THE REVENGE OF BELINDA BLETKREGER – A.L. HODGES

           I’m doing this mostly because I think there ought to be some sort of record about how it all happened. To this day, the girl named Belinda Bletzkregan continues to be something of a legend amongst teenagers in the Louisville area. That’s not exactly surprising as you’ll soon see, and the stories get spicier every school year. But folks ought to have it all from the perspective of someone who was there, for the sake of everyone who was involved. I guess it doesn’t matter since most people won’t believe it anyway. But true or false, my take beats the britches off the made-up stuff you hear from the kids today. Truth, fiction, and strangeness, you know? Nobody ever said life was congruent, at least nobody honest. 

            Bee was always strange, but time made her stranger. She was the only child of parents who, quite honestly, never understood her. Mr. and Mrs. Bletzkregen were very well-off folks who always seemed disappointed in their daughter’s oddness. Bee seemed to embrace their distaste as a fact of life and did everything she could to make them eat crow. When she was thirteen she started bleaching her hair and tying it into these super intricate ponytails. She also started decking herself out in these Victorian-looking goth duds, the sort of stuff that’s all lace and trim. I always thought she looked cute, but then again, I’d always been in love with her. Goth Bee was the Bee that everybody remembers and the Bee that always comes mind when I think about her now.

           For most of my life, I was Bee’s best friend. She wasn’t bad looking, just a little too tall and gangly. Six foot at thirteen, can you imagine? She was skinny as a rail and had the longest pair of legs I ever did see. I’m no one to talk, either: I'm Steve Spalkro, the Human Platypus. When you’re five foot exact and anatomically proportionate, you don’t tend to get much female attention. Maybe that's why being around Bee made me feel…well, like I mattered.    

           We’d been best buds since fourth grade, and I think she was as good a pal as you could ask for. Growing up, Bee was the only girl I knew who liked bugs and could do tricks on a bike. She had a very sympathetic ear for me when I was a teenager and going through the ubiquitous rough patch called puberty. I was always awkward and shy, but Bee was someone that I could be myself around. She was the first person I got to know when we moved from Chicago to Louisville for my dad’s new accounting gig. We went to the same Lutheran church, we were in the same grade at the same school, and we even had similar tastes in our entertainment and hobbies. We listened to Paramor and OTEP together, watched crap anime on Friday nights, and helped each other with homework. I guess I just assumed we’d end up together with time, one of those “meant to be” scenarios you see in the flicks. Gal pals are fine in the innocence of youth, but the teenage years bring a host of problems.  

           The main issue was that poor Bee had a rather petite patootie that made a lot of less-than-petite noise. She always maintained that she had irritable bowel syndrome, but that seems like a pretty mundane explanation to something so pervasive. I mean, sweet JEEBUS, she would crack those things out! I don’t mean little girlie poofs now and again, but loud as hell full-blown hurricanes every half hour. I thought they were funny as all get-out as a kid, and I’d giggle myself to just about wetting my britches every time we got together. Bee was always embarrassed about her little problem, but I tried to get her to make the best of it. I used to have her try to play songs and jingles with her tooty booty, and we would just howl like hyenas when she pulled it off. Simpler times.  

           But after a couple of years, a guy gets tired of hearing PBBBBBT, PBBBBBBT, PBBBBBT every other second. Bee was a regular sounding board, and she put out every kind of flatulence known to man. Think of every noise you’ve ever heard come out of a posterior, and Bee would pop it out at some point in a twenty-four-hour period. The Wet Willies. The Creeping Charlies. The French Horn. The German Tuba. The Ninja (silent but deadly). You name it, you’d hear it if you hung out with her long enough.

           One of the things that united us, other than just a long-standing companionship, was our hatred of the pops. I’m of course referring to the popular demographic, that class of bourgeoisie white kid that inhabits and seemingly runs every school system. There are always those kids who, due to the influence of their parents, end up involved in every sport, club, and school decision. They thus pervade the consciousness of the student body and attain a demigod status. Most of the pops at our school were tolerable and not so much malicious as lacking in empathy. Movies portray jocks and their Stacy girlfriends as Neanderthals who ruthlessly torture kids with impunity. These portrayals tend to be overblown Hollywood bunk, with real-life pops rarely coming within ten yards of true cruelty. The actual sin of the pops had less to do with genuine evil and more to do with pettiness. Mostly, they just pretend you don’t exist.

           But Bee? It was impossible to ignore her. Take my word for it, I shared classes with her. It was like listening to lectures while a badly tuned brass band played. Since they couldn't look the other way, they gave her a name:

           Betty Butt-cannon. 

          And man, they slapped her with it every chance they got. The worst was that ginger slag Leslie McCradden, but there was a whole rogues gallery of people who couldn’t leave poor Bee alone. Again, I can’t say I don’t get the controversy: she spent every math class playing the polka with her pucker hole. And yeah, it started to smell God awful after a while. Most of the kids in our grade just jived her about it casually: it was their way of coping with the obtrusive misfortune of someone else. But the pops, with their goody-two-shoes image and self-righteous outlook, took Bee’s belching butt hole as a personal affront to our school’s reputation. The parents of these devious little darlings were always making hay at PTA meetings and talking to Vice Principal Carlyle about poor Bee Bletzkregen and her ever-talkative booty.

           They tried to get her schedule rearranged so she wouldn’t be in classes with their kids. (She disrupts my child’s concentration)

           They tried forcing her family doctor to prescribe her special meds. (It’s just not healthy that a young lady should be carrying on like that)

           They even tried getting her kicked out of school outright on one occasion. (I mean, if nothing else can be done, I don’t see why my child’s grades have to suffer because of the constant distraction…)

           And yeah, her gas was fairly constant. Sometimes, she’d crack one every ten minutes for HOURS at a time. When we hung out, there were times when I’d hear her cut them once a minute for twenty minutes straight. The issue wasn’t exactly an obscure one: I get it, alright? But what got me was that even though the teachers knew it wasn’t her fault, they still treated her like a troublemaker. But I knew her, and I knew she was embarrassed as HELL about what was happening to her. Puberty was only making it worse and nobody around her, including her folks, wanted to listen to how SHE felt about it. The parents and the teachers weren’t Sauron levels of evil, true, but they were being very selfish. Bee did everything she could to cut down on her carbon emissions, but no matter what she ate or what meds she took, it was PBBBBT PBBBT PBBBBT PBBBT PBBBBBT PBBBBBBBT, all day long.

           The two of us were outsiders, and I always admired her bravery in having the courage to come to school despite everything against her. She never cried in front to them: she reserved that for my shoulder and mine alone. Maybe that’s why nothing could ever develop between us, because she saw me only as a pillow. At the time, though, I truly believed we were bonding when she lay her head on my shoulder and wept. I also had to listen to her rants and trust me when I say there were a lot of them. I ought to have written a few down, they’d make good publishing in retrospect.

           Usually, she was like, “I’m going to go places someday, Stevie. You just watch.”

           And I’d be like, “Yeah, Bee, you’re really smart, you’ll get somewhere.”

           Cringey, ok? Beta as all heck. But when you’re a kid, you can’t see the obvious. If it were me now, I could have understood what was dang obvious to anybody paying attention. Age brings experience after all. 

           So given all this, I wasn’t surprised when Bee started hanging out with the goth kids in high school. You know, the freakazoids in black. At Louisville Public, that meant kids like Samantha Towry, Reggie Vinkter and Vic Drayton. They were all about depression, amateur poetry, and even the supernatural. Think less Anton Le Vay and more Anna Blavatsky, though. They’d go on ghost hunts and do seances and all that freaky-deaky what-not. I had nothing to do with any of it, of course: spook-speaking is a slippery slope into absolute and total geekdome that I just don’t want to take. But man, around fourteen or so, Bee got SUPER into that stuff. She was always ordering books on Wicca and tarot cards and jewelry with pentagrams and such. I started to see her less and less, even though I frequently left messages on her cell phone. I must have sounded desperate and pathetic as all hell, but I didn’t know what else to do: my best friend was drifting away. 

           And then one day, out of the blue, she told me she’d been seeing Greg Mancuso for about a month.

           This was in the spring of our sophomore year. I had been looking forward to spending the summer with her for several months, hoping we could try reconnecting. One day close to the end of the school year, we were hanging out behind the school during lunch break. We were leaning up against the wall facing the school parking lot and just shooting the breeze about whatever we felt like. It was just the two of us for the first time in about a month, and I was happy as a clam. I finally worked up the courage to ask her if she wanted to hang out that weekend.

