Slice of Girl

My aunt asked me to come over to read with her newest foster child. The girl is eighteen. She is not thin. In her face, anyway, weight is not an issue. Her cheekbones are sculpted. High and breathtaking cliffs. Her skin is olive-y. Not brown and not green and not yellow, but some soothing blend of the three. And this blended olive color, combined with the smooth texture of her skin gives the girl an effortless, sultry air. Combine all that with those cheekbones and it’s clear. She is beautiful. Her face. Her face is beautiful.

She draws her hair up. Usually in an unpleasant bun, squashed onto the top of her head. A flattened, grapefruit-sized ball of hair. Planted there. Planted, but it does move. When she turns her head, it lists. Just enough to add some attitude to what comes out of her mouth.

The girl is sullen and so frequently bitchy, it’s an oasis in the driest desert when she allows a smile or a gentle word to escape. She speaks at a slightly lower than normal volume and reads out loud at what is often barely audible. You must tune in to listen. She has learned to control it all. Figured out the loopholes to get by on the least effort possible. She’s knows the whether and how to of being nice; the manipulation of time so she never does for too long anything she doesn’t want to do; the modulation of her tone when speaking to one parent or the other; the change in the volume of her voice, drawl of her words, and coquettish blink of her eyelashes when she wants something. There’s almost a twinkle in her eye when she’s putting on the act to get what she wants. She seems to be enjoying herself.

And then it’s gone. Bored and boring, dull, tired, and numb. Like an ox. And her ass is so fat now. As her face is at an ideal weight, her bottom is inversely overweight. So much easier to focus on how fat her behind is when she so easily doles out the blahness of her inner world. She lets go a dainty girl giggle with mistakes. Like when lesser dogs lie on their backs, legs spread, to submit to an Alpha dog. The giggle is submission with a sprinkle of cuteness to beg mercy. Please oh please don’t punish me too hard for not doing the work, tee hee. Sickening, but irresistible.

When she doesn’t get what she wants, the world is to blame. Fault will be announced. Damages will be voiced. It will be well known that she has been done wrong. “I’m not gonna drink it,” she said when the wrong beverage was brought home from the doughnut store. “I’m not gonna drink this. It’s not what I asked for,” she said toward the kitchen. She pushed her lips together, moved the drink some inches away, brought her eyelids to slits and said, “I’m not. I’m not going to drink it.” She said it in a variety of ways a couple more times and then, twenty minutes or so later, she drank it. Just picked it up and started sucking on the patient pink straw.

When it’s time to go, I gather my stuff and call goodbye to my aunt. To the girl I smile, “See ya tomorrow.” Toneless, she replies, “Yeh.” I close and lock the door behind me.

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