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[BC] 38. Vengeance
Oct. 19th, 2008 10:14 am[set Monday afternoon at the airport, after Henrietta boards a plane for home]
The Lovely Bones had to be the most depressing book ever written. Not just because of the huge blanket of grief and sorrow that covered every character and never really thinned with the passing of time, but because of the implication that heaven, however wonderful it was, could never be perfect and be everything you could possibly want when all you wanted was to live.
She’d tried to read Napalm and Silly Putty instead, but hadn’t been much in the mood for witty comedic observations, not even from George Carlin. Who was also dead.
Death fucking sucked.
“Are you all right, dear?”
Baileigh glanced up sharply from the paperback she hadn‘t really even been reading, blinked up at the unfamiliar middle-aged woman standing beside her table. “Sorry?”
“You look upset. May I sit?” Apparently she took Baileigh’s dazed silence as a yes, and slipped into the seat across from her, all sweet smiles and Chanel perfume and Susan Lucci hair. “I could never stand to see such a lovely young girl look so sad. What‘s troubling you, sweetheart?”
Baileigh stared at her.
The woman continued to smile, kind and sympathetic. “Is it a young man? I tell you, I can always recognize the look. Nothing else can put that look on a girl’s face. You live long enough, you know that look very well.”
Still staring, Baileigh set her book aside and sipped from her coffee cup impassively.
The Erica Kane look-alike faltered just a bit beneath the complete lack of response, but recovered quickly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I don’t mean to be rude. I wanted to make sure you were all right. I have a daughter close to your age. Would you like to talk about it?”
( “Do you…things, not have some kind of a system?” )
word count: 1035
The Lovely Bones had to be the most depressing book ever written. Not just because of the huge blanket of grief and sorrow that covered every character and never really thinned with the passing of time, but because of the implication that heaven, however wonderful it was, could never be perfect and be everything you could possibly want when all you wanted was to live.
She’d tried to read Napalm and Silly Putty instead, but hadn’t been much in the mood for witty comedic observations, not even from George Carlin. Who was also dead.
Death fucking sucked.
“Are you all right, dear?”
Baileigh glanced up sharply from the paperback she hadn‘t really even been reading, blinked up at the unfamiliar middle-aged woman standing beside her table. “Sorry?”
“You look upset. May I sit?” Apparently she took Baileigh’s dazed silence as a yes, and slipped into the seat across from her, all sweet smiles and Chanel perfume and Susan Lucci hair. “I could never stand to see such a lovely young girl look so sad. What‘s troubling you, sweetheart?”
Baileigh stared at her.
The woman continued to smile, kind and sympathetic. “Is it a young man? I tell you, I can always recognize the look. Nothing else can put that look on a girl’s face. You live long enough, you know that look very well.”
Still staring, Baileigh set her book aside and sipped from her coffee cup impassively.
The Erica Kane look-alike faltered just a bit beneath the complete lack of response, but recovered quickly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I don’t mean to be rude. I wanted to make sure you were all right. I have a daughter close to your age. Would you like to talk about it?”
( “Do you…things, not have some kind of a system?” )
word count: 1035