           She was hitting a cig, a habit she had picked from her greasy emo friends. “Sorry, Stevie. I promised Greg we’d spend Friday night together.”

           And I was like, “Greg who?”

           And she gave me this chipmunk-cheek smile and was all, “Oh, Greg Mancuso, from Algebra. You’ve seen him around.”

           And I’m like, “How come you promised him that?” even though I knew the answer.

           And she just said, “Cause we’re going out, silly.”

           And I just shut up because I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I was heartbroken, man. I stayed that way the rest of the year. 

          Now I guess I’ve finally got to talk about Greg Mancuso, the last piece of the puzzle. Greg was a sleaze, plain and simple. He was one of those emo-types who always wore a second skin of makeup and eye shadow. He kept his hair down on one side like a million other Marilyn Manson clones and dressed in black with boots and spiked gauntlets. He was tall, he was skinny, he had the whole checklist. Just picture every Hot Topic douchebag you’ve ever known, and that’s Greg Mancuso. I figure Bee’s new buddies hooked her up with him, but who knows? Maybe they met at a Christian Death concert or something. Either way, she was head-over-heels for this galoot, and I was shut out of her life even more out.

            I saw Bee less and less, and when I did hang out with her, Greg was always hovering nearby. I guess Bee had a thing for bad boys, and to a lonely girl like her, Greggy-poo looked like Humphrey Bogart. I and Greg never said much to each other, and my interactions with him didn’t exactly “bring me around” to accepting their relationship. I made an effort to be friends, alright? I threw out some feelers about stuff I liked, but I don’t think I heard Greg say more than ten words on a good day. He was standoffish, and he never showed much interest in me…or her, for that matter. The feeling was mutual on my end save for the fact that Bee was crazy about him. She was like a barnacle, always climbing all over him and rubbing up against him like a cat on a tree. He seemed desperate to ignore her, which I guess was part of the appeal. 

           Chicks. What can you do?

           Well, summer came, and things didn’t improve. I barely saw Bee, and when I did, it was usually at the mall hanging with Greg and his greasy friends. They usually loitered around the Hot Top and the Spencer’s, both places I started to avoid. I didn’t call her anymore: I didn’t dare.

           I’d lay around and cry a lot too. Sissy stuff, I know, but I felt betrayed. I’d ponder the better times instead of living them and populated that summer with looking back on previous summer breaks. I remembered how we used to hang at the movies together every Friday in the summer. We would share a box of Red Hots while giggling at bad dialogue and doing impressions of the goofy characters. Every summer we’d ride our bikes down the hill outside my house and Bee would always do the coolest tricks. On Saturdays, the two of us would watch anime on DVD for hours on end and talk fan theories late into the night. Those memories tormented me like ghosts, hovering over me day and night. I didn’t sleep well, and my brain started going to some dark places. I never thought of hurting her: I couldn’t do that. But my so-called existence didn’t seem to matter as much anymore.

           Eventually, school started and the year stretched ahead of me like purgatory. I didn’t have any real friends outside of Bee, so I ate lunch alone for the first two weeks and tried to focus on schoolwork. I couldn’t talk to anyone except my parents, and I spent a lot of my free time reading comics or sci-fi stuff from the net. Mom started to get concerned and tried to get me to sign up for a club at school. I refused: school clubs always seemed lame to me. She insisted that if I wasn’t going to be sociable, I had to at least get an after-school job. I rolled my eyes at this, but parental pressure is like water: give it enough time and it carves canyons out of the most stubborn rock. I finally relented and put in an application for summer work. The only thing I could find that sounded halfway decent was Junior Library Assistant. It was a geek job for basically no pay, but it would at least keep my mom off my back. I did finally get some peace at home, but I found myself increasingly busy. I had always enjoyed visiting the Louisville Free Public Library, but working there was another matter. Every day after school, I spent my afternoons sorting books, entering data into the computers, and waiting on the folks who wandered in.  

           I guess I did manage to make a new friend out of it. The head librarian of Free Public back then was an African American woman named Mrs. Krenshaw who had worked there for about a century. She was older than God, New Orleans born and bred, and ran that library smoother than silk. She had been at Selma, had met Malcolm X and had gotten one of her many degrees at Tuskegee. That woman was thirty gallons of attitude with two teaspoons of care and she wasn’t afraid to tell you like it was until your ears bled. She never cut anybody any slack, and even the tough kids knew you didn’t mess with Mrs. Krenshaw. She, like Bee, was something of a local legend, and her picture still hangs in the Free Public Library to this day. 

           I can’t say why she took a shine to me of all people, but she did. I remember my first day when she charged up to me and said: “You ever work a job, sonny?”

           I only had a vague idea of who she was then, I had been dealing exclusively with the sub-librarian Ms. Talbot up to that point. “No mam, sorry,” I said. Mrs. Krenshaw had a way of talking to you that was like snapping fingers, time to hup-two and march.

           She looked down her bifocals at me. “Well, son, you’re going to learn. This here ain’t no disco, we work hard to keep this place going. You think you can handle a little hard work?”

           I said “Yes mam” or something like that, mostly because I didn’t know what else to say.     

           I had never worked at anything beyond the bare minimum in my life, but I showed up and did my best at the library. When it came to Mrs. Krenshaw, I always minded her pretty good and did my best to do things how she wanted them. Over time, she started to warm up to me, though again I don’t know why. She was a wonderworker when it came to baking and used to bring home-made cookies and cakes to work as a treat for the library staff. Most of the other library kids were only passing acquaintances, but I’d talk with her good and proper if she were in the mood to wag her chin. We’d munch on those bad boys and yack to each at the front desk when we weren’t busy, swapping stories and gossip about every evening. 

           I also met another girl who would talk to me. There was this brace-faced Asian chick about my age who would come in every other day to check out books, usually on my shift. I was the one who waited on her most of the time, and I checked her out at the front desk on three or four dozen occasions. She never could look me in the eye, but she’d nod her head when she passed me her card. I’ve got to admit, she wasn’t much on the eyes: she wore dresses like something out of the last century and hideous sweaters even when it was blazing outside. She also had acne even worse than mine, and to top it all off, looked like acting chairwoman of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee. But she did say “hello” a couple of times, so…I’ll count that as a victory.

           Fall and winter passed. I stayed busy, for the most part, which helped things heal. I was depressed sometimes, angry at others, but I never spiraled the way some folks do. While playing my CDs I would sometimes hear a tune that I used to listen to with her, and it would get me crying. I tried not to snivel and did my best to just stay away from places I knew she’d be. We didn’t talk for about seven months, and even Halloween, her favorite holiday, passed without me hearing from her. 

           On my down days, Mrs. Krenshaw would go out of her way to get my sides splitting by going on about people she knew, rolling her eyes and snarking off as only she could. The old woman was like a third grandmother to me, and she made those long evenings at the library worth it. I never told her what my troubles were, but I think she knew or guessed, given how things turned out later. She was smart as a whip, and even though it sounds crazy, I always felt like she could read my mind. She had strangely accurate intuitions where she always knew what you were about to say and did just the right thing in response. I got through a lot of blue periods because of her and those banging cookies she used to bring in Tupperware.

           Given all that, I didn’t find out Bee and Greg had broken up until maybe a month after it happened. I only had one class with her, History, but she sat in back and I was in the front corner by the teacher’s desk. We didn’t even exchange greetings anymore, and I guess I just wasn’t paying attention to the fact that Greg and his posse had stopped gravitating around her. I had my own life to worry over now, and her drama was only peripheral.

           And then, one day, while she was coming into History class, I saw Samantha Towry do a book dump on her. She was all like, “Why don’t you watch where you’re goin’, Buttcannon?” before scurrying off.

           Goths are terrible bullies. They just rehash tactics from the jocks.

           Anyway, I was standing by the lockers when it all happened, and I went and helped her pick the books up. We didn’t say anything to each other, but she did mutter “Thanks” before running off. I knew something was wrong, just not how wrong.

           I only saw the tail end of the infamous death threat incident. I was walking down the hall when I saw Bee sobbing and screaming to two teachers. A crowd of students was gathering around them and looking at her open locker. On the inside door, someone had smeared words in red paint:

SHIT FOR BRAINS

           She was hysterical, as well she might be. They never could pin it on Greg and his slimy friends, but I knew it was them as clearly as Bee did. It was that mixture of meanness and lameness that fit them perfectly. For geeks, they weren’t very creative. Book dumps and death threats are typical stuff, like pencil drops and writing some ex’s number on the bathroom stall.

