|buy prints of select* halfsquatch photographs at etsy or dawanda. (*prints of all photographs are available upon request)||day 2
Rebecca poked Dave’s bony shoulder and whispered, “Hurensohