every direction. so many shitty houses that there wasn't even room for a bodega, just the walmart on the other side of the chainlink that ran behind his block. she had started shuffling her feet a little, slowing down to recognize something, or at least make an attempt. here the curb jumped up, an uneven tile jutting obliquely into what it must think is the sky, and her toe caught the lip of it, ripping her from wonder.
she had stopped walking without knowing why; other than the pain, and now the blood, her shoe had been maimed. the thong had ripped from the sole, breaking the bond between her foot and the rubber. looking into the sun, she slowly relented and took a seat against the mailbox, letting herself drip down the bottom of her foot.
she used to carry pepper spray in her purse until it leaked one day, staining her wallet and a lucky bracelet her little sister had woven for her in high school. she'd been a little pissed, but got over it fairly quickly when she realized that her wallet just holds money, the bracelet was kind of ugly, and she had never used the pepper spray, even when faced with a situation. situations didn't come up very often, but when they did, her mind settled like a bedsheet and folded back into itself, letting the body react. a set of footsteps following her around a dark corner caused her pace to slow, her calves to flex a little more purposefully as she guided her feet in a straight line along the concrete runway. the torso of a male suitor, however unwitting, pressing into her back at a club elicited an about-face, her amused and almost coy eyes challenging her partner to meet her gaze, daring him to keep pressing forth. a hand resting between her knees at a party caused her to almost instinctively point her toes against the floor, raising her knees and letting gravity tease the hem of her skirt an inch or two higher up her thighs. even if she had taken the spray out, she couldn't have gotten the cap off; her body would've refused. good riddance.
a crescent of sweat felt cold at the bottom of her back, underneath the elastic of her summer dress. which house did he live in again? they all looked the same, in that they were all old victorians condemned by the city, too expensive to fix up, too historic to tear down, and why would you bother anyway? shit in every direction. so many shitty houses that there wasn't even room for a bodega, just the walmart on the other side of the chainlink that ran behind his block. she had started shuffling her feet a little, slowing down to recognize something, or at least make an attempt. here the curb jumped up, an uneven tile jutting obliquely into what it must think is the sky, and her toe caught the lip of it, ripping her from wonder.
she had stopped walking without knowing why; other than the pain, and now the blood, her shoe had been maimed. the thong had ripped from the sole, breaking the bond between her foot and the rubber. looking into the sun, she slowly relented and took a seat against the mailbox, letting herself drip down the bottom of her foot.