           Then Greg’s sidekick Vic started that stupid rumor about Bee pooping her pants in English. From what I understand, Bee just left early that day because she caught the spring flu and had to be out for a day or two. But that asshole Vic started telling everybody that she dumped her britches and had to be sent home. Once the rumor got started, it circulated and grew with each retelling in the usual feedback loop of worsening details. Some people said she’d loaded up so bad, they’d had to send an ambulance to haul her away. Others speculated that a doctor had to be called because her guts had slipped right out of her pucker hole. Leslie McCradden had a ball that day, and maybe half of the rumors got started through her alone.   

           Betty Buttcannon was baking brownies in her bloomers. The stories write themselves.

           I mean, it only got worse. It’s the stuff of myth, even today, and I had to watch it from the outside looking in. Greg and friends never took part in the insults and cawing, but let the pops do their dirty work for them. But I know Greg and Vic and Sammy Towry savored every cute little rhyme about Bee’s bowels and every insult shouted by Leslie McCradden and her squad of preps. There was even a graphic little cartoon etched on notebook paper and pinned to the wall of the Boy’s Bathroom. I tore it up and tossed it into a trash can on one of my piss breaks.

           Bee stuck it out for three days. Power to her, she had a lot of courage to show up at all. But after four days, she stopped coming to school completely. A week passed and I didn’t see her. I worked up the courage to ask a teacher about what was going on. It was old Mrs. Willingantz, who had taught me the previous year and knew how close I and Bee were. She told me outright that Bee’s parents had decided that she was having some “adjustment issues” following the end of a relationship. She was seeing a counselor who was worried about both her mental AND physical health. Anybody in their mid-to-late teens knows how to read behind the niceties: suicide watch.

           So I wasn’t White Knighting for Bee, I was legit mad at Greg. After school, I decided to go looking for Greg and his posse. I found him and his greasy pals hanging around behind the school smoking cigs. They didn’t even flinch or look at me as I burst out and came up to them. I didn’t bother keeping my cool, but said right out, “Hey, leave Bee alone, alright?”

           I know. Lame.

           No surprise, he didn’t even look at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude.”

            Greg and his pals were leaning against the school wall, each with a cig hanging from their mouth. There were about six of them, including his usual pals Samantha Towry and Vic, all dressed up in leather and neo-victorian whatnot. Looking at Greg and watching him try not to look at me just finally pushed me over the line. I grabbed him by the collar of his trench coat, jerked him forward (he weighed even less than I expected), and then shoved him back against the wall of the school. The cigarette fell from his mouth as his shoulders hit the bricks.

           “Hey man!” he cried out.

           I got in his face. “I said leave her alone! You and your freak-o friends just back off, ok?”

           I heard the click of a knife, and all the courage went out of me like piss.

           To be fair, it looked more decorative than anything. It was just a pocket pig sticker with a seven-inch blade coming out of a plastic hilt decorated with skulls. The thing probably wouldn’t have cut margarine but seeing the jagged blade glint in the sunlight freaked me out. I jumped back and he pointed it at me like he was planning to do some damage. All his buddies were looking at us with a sudden perk of interest, though none of them moved an inch to intervene. I started backing away and he started coming towards me with that pocket poker of his. Fists are one thing, but I’m out when the shives appear.

           “Hey, get the hell outta here!” he said. “You ever touch me again, I’ll gut your ass.” He looked genuinely mad too…mad and, in retrospect, scared. He knew who I was, but I honestly don’t think he expected me to get up on him like that. Maybe I shouldn’t have.

           “You better just leave her alone man!” I said, trying to sound intimidating while dodging that blade of his. I’m not a good multi-tasker, at least not when my guts are on the line

           “I said get outta here!”

           So I cut tale and ran, the freaks laughing as I showed them my backside. I wondered if I’d managed to make things worse for Bee in the long run by dabbling in something that wasn’t my business. I went to the library after school and tried not to think about it. The next step was to go to Vice Principal Carlyle, who would at least be friendly enough to listen. I was nobody in social circles, but the adults considered me a “good kid”, and she would at least take me seriously. But there was no hard evidence that Greg was involved, and thus I doubted the school could even do anything to him or his pals. Plus, word would eventually get back to them that I was a NARC, and then I would be their next target. 

           That evening, while shelving books, Mrs. Krenshaw showed up guiding the brace-faced Asian girl. “Here you are, sweetheart,” she was saying “this young man can help you. Stevie, this young lady is looking for a book on waterfowl. Can you help her out?”

           The poor girl looked like she wanted to die, but I allowed as I could be of assistance. I led her to the science section, a little confused about why she was asking for help when she knew herself where it was. She didn’t say anything and had the reddest cheeks I’d ever seen. I was chattering away like an idiot, trying to fill the silence. It wasn’t until I was taking the books off the shelf and handing them to her that I realized what was behind that Mona Lisa smile: she liked me.

           Like, she like liked me.

           Man, that was weird. Her frequent visits and refusal to look me in the eye all came together. I didn’t even know how to take it, to be honest. It was like waking up one day and finding out you have heat vision or something. I didn’t know what to do, so I just said something like, “I’m Stevie, by the way. You want something, you can just, like, ask, yeah?”

           She nodded. She took all the books I handed her and turned to go.

           “Hey what’s your name?” I called after her.

           She stopped and hung her head. She didn’t turn around but called out “Sue.”

           I called back “I like your dress, Sue.” God, I was such a dork.

           She didn’t say anything but shuffled off. I figured maybe I had got it all wrong, that she wasn’t interested in me after all. I mean, hey, maybe she had Asperger’s or something. Who knows with chicks, right? But she did come back a couple of days later, still at nervous wreck but at least more talkative. 

           She was like, “Hey Stevie, I’m looking for a book.”

           And I was like, “Hey Sue, I’m looking for something to do this Friday. Maybe we can help each other out?” 

           Worst pickup line ever.

           She fiddled with her hair and muttered something. I thought at first maybe I’d pissed her off. All I could say was, “I’ll see you at the theatre at seven.” It’s hard to talk to somebody when neither of you has any game.

           What blew my mind was she showed up. I found her outside the theatre under the kiosk at seven on the dot looking at her feet with cheeks red as roses. But she was wearing cut off shorts and a halter top that wasn’t working too hard. I walked up to her, took her by the arm, and led her to the ticket booth. I couldn’t stand to eat Red Hots with her, after my time with Bee. Instead, I opted for a huge bucket of popcorn and a belly-washer-sized cup of soda. We didn’t say much but we had a good time.

           We hung out again on Saturday and Sunday after church (her parents were Methodists). I learned that she wasn’t ABC (as I assumed) but second-generation Korean. Her dad was something big in telecoms, and her mom was a real estate agent-turned housewife. Her actual moniker was Su Kim Ho, but she wanted to be Americanized: she signed her name as Susan Ho and wanted everyone to call her Sue with an “e”. She had at least two siblings (that she mentioned) and went to private school (which is why I never saw her in class). She also told me she wanted to be a zoologist. Whereas she had previously been quiet and uncommunicative, she was now a deluge of information. She kept giving me random details about her life in broken bits that formed a disjointed tapestry. I liked her though, and it was clear as crystal that she liked me too. We hung out the next Friday as well, and the following weekend too, and soon it was a regular thing.

           When I told Mrs. Kenshaw about it all that Monday over our usual evening cookie break, she just laughed. “Oh, honey, that poor baby’s been trying to talk to you for six months now.”

           I was stunned. But that was just typical Mrs. Krenshaw. She was like a guardian angel…or maybe something else, as I’ll mention later.

           Another week passed, and I kept expecting a bomb to drop on my head courtesy of Greg and his pals. Nothing happened, and while I saw them at a distance, they never approached me. They had driven Bee away, which was their goal, and that accomplished they were ready to move on. The rest of the class appeared to be in the same boat as the rumors and stories about Bee died out. Finals were coming up, as well as prom and summer vay-cay, which all took precedence over the latest drama. I still hadn’t called Bee, like the coward I was, but I was afraid of what she would say to me. I figured the whole thing was over, and whatever happened would just happen.

