“at least now, my tears will no longer have to be hidden by the rain”

 Bette didn’t know what to make of her mother’s suicide note. A part of her wanted to tear it up and another wanted to take a rifle and shoot some random person in the head. She looked up into her father’s eyes and decided not to do anything. Even though Melvin Porter was a stoic man, Bette knew that that was only to mask his feelings. Bette knew deep inside that Melvin had always been torn as to whether his once-wife killing herself was a good thing or a bad thing.  He had kept the note hidden in a box in a box in a bigger box for years and years. It was only now that he was showing his daughter what sh had been asking foever for. Nothing was written in Bette’s slate, her mind. There was nothing to say. Maybe it was because Bette had inherited her father’s talent for ignoring old emotions but Bette’s mind was just static. Nothing was said by neither of them and Melvin took the note from Bette’s hand, put it in the box, put it in the drawer under his pants, and closed the drawer. The loud bang of it didn’t even make Bette’s nerves jump.

 Driving back home, back to her husband, Bette began to feel something now alright. Anger. Rage…at who? At her stupid piece of ***** mother. What a dumb suicide note, how selfish can a person get? That selfish. Bette had long come to terms with her mother’s death, it had permeated into Bette’s life so thoroughly that the shock value was non -existent. Only when other people flinch did Bette realize it was sensitive material. Bette didn’t even remember her. Bette’s mother had become an idea, of the past…and never had evolved to be an ideal. She had seen so many people, even paintings, who created their mothers as ideals. For her, Bette had never thought of her mother that way. In fact she hardly thought of her mother at all. why did she have to ask her father about the note? she must have caught Melvin in some kind of mood. She regretted it now, it made her foul.  It was in this mood that she came home to Paxton. Paxton, what a anme…what a man. Bette was so still in love, after 4 *****’ years. Bette had always been such a heartbreaker too. Her previous men had a ll been losers though. Bette deliberatley picked them though. It made her feel less bad when she up and left them out of the blue for no reason other than boredom. It was just for ***** anyway, and brief intimacy. Bette pretended it all hadn’t meant something. That all changed when she met Paxton. Poor Paxton, Bette had been so mean to him in the begining. she thought he was such a dork. A library geek. She spent her time at the library, that was rare, to take out art books for references. she was an up and coming curator and art was on the brain, always on the brain. So when she saw Paxton sitting on the armchair reading his Tolstoy, looking so pathetically absorbed she at first mnetally laughed. And went walking on. Over the next couple of months Bette frequented the library. She was preparing a show and had to keep on getting art books and taking them back. and each time she saw that strange man. He had beige khaki pants and a blue cardigan with a white blouse underneath, with black horn-rimmed glasses, and pale pale pale skin…a roman nose that took up most of his face and a mass of impossibly curly black hair. And huge doggy eyes. Bette didn’t know his name but always glanced his way when she passed by. Maybe she was curious why he was always reading, and what he was reading. Then one day, fed up with seeing him curled up there on his favorite chair she went up to him. His quiet reading and quiet air annoyed her. She didn’t know why. he didn’t seem suprised when Bette went right up to him looking down and asked what he was reading. He looked up and smiled, his mouthlines were kinda attractive…and said he was reading Toni Morrison. For some reason she giggled, maybe it was because he was a guy. Bette didn’t know she was that shallow.  After that day Bette always passed by him to ask what he was reading. And always got the same smile and a different smile. After the show was finalized Bette didn’t need to go get books and so stopped coming. She had been asking that guy the same question for a month. Bette wondered what he would think now that she stopped going there. Bette forgot him for awhile…then when she was with some friends attending a spoken word jam at a local bookstore she spotted him. Alone again, with a book under his resting arm and a coffe in the other, he was concentrating so hard on the artist’s words that Bette was startled when he suddenly looked at HER. After knowing smiles, Bette got up to go to him in order to apologise. The rest was history.  But not even her gentle husband could cool Bette’s present mood. Her mood felt even to her like hot coals, she was burning herself, burning her mind and murder was flirting with her hand. It kept twitching as if it was going to grab sometihng sharp and sink it in someone’s chest. Bette was not always this aggresive, or grumpy…things just always seemed to grate against her. There were times when Bette just wanted the world to stop sending her situations she couldn’t…control.  Paxton was at the table flipping through the mail. Bette walked in and opened the fridge. water would help her throat, it was starting to become dry. Paxton asked her if anything was wrong. Was she that transparent? Bette walked over to him after drinking a slip of liquid and kissed his lips briefly. They were moist and warm. Bette felt a prick of desire in her loins. “We have a new neighbour?” Bette nodded, she asked who it was. Paxton shrugged and went back to the bills. Bette felt her desire go ka-put…she hated his non-chalance attitude sometimes. She hated a lot of things.  But Bette loved a lot fo things also. Sometimes too much. She loved her father too much to start screaming at him after he showed her the note. It was his fault her mom killed herself. Bette shook her head…forget about it. It was old news. She didn’t like bothering herself with sentimental sad depressing bullshit. She was a “give me the facts” kind of girl.  Bette stood on her tiptoes and took out an old nice box they were saving for just this occasion. She opened the cookie-jar and put some cookies in there. Oatmeal raisin cookies that Paxton made. Bette never learned how to cook, when her husband tried to teach her she almost burned the house down. Bette laid them out delicately and placed the lid on top…”I’m going to over to the new neighbour to …you know..welcome her”. Paxton grunted. ‘*****’ Bette thought, why did he always have to be so absorbed? She bent down and blew in his ear, Paxton yelped and Bette laughed. He reached out and stroked her arm, Bette felt herself tingle again. She left the house whistling. Bette saw her neighbour in the yard with her back turned, blond hair…slim body. Bette’s curiosoty was piqued.

     It was in this mood that Bette went over to welcome tina Kennard to the neighbourhood, a delicate balance between suppression, anger, lust, and curiosity.

TBC