           I finished my finals with average scores and was looking forward to a summer with Sue. We had already shared our first kiss (on my birthday, oddly enough) and were in the habit of holding hands wherever we went. I was entranced by her brace-lined smile and rosy cheeks, completely infatuated by her nervous little giggle and shy little glances my way. I found out she was farsighted as all hell and had to wear these giant coke bottles to read, the paradox being that she loved to read and hated how the glasses made her look. I assured her she looked great in whatever she wore. Sue had always liked me, but I think that was the second she fell in love. 

           I also spent a lot of time with her parents that summer. Mr. and Mrs. Ho seemed happy just to see their daughter with somebody other than her siblings, and always bent over backward for me. They spoke only so-so English, so I spent a lot of time just nodding my head and smiling. They had a pool in their yard, which I and Sue spent most of the summer swimming in. She always wore a one-piece, but she wore it great. Our families started to hang together, and we had some great summer barbecues. Her sister and little brother took a shine to me too, which I considered almost miraculous. People don’t like me, you know? But her family became a part of mine, which was something that I never really expected.

           For once, I didn’t feel alone anymore.

           By the time my senior year started, I felt relatively normal for the first time in my life. I didn’t have any close friends at school, but I had a larger family at home. Plus, there was Mrs. Krenshaw at the library if I needed someone discreet to talk to. People didn’t socialize with me, but they at least looked me in the eye when I asked them something. I didn’t belong to any group, but there was an acknowledgment that I existed. It didn't matter anyway since I had a private paradise elsewhere.

           Bee came back that year too. I think she took summer classes and caught up on lost time before re-enrolling. People took pokes at her now and again, mostly pops like Leslie McCradden, but the worst of it was over. Everyone had moved on, and she wasn’t even much of a fixture as Betty Buttcannon anymore. We had all grown up, with college, work, and even marriage on the horizon for many of us. She and I still didn’t talk: I had no classes with her, and frankly, no time to worry about reconvening. 

           The hang fire ended when she came up to me at lunch one day. I was eating on the school’s front stoop by the parking lot, reading a book Sue had recommended. Between the two of us, she was the REAL reader, but I tried to engage on her behalf. I was sitting on the school’s front steps, a sandwich in one hand and a book in the other. Bee walked up bold as brass and seeing her felt like seeing a ghost

           She was dressed up cute. Her hair was dyed purple and put it into two twin ponytails with big black bows that bore skull ornaments. She had on thick eyeliner and mascara, as well as blood-red lipstick that made her look like a vampire. She was all lollied and uwu, except for the thigh-high leather boots she had on under her skirt. Those things were badass, with about sixty buckles on them. She waved and I waved back; I didn’t know what else to do.

           “Hi, Stevie…Steve.”

           “Oh…hi.”

           “How are you?”

           “Yeah…doing ok.”

           “Cool.”

           She sat down beside me. I was expecting her to just say “see ya” and go on but it seemed she wanted to talk. I was ok with this, figuring it was better to get things aired.

           “I’m sorry about everything,” I said quickly. “I thought of calling I just…I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

           “You could have called.”

            “I thought it’d make things worse.”

           “I heard you told Greg to step off.”

            “Yeah, it didn’t go well.”

            She giggled. “That’s what I heard.”

           “Well I’m glad to see you back,” I said quickly. “If you…need anything…you can ask.”

           “I do need something.” She stared at her feet, one of her legs twitching nervously. “I missed you, Steve.”

            “Well…I’m sorry if I made things harder for you.”

           I turned, and we looked at each other in the eye for the first time in a long time. I’d been with a girl who was crazy about me for about eight months at that point, and I knew what “I want your baby” eyes looked like. Then it hit me that she was slutted up, and slutted up on my behalf.

           She put her hands on my cheeks, pulled me in, and gave me a peck on the lips. I didn’t want her too, and I was too surprised to resist. 

           “I missed you,” she said. “I thought if you’re free…”

            It hit me suddenly that I didn’t hate Bee and even sympathized with why we had drifted as we did. We were both in social purgatory, and she had found a way out, a way to be inside of something. I wasn’t much company, to be fair, and I’m sure that Greg and pals had offered her more than I could ever give. I was a miserable little shit, and I’m sure for all else you could say about Greg Mancuso, he knew how to party. She had tried with Greg what I would eventually try with Sue, an attempt to be somewhat normal. We had both gambled on horses, but hers hadn't come through the finish line. 

           I guess she just wanted to cut her losses. She seemed to legitimately think that sex would patch things up between us. The only problem was, I had already moved on. She was a wound that had become a scar, a thing that was a part of me which I wanted to hide and forget. My girlfriend Sue was sunlight on a summer day, choirs singing in a church, everything that was light and beautiful in the world. I couldn’t trade Sue for some goth with a talkative butthole, even if Bee WAS an old friend. 

           “I’m kind of busy these days,” I said quickly. 

           “Oh…”

           I stood, needing to end this. “Well, I have to go. See you around?”

           She remained sitting. “Sure.”

            So I left. I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. 

           For a while, Bee was sweet to me again. We didn’t hang after school anymore, but we chatted off and on between classes and during lunch. She asked me about Sue and my job and a bunch of other things. Bee was already somewhat unhinged; I could tell just by how she talked. She had a weed habit now and used to smoke behind the school after class with the other wastoids. The truth was, things weren’t back to normal and never could be. We didn’t have anything in common anymore.

           Greg was skipping, and I don’t think he intended to graduate. He was always drop-out material and had a band or some such that he was focusing on. I also noticed a distinct lack of Sam Towry and good ol’ Vic too. That left only Leslie McCradden to keep up the Betty Buttcannon shtick, which she did religiously. I caught her doing it once, and I dressed her down in front of her friends. I told her if she ever did it again, I’d kick her spoiled little backside right over the top of her empty head. 

           In early October, Bee showed up at the library. I was surprised to see her: Bee was bookish, but she preferred to hang around the University library with the college kids and hipsters. She came right up to the desk, and since I was running things that night, I had no choice but to wait on her.

           “What’s up?” I asked.

           “I need you to order a book. A super-rare one.”

           There was a computer on the desk, and I booted it up. “Ok. What’s the title?”

           “It’s called Mysteria Vitae Romae. The fourth edition is the one I want”

           I typed it in and did a database search. Five results popped up. “You mean…the one in French? “

           “Yep. That’s the one.”

           I whistled. “Dang, Bee. That…that’s a twelfth-century book! There are only like five copies in the world!”

           “One of which is here.”

           I scanned the page. Sure enough, there was one at the bottom: Louisville Free Public, Private collection. “God in Heaven Bee…”

           “I just need to look at it. If you need to supervise me….”

           “Bee, that’s the kind of place…I mean, you have to have permission from a U of L bigwig to hang out in there. Even I’m not allowed…”

           “But you could talk to Mrs. Krenshaw, right?”

           I sighed. I could, but I had no idea what effect this would have. The private collection was the bane of U of L’s existence: they wanted the books for academic purposes, but the tomes in question were from the private study of Charles F. Granger and had been bequeathed to us via his will. I massaged my eyes and said “Ok, I…I can ask. I can’t promise you anything but…gimme twenty-four hours, ok?”

           She nodded, turned, and was gone. 

           I managed to get it all arranged that very night, as we were closing up for the day. Mrs. Krenshaw was pretty receptive to the idea, mostly because she trusted me and thus by proxy trusted Bee. She gave me some terms that she to agree to before anything could move forward. After school the next day, I tracked Bee down and gave her Mrs. Krenshaw’s answer, as well as what she was expected to do.

           “Tell her I’ll do whatever,” she said. We were behind the school, and she was chewing on a cig. 

           “Well…sure,” I said. “I’ll call you with the details. Just remember, thirty minutes max, and she has to be there to watch you.”

           “No worries,” she said with a wink. 

           It was all set up in a matter of days. I heard nothing more about it except for an off-handed comment by Mrs. Krenshaw herself. She blurted it out one day while we were taking a cookie break. Mrs. Krenshaw gave me a funny look and said: “Your friend must be into some weird stuff.”

           “Why you say that?” I asked, reaching for another cookie.

           “Well, son, that book has a nasty reputation. It was the black sheep of old Mr. Grainger’s collection. Nobody knows how he came across it, or even why he had it. Most of the stuff in his collection are diaries, rare books, bible concordances, things like that. But that book is the only book of black magic he owned.”

           I blinked. “Huh?”

           “Well…not like in a horror story, you know. But more like… like the works of Aleister Crowley. Or the gnostic gospels. A kind of apocryphal religious thing. You know much about the Manicheans or Mithraism?”

           I shook my head. “No. But Bee would. That’s her thing.”

           “Well, it’s strange Stevie, I'm not gonna lie. But it’s a favor, right?”

           “Yeah, I, uh, I owe her. Just this once.”

           She shrugged. “Just this once then.”

           Life went on as usual for a while. Halloween came, the first one for me and sue. We planned to spend the whole evening on my couch watching monster flicks. We had to babysit her kid brother and sister for the night, but I didn’t mind so long as I got to spend time with Sue. I mean hey, a night with my girl is a night with my girl, either way. The only real snag was that one of the trick-or-treaters who showed up that night was Bee. 

           She was done up as Wednesday Adams. Jesus wept.

            It was Sue who answered the door (she loved seeing the kids dressed up) and Sue who let her in. Bee met the whole family, ate some cake with us, and despite my silence, managed to get on with Sue pretty well. They both spoke cooking and gardening fluently, and they gabbed about recipes and flowers for a good spell. Sue found Bee’s little “problem” sympathetic and recommended some herbal remedies passed down from her grandmother. The good news was that Bee only hung around for about an hour before thankfully popping out the door.  

           Thanksgiving and Christmas passed. Bee stopped by during these holidays too, amicable visits that were also mercifully short. I began to believe that normalcy had finally found me again. I heard nothing further from Greg and hoped that the drama was over. Bee told me once that she had gotten some nasty mystery letters in her mailbox when she first came back to school, but otherwise, they had staved off. I guess they figured their account with her, whatever it was, had been settled.

           In February, a few weeks before Valentine’s, Bee asked me to help her with some plants. She’d been taking up therapeutic gardening and had rented space at the school’s greenhouse. It was available for student use, but most kids had nothing to do with the place. Bee had been nesting there and was trying to get an herb garden going. I was getting comfortable with her again, although our social interactions were limited to chatting in the hallway after class. As such, I hesitantly agreed to help.    

           We met at the greenhouse, and man, I saw some weirdness. I assumed that Bee was growing something like petunias or black-eyed Susans. Maybe, at worst, some goofy grass, ergo why she wanted my help collecting it. But what I saw was…well, they were plants, but not like any plants I’ve ever seen. She had about fifteen pots of them all over the place, and they were in full bloom. I’d compare them to skunk cabbages, but even that doesn’t begin to describe how strange they were. Their shapes didn’t seem natural, with leaves that had odd geometries and flowers with weird taints and colors to them. They were mesmerizing, though looking at them made me feel uncomfortable for reasons I can’t explain.

            I asked her what they were, and she just shrugged. “I ordered and planted them around November,” she said. “They’re from the Carpathians.”

           That was good enough for me. We put on gloves and used scissors to harvest the leaves, which we then put in sandwich baggies. As we worked, I decided to breach the question that sat between us. “So hey… what happened between you and Greg?” I asked.

           “Oh. I never told you?”

           “Nope. Never came up.”

           “You really want to know?”

           “I might as well.”

           She sighed and gave me the skinny. It had all gone down last spring or so. They had gone to an AFI show in Lexington, with her and Greg going in his Camry and the other jerkoffs in Vic’s VW. The show had gone well, and they had gone through the weed provided by Sam Towry and her boyfriend at the time. Afterward, she and Greg had gotten into the back of his car to get busy. She was ready for him, but as he was pulling her knickers off, he noticed the seat of her undies had some streaks. Like, some real zig-zaggers.

           Upon the toilet I wished I could sit, I thought it was gas, turns out it was shit.

           Well, anyway, Greg freaked out. They argued and the whole thing escalated quickly. They started throwing around their grocery lists of Stuff Wrong with My Partner. She was crying and screaming, and he was doing his “Bitch, calm down” routine with everything just blowing up all at once. She told him it was over and hitched her way back to town. Bee told me there had been a lot wrong in their relationship. This latest bout of insensitivity had just been the last straw. 

           If it had been me from a year previous, I’d have sided with Bee without question. But being older and wiser, I think Bee probably brought her own share of problems to the table. She was a very needy person, and I think she tended to impute onto relationships her own expectations and perceptions. Bee had always seen me only as a vehicle for her own needs and had probably treated Greg the same way. She had wanted him for sex and status, not because she admired his stupid band or his dumb hipster art. To him and his buds, that justified the viciousness of their attacks against her.

           In other words: she had hurt him in the same way she had hurt me…and would hurt me again if I let her back into my life.

           Well, we finished up and got the leaves packed away. She tried to get me to go for coffee, but I said no for the obvious reasons. I wanted to see Sue again, to have her around and feel her comforting presence. I was young, but I still understood loyalty.   

           Of course, I forgot about all of this when I and Sue started looking at colleges. I had done reasonably well on my SATs, and we were discussing state schools. U of L would take either of us, but we both wanted a life outside of Kentucky on our own. We’d been finding ways to organize our lives around each other, and I was being as flexible as possible around Sue’s educational needs. I had never considered a future career and had always assumed I would go into accounting like my old man. But these days, I was starting to wonder if maybe I wouldn’t make a dang good librarian. 

           Yet I wasn’t shy of Bee for very long. She approached me a week later after school while I was at my locker. “Hey, Stevie?”

           “What’s up?”

           “I’m doing some cooking later on and need another pair of hands. It won’t take long. My parents are out, so it’ll just be the two of us.”

           “I, uh, I …I don’t think Sue would like that.”

           “Then don’t tell her.”

           I sighed. I knew it was a bad idea, but I went along with it. One part of me just wanted to get through the year. Then I’d be moving somewhere else, and I could begin my life with Sue. Bee would do her thing elsewhere, and I’d be done with her at last. So when school was out, I rode back to her place in her little red VW Beetle. I tried to be as detached from it all as much as possible. I didn’t want to be here, to be drug into all this. It all smelled bad to me, stunk of unspoken agendas. Bee was in a talkative mood and went on to explain what she needed:

           “I’m making a special tea. It’s just a lot of cutting and mixing, really, but the process is very delicate. Very step-oriented, and you have to do it just right. It’s just something new I’m trying, and I could use a hand. I’ve been experimenting with, like, herbal remedies for my little problem, and I think this one could be a breakthrough.”

           I sighed. This wouldn’t be the first “herbal remedy” that had fallen through for Bee.

           I spent a good three hours just getting the stuff ready. It was a kind of tea, and the herbs had to be cut, mixed, measured, even distilled out, and it all had to be done according to exact specifications. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that the recipe was from that book, but Bee never explicitly clarified this. She had it all written down on a little notepad, and which she kept referring to. I never saw it, but she gave me highly specific instructions again and again. I mostly just chopped up dried herbs and watched the distilled stuff while it boiled. Most of the herbs were dried things that she probably bought at the local organic store or procured via her hippy friends. The only exotic ingredients, though, were those plants she had grown in the greenhouse. She had dried that stuff out and now wanted it diced and mixed with oolong. I did as I was told, though I can’t remember the exact steps. There was a lot of them, and it took a good hour and a half to get everything prepared. Some of it I don’t remember simply because it didn’t make much sense to me: she had to sprinkle dried leaves with water and say prayers in Latin or some such. Finally, it was all put into a metal kettle full of fresh tap water and put on a burner to boil. 

“What next?” I said as she turned up the stove. Now that we were done, I badly wanted to make myself scarce.

           “We wait,” she said with a smile. It was the first legitimate smile I had seen on her face in a long time. “Wanna play cards?”

           “I wanna go to Sue’s place,” I said, looking down at my shoes. 

           “Sure. I’ll drop you off. I got another errand to run.”

           “I’d rather you didn’t,” I said.

           She frowned. “Does she not like me?”

           “It ain’t that, just…I don’t wanna like…dredge up old stuff. You know?”

           We waited for the kettle to perk in silence.

           Once the steam had whistled out, Bee poured the tea into a tall ceramic cup. She held it in one hand, and with the other, she made this odd gesture that I still don’t understand. She kissed her middle and ring finger and then held her hand up to the sky. Her lips moved, but I didn’t catch the words. Then, even though the tea was still steaming, she guzzled the whole thing in one go. I gasped, but the heat didn’t seem to bother her. She coughed, and tears ran out of her eyes. Man, the stuff hadn’t exactly smelled appetizing while it cooked in the kettle: I could only wonder what it tasted like.

           “You ok?” I asked slowly.

           She nodded, coughing, clearing her throat. “Peachy.”

           “Did it work?”

           She swallowed. “We’ll see. Listen, you wanted to go to Sue’s?”

           “Yeah…”

           “I’ll drop you off on the block before hers. But I need to do something first. Will you come with?”

           I hesitated, disliking the tone of her question. “What does it entail?”

           “I want to talk to Greg one last time. I want…I dunno, I want a lid on things. The school year’s half over, and I just…I don’t want to go with things as they are. And I don’t want to do it alone. I was hoping you could…come with?”

           I sighed. I rubbed my eyes. This sounded dumber than hell. “Look, Bee, I…”

           She took my hands in a gentle gesture, her fingers gently messaging my palms. It wasn’t lustful, just loving and sweet. I looked at her and she smiled at me. For a moment, the old Bee was back, the kind girl who had shown me the time of day when no one else would. 

           “It’s what I really wanted, Stevie,” she said. “The tea, also, but…I mean…I was putting it off all this time. I thought maybe you needed this as badly as I did.”

           I sighed. I understood which she meant, on an intuitive level. She was right, things couldn’t be left as they were between her, me, and Greg. We had buried our pain alive, and it all had to be dug up and a steak plunged into its heart.

           This happened at about six or seven o’clock, so it was sundown when we set out. It was getting on towards spring, but the nights were still chilly and dark. I had no idea where Greg would be at this hour, but Bee seemed to. We got into her car and she drove for a while. We didn’t talk at all that whole time, and all I could do was watch the city pass by while I rode with her. I was trying to keep calm, remembering my last encounter with Greg and wondering if this conversation would end just as badly. Leaving things alone was both the safe thing and the smart thing, but it wasn’t the right thing, at least not by Bee. What would happen would happen, but a confrontation was in order. 

           We found Greg, Vic, and Sam by the loading docks at the back of the mall. They were leaning against the wall and having a smoke, muttering to each other in low voices. When I and Bee drew close, they all looked up with confused expressions. Vic was the first to act, walking forward and flicking his butt away. He looked neither angry nor even aggressive, just bland. His neutral features made me wonder for a moment if this was the guy who had wreaked such havoc on Bee’s life. But when he spoke, I wanted to jab him one right in the nose.

           “Hey, babe…I told you not to come here anymore. We’re through, see? So you can’t hang on our turf.”

           “That right?” Bee said, cocking her head.

           “We’re done. So go home.”

           “Gee, Greg, I wondered about why you weren’t returning my calls. Our breakup hadn’t occurred to me.” Bee’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were getting wide. Man, she had only been looking at the guy for maybe half a minute and was already revved up to strangle him.

           Greg just blinked. “Listen, Bee, if you’re still mad…”

           “Oh, I’m not mad, Greg. I just came to settle things. You got anything to say to me, or can we cut this short?”

           Vic and Sam snickered behind Greg.

           Greg cocked his head. “You’re the one who wanted to walk, so I let you walk.”

           “You gave me a few presents, though, Didn’t you Greg?”

           “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

           “Well, it doesn’t matter. Cuz I got some presents for you too.”

           She extended her hand and pointed her index and pinky at him and his pals. It looked like the “rock on” sign people do at concerts, but it was only later that I learned what it meant. Bee hissed out a paragraph’s worth of words in what sounded like…not Latin, but maybe Greek or Aramaic? Anyway, she rattled it all off, and Greg just gawked at her like he didn’t know what to do. Vic just giggled, lighting up a fresh cigarette. Samantha Towry didn’t look…I didn’t know, not frightened exactly, but very wary. Maybe she had a better idea of what Bee was doing than the guys did. I just cringed. My initial assumption was that she was casting some stupid Wiccan curse or some such.

           Bee finished, and her arm dropped to her side. She glared daggers at Greg, who still just looked confused.

           We waited and nothing happened.

           And then Bee cut one. Not just the cheese this time, but a full-on nuclear warhead. She cut a fart that lasted a solid minute, and it was without a doubt the longest and loudest I’ve ever heard. Her face turned beet red as it tore out of her with the full force of a hurricane. Vic and Sam started laughing until they doubled over, tears pouring down their cheeks. Man, I had to fight hard not to start chuckling myself, the whole thing was kind of funny. Poor Bee could only stand stock still and watch her enemies get the last laugh as a half year’s preparation went down the tube.

           “I told ya, babe,” Greg said, “magic isn’t real.”

           Bee’s fart began to rise in tenor. It went from blatting to a squeak, rising in volume to almost a whistle. I thought of the kettle and the steam that had come out. All we could do was wait until it was over and then walk away. Greg was grinning now, and he knew he had won. Poor Bee was blushing to beat the band, but she met his eyes and kept her face firm. Power to the girl, she was no coward and handled it all with a lot more grace than I would have.

           It all ended with a loud, wet sound. It made a -SPLORP- sound as something shot out of Bee's back end. What emerged  was slimy and pink tube, a kind of tail that slipped right out from under her dress and hit the asphalt with a splat. Bee’s whole body went stiff, and the veins in her neck stood out. Vic and Sam stopped laughing, and Sam asked Greg if they needed an ambulance. Greg didn’t answer, and I think he was doing what I was, trying to figure out what it was. It looked, at first glance, like a giant earthworm, a big striated pink thing that was oozing and goopy. It throbbed and pulsated, twitching and moving there on the ground.

           It struck me suddenly that I was looking at her colon.

           Then the end of it began to inflate like a balloon on a helium pump. Bee’s stomach and chest began to heave, and I heard her grunting and chuffing like a steam engine. Her eyes rolled back in her head and drool started to drizzle out of the corner of her mouth. Something was happening, something was being transferred from her to it. Vic called out to Greg, asking what they should do. No one moved, and I don’t think anyone could. We were all mesmerized, watching the bloated end of Bee’s gut grow into a large, inflated oval that was twitching on the ground. It was getting bigger and bigger, the flesh stretching. I wanted to run for an ambulance, dead certain the thing would pop.

           A slit appeared over the surface of the enlargement like a pair of lips. I thought of someone splitting pea pods, a horizontal dent spreading over the engorged end and sliding open. A terrible, multicolored light poured out, cutting into the shadowy dusk. It consisted of hues and shapes that I had never seen before. It was awful to look at, and I staggered back in terror. Greg was backing away and Sam Towry was sobbing. We all knew something was coming, moving through time and space from some awful other existence into our own. I shrieked “BEE, STOP!” but it was no use. At that point, I don’t think she could stop it, even if she wanted to. Once in motion, some things go until they reach equilibrium. I knew, beforehand, what equilibrium would entail for her.

           Something squeezed out of that terrible portal, something that flashed and glowed and throbbed like a living organ. It wasn’t solid but a kind of sentient flowing gas, though it acted almost like a liquid in how it moved. I’ve heard there are other states of matter, and that day, I saw a state that science has no say on so far as I know. It was like a living, oozing vapor, moving through the air like smoke. Parts of it seemed to drip sludge that evaporated when it hit the ground. Other sections seemed to come together into appendages or limbs, which then just as suddenly disintegrate back into a mist. It glowed different colors and the surface of it was a constantly shifting texture. The best way to summarize it: beautiful, terrible, and utterly alien to our concept of reality and existence.

           It flowed through the air and settled over Greg and his pals. I heard Vic yell and Sam Towry shriek. It…well, it GOT them, but it’s hard to explain exactly what I mean. The thing was so strange, and my brain couldn’t make sense of what it was doing. The best I can express it is this cloud was just sort of consuming them. I have a memory of Vic sort…disintegrating, his skin fizzling away. I have a less defined recollection of Sam Towry’s face melting off the bone like wax, but that one is foggier. Either way, it got them and then retreated into the opening from whence it had come. 

           I saw the worm-like colon retreat up Bee’s dress and back into her. Her lips purse, her eyes bugged, and her whole body shuddered. She seemed to come to herself as if waking up out of a trance. She shook her head, massaged her eyes, and started taking deep breaths. God only knows where her brain was or if she was even conscious of everything that happened. I still wonder, to this day, if she knew what was going to happen, and I can only hope her concepts were vague. I don’t want to imagine that she called up that terrible thing on purpose.

           As for Greg and pals: they were just gone. There was not a scrap of them left, not even a smudge on the asphalt.

           I looked at Bee and she looked at me, and neither of us knew what to say. Then, in a low voice, I managed to whisper, “Guess it’s over.”

           “Guess it is,” she said slowly.

           “You ok?”

           “Yeah. I’m cool.”

            We left then, going back to her car. We didn’t say anything the whole ride back, there wasn’t anything to discuss. I was still in shock and trying to get my brain working again. It wasn’t just that I didn’t believe my eyes, I couldn’t even categorize what I had supposedly seen. That living vapor, those screams, they didn’t just seem unreal, but rather almost unfathomable. I was trying to get my head to register it all, to understand what I had just experienced. The only reality to it was that my imagination couldn’t have come up with that awful eldritch monster form Bee’s bowels. Yet even as I tried to recollect its contours, the shapes refused to re-structure in my mind.

           She pulled alongside the sidewalk on a street that I was familiar with, about six houses away from Sue’s. The familiarity of the place woke me out of my trance, and I groped mechanically for the door handle. I just wanted to be out, to be done with at all, to finally be away from all this. But Bee’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, holding me in place. Her eyes stared into mine and her gaze was pleading.

           “Don’t tell anyone,” she said, her voice a dim whisper.

           I stared at her. Tell? Who would even believe it? How could I even find the words? But even then, I was loyal to her, and always would be. I said nothing but only nodded. She let me go, and I stepped out of that car vowing it would be our last meeting. The circle had closed, and the world had returned to what it was. It was a foolish thought, to think anything had ended, but I wanted to believe it was all over so badly. I watched her drive away, and I prayed to God in heaven that some peace might be established for once.

           A whole week passed before anything was said about Greg and his pals going missing. Nobody much liked them, not even their parents it seems. The word people use for folks like them is “troubled”, and troubled kids drop out of sight all the time. The authorities assumed that’s what Greg and his team had done, at least until they found Vic’s van in the mall parking lot. Greg hadn’t taken his car, which was considered strange, and I heard later that the police started to suspect something untoward had happened to them. I saw their pictures on a local TV report at the end of the month, but nothing ever came of it. To this day, most people probably still think they just booked on the Amtrak or on a Grayhound, which was the rumor by the end of the year.

           I kept my distance from Bee, which wasn’t hard since I was pretty dang busy getting stuff ready for graduation. I had to order my gown, and of course, make plans to celebrate with Sue. I had kept mum about my meeting with Bee, for obvious reasons, and seeing Sue so happy for me was almost heartbreaking. I had managed to keep our little bubble of happiness pure and aloof from my troubles, in no small part because of my religious devotion to avoiding Bee. 

           Or so I thought.

           It was during the spring that Leslie McCradden also disappeared. Now that one DID get a lot of attention, and to this day it’s considered a cold case. She went out to grab some groceries for her mother and never came back. Her car was found in the parking lot of a defunct textile mill, the trunk still full of Kroger bags. The investigators surmised she had gone to meet somebody, but nothing was ever found. It is believed that she was kidnapped, although we’ll never know for sure. At least I don’t think the cops ever will, they wouldn’t ever listen to my story. 

           But the school year ended, and we had graduation. Trust me when I say it couldn’t have come sooner. I walked across that stage bold as brass and was only too happy to snatch my diploma from the Principal’s hand and shake the other. I was a free man. The end of a twenty-year sentence wouldn’t have brought me more relief or happiness. I remember looking out at the crowd and seeing Sue watching me with a grin on her face and her eyes shining. God, it was wonderful, seeing her so happy. I felt like I had cheated death and come out of the other side of the darkness and finally into the light. I and she, we were crossing the finish line together, and going on to other races and other lives that would be better than what we now had.

           We concluded the day with a big bash at my place. Sue and her family, my parents, and both sets of my grandparents all got together for a barbecue. Burgers, hot dogs, ribs, chicken, homemade pies, man we had the works laid out! Sue wouldn’t stop talking about how we were both going to Wesley that August since Mrs. Krenshaw’s recommendation had gotten me a job with the university library. Man, that woman of mine would look at me with love that would melt your soul if you saw it. She still looks at me like that sometimes, when the kids are in bed and we stare at each other alone in the house we own together. I never thought a girl could see me that way, but she has a way of proving me wrong in almost everything.

           During the actual barbecue dinner, I got a pile of gifts from my folks and Sue’s parents. Most of it was practical college stuff: nightlights to read by, desk lamps, school supplies, all that kinda junk. I was grateful for all of it, or at least, I had to act like I was. Everybody was super happy for me, and it’s hard to push people off when they’re that proud of you. I was eighteen years old, and for the first time almost two decades, I thought my life could amount to something. I had always just assumed I’d be an outsider, just drifting through life, but all those smiles and claps on the shoulder made me see myself in a whole new light. 

           But it was Sue, of course, who gave me the thing that made the evening, and she gave it to me personally. She handed me a little silk bag that held a little geegaw on a string. The thing was like a medallion made from black jade, with a bushel of gold tassels hanging from the bottom. It was etched with a series of interconnecting symbols that formed a mandala, with each ring of symbols bigger as they radiated out. The thing was gorgeous and looked hand-made. I loved touching it, loved caressing the smooth surface and feeling its coolness in my palm. It sent chills up my spine as if it were spitting static. 

           “It’s a good luck charm,” she explained. “You hang it over your door or a window and it wards off bad luck. I thought maybe it could spruce up your future dorm…”

           “Thanks,” I said, running my fingers over it. It was beautiful, just like her.

           “We ordered it from the old country weeks ago.” Sue continued. “I meant to give it to you for your birthday, but it didn’t get here until a couple of days back.”

           I frowned. “Sue, baby, you didn’t have to do this…”

           She put a hand on my arm and smiled at me. It was such a sad smile, almost a hurt smile, and it seemed to say a million things that didn’t all quite register with me. “It’s ok, Stevie. Really. It’s a gift from me and a kind of goodbye present from Mrs. Krenshaw. It was her idea. She wanted to be here, but she couldn’t make it.”

           This struck me as odd. What did she have to do with it? “Well…thanks…I appreciate it, babe.”

          She took my hand. Sue was no pinup beauty, but she had a way of calming me, of absorbing all pain and fear out of me like poison. She smiled and said, “Everything’s going to be fine.”

           I blinked. I didn’t know what she meant, though she seemed to be trying to tell me something in a wink-wink, nudge-nudge way. Her parents were giving me broad smiles, apparently also unaware of what she was getting at.

           We had a blast, and it wasn’t until around eight that things started to wind down. We were all sitting in the back yard, listening to the crickets and watching the fireflies pop out. Sue and I chased a few through the yard and trying to catch them, giggling like school kids. My dad and her pop were talking serious turkey about the future while the women put the food away. After a while, my mom came out into the yard and called out for me.

           “Hey, Stevie! Someone to see you!”

           I knew who it was. Bee had graduated too, but just barely. I hadn’t paid her much mind then and hadn’t bothered congratulating her after the walk-up on stage. I figured maybe it was time to go and face the music, to deal with all that we had become, though I didn’t know what to expect. A hug and a handshake maybe, if I was lucky. Whatever came, I wanted it over quickly, so that I could go back to Sue. The terrible thing with Greg still haunted my thoughts and even my dreams from time to time, but this last meeting was part of settling that business as well.

           Outside, on the porch, it was dark save for the streetlight at the end of the walk. Bee stood on the porch steps, waiting for me, the light casting her into silhouette. I went out and she waved awkwardly when she saw me. I was afraid, but just as Bee had closed things with Greg, I had to close things with her. I couldn’t have known that there was indeed a connection between those two events. 

           “Hi, Steve.”

            “Hey.”

           “Can we talk in the yard?”

           “Sure.”

           We stepped off the porch together and onto the walk. There we were in the dim light, bugs buzzing all around us, spring turning into our last summer together. There were so many years I had dreamed of standing with her like this in the dimness, and yet now that the moment had come, I just wanted it over with. I felt vaguely embarrassed, almost ashamed, to be here with her. It wasn’t just the eradication of Greg Mancuso: what was that to me? It was the deterioration of what we had been as our lives together came crashing down. Yet we had come back to the beginning, standing in this yard where we had first met, grown to adulthood in spite of everything.

           “Remember when we first saw each other?” Bee said as if reading my mind.

           “We had just moved here. You zipped by on your bike. Wrecked. I came out and asked if you were alright. I took you inside and got you a Band-Aid.”

            “You were a cute kid.”

           “Well, thanks…”

           She took my hands in hers. “I guess we have to part ways.”

           “I guess,” I said. I pulled away from her, unable to stand her touch. “Look, I, uh, I hope stuff gets better for you….you know…in college and all…” I noticed then that she hadn’t broken wind during our entire meeting. Guess the tea worked after all, perhaps in more ways than one.

           “I was thinking of hitting the road for a while… I kinda just want to…I dunno…go on an adventure. You know?”

           “Well…good luck to you…”

           She frowned. “You’ve gotten cold on me, Stevie. Real cold.”

           I shrugged. “Well, what can I say? Things have changed.”

           “Is it Sue?”

           “I dunno Bee. It’s everything.”

           She touched my shoulder. I pulled away.

           “Look,” I said “I was, uh, really proud of you today. You showed a lot of courage, walking through school and all. Not letting Greg get to you and sticking with it. I mean…”

           “Do you hate me, Stevie?”

           I looked at my shoes. What could I say? How could I even express all that I felt with words? The simple answer was no, but there was more to it than the obvious. Even if we were just friends, and only meant to be friends, we had known each other so long that things had gotten complicated. Time complicates everything.

           “Stevie…” she said, almost pleading with me.

           “I wish you the best. I really do. Good luck.”

           “Stevie, wait…”

           “I have to go. Take care, ok?” 

           I started to walk away, trying not to look back. I wanted to, but I wouldn’t allow myself given the nature of things. 

           Then she screamed. “STEVIE HOW DARE YOU!”

           I did stop and turn then. God, what would the neighbors think?

           Bee’s cheeks were glistening with tears. Her eyes were bugging out, and her fists were clenched at her sides. “After all these years…all these years together…and you give me the snub…”

           “Hey!” I said. I wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but I didn’t dare. She was a black hole trying to suck me back in. “Hey come on, don’t…”

           “I was going to ask you to come with me,” she said. Her hands fidgeted angrily before her, her fingers clenching and unclenching. “I thought you’d say yes. It was a slim chance, but I wanted to risk it. I’d been thinking about it…”

           “You know I can’t do that.”

           “Why?” she said, her eyes wide, her face twisted in the darkness. “Because of your girlfriend? Because you think rubbing your relationship in my face after…”

           “Because it’s over,” I said softly. It was the most straightforward I could be without delving into the pit of reasons for our separation that had built up over the years. “Because it’s dead and done. It’s time to move on, Bee. That’s all there is to it.”

           “Oh, it’s over alright,” she said. Her teeth were clenched, and her voice growled in her throat. She turned her back to me, and for one bright moment, I thought she was going to walk away. But then she bent over and her panties hit her ankles. I realized then why she had come, and what she had perhaps meant to do all along. We both had unfinished business with each other: this was her way of resolving it.

           I started to back away, though I knew there was no way to run away. That thing was coming, and I couldn’t stop it.

           I heard the splatting sound and saw the slimy mound that was Bee’s gut hit the pavement of the walk. It began to grow and swell, becoming a large black orb. I saw the sliver of light as it split open, and saw those terrible shapes coming out. The split widened into a chasm, and I saw a portal into a world of madness and motion, where everything was writhing colors and strange shapes. I cried out, falling back, wanting to run but unable to move. The light was piercing into me like a fishhook, holding me in place as it bled from the portal.

           And then it came. That terrible, vaporous monster came, all glowing and throbbing and dripping. I could feel its menace, its wrath, focused now on me. The air seemed to change in front of it, shifting as it made its way towards me. I realized then that it wasn’t merely some blot of light and color, but a manifestation of Bee’s rage. It was a dog on a leash, a thing that fed on her hatred and attacked in her name. But it came at me, extending its tendrils. It was like being taken over by a hurricane, a storm of destruction descending from the sky and coming to obliterate everything in its path.

           I acted on instinct. I had the jade doodad from Sue sitting in my pocket, pressed against my thigh. I whipped out without thinking, holding it up like van Helsing warding off Dracula. A scream tore out of me as I felt the air throb and the whole world shift from the terrible power of that thing. It was all around me now, a world of color and energy that was threatening to rip me apart. There was terrible sentience to it, a hateful will that I could feel turning its attention on me. 

           And then, suddenly, I felt that will ebb. I saw the colors recede as the thing left me, moving away in retreat. It was going back towards Bee, leaving me and making its way towards her. I cried out and I heard her shriek. It was now upon her, covering her in its maleficent body. Yet it seemed to be…well, to be going into her. It was squeezing itself into a kind of compact stream and forcing itself into her mouth and nose. The best I can describe it would be to say it was like watching someone projectile vomit technicolor goo in reverse. Bee’s eyes went wide as it forced itself into her, crawling down her throat and back into the guts from whence it came.

           And poor Bee, she started to blow up. Like Violet Beauregard, she was expanding like a balloon, her entire body bloating. I heard a loud POP! as the top button of her corset snapped, followed by another and then another. Her dress was ripping apart as her body inflated into a round sphere. At first, it was like watching a pregnancy accelerated into seconds instead of months. Her head was pinched between her shoulders as her stomach bloated out and took over the whole of her mass. Her legs wobbled to support the increasing immensity that was tearing her clothes to shreds. She grew and grew, expanding until the inevitable…

           KABLAM

           My ears rang as the whole world erupted into color and tone. It was like what happens when you look directly into a camera flash, everything turning into bright oranges and reds with scattered blots of hue and motes of random shades floating about. I saw shapes, alien landscapes, even screaming faces etched into the explosion of color. It was like an LSD trip filmed in Surround Sound, everything flashing before my eyes in crazy chromatographic insanity.

           And then it was all gone. I stood alone on the walk, staring into the night, the amulet in my hand. Bugs buzzed and cars blew past on the road. Life had gone on, with nothing left of Bee Bletzkregen but a black smudge on the walkway concrete. 

           And that was that. I walked away and have never told a living soul about the whole business. I mean, would anybody take it seriously? Bee ended up being one more of the missing: the usual investigations were performed, but nothing came of it. It was a weird year in Louisville, but hey, in big cities, kids go missing all the time. Some cops came by our house one day, asked some questions, but that was all. The connections between her and Greg were obvious, but there was no real evidence of anything. If foul play was suspected, it was never made public. I guess her folks assumed she had gone off with Greg and pals, wherever they had wandered to, although I never spoke to them again. Dad says that Mr. and Mrs. Bletzkregan left Louisville a few years after all this, so who knows what they thought? One more loose end, tying itself up. 

           The only real mystery left to it all was if Sue gave me that little geegaw knowing it would work. It sits in my desk to this very day, and I often take it out and caress it with my fingers and wonder about it. It was all just a little too convenient, don’t you think? I’ve never told Sue about Bee and Greg, even though it’s been years: I just don’t have the guts. Yet somehow, I’ve wondered if maybe she knew that Bee was up to some hocus pocus and gave me the amulet for protection. My wife has her way about her, and her way of dealing with things that, even now, mystifies me. The amulet saved my bacon, and I think it worked specifically because it came from her.

           I often wonder if Mrs. Krenshaw had something to do with it. Sue had always been a regular at the library, and Mrs. Krenshaw was as good an acquaintance of hers as mine. She knew about the book, and she might have guessed what Bee intended from things I had told her. It’s a big leap, of course, and assumes the old woman believed in the reality of curses…and yet I wonder. That summer, when I went in to turn in my resignation, she said some things that I consider a bit odd:

           “Guess you’re leaving, huh Stevie?”

           “Yes, ma’am.”

           “Well, it was good to have you.”

           “Yes ma’am, thank you.”

           “Shame about your friend.”

           “Oh…well, yeah…”

           “People can turn on you, you know. I hope that poor girl didn’t meddle with something she didn’t understand.” She gave that knowing look from over her bifocals.

           I blushed. “Naw. I don’t think so. I mean…magic, right?”

           Mrs. Krenshaw just smiled. I guess the Land of Oz isn’t the only place with good witches.

           Everything in this world is flux. I write this so that there might be some record, some memory, of what happened, incredible as it may seem. We can pretend we live in a rational age, but people aren’t rational, and neither is the universe. It isn’t eldritch horrors that frighten me, friends:

           It’s what a person pushed too far is capable of. 

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Andrew L. Hodges was born in Suffolk, England, but spent the majority of his life growing up in Virginia. Living on a farm, he showed a very early interest in both naturalism and fantasy stories. He enjoys writing horror, and draws on his love of biology and Appalachian scenery for his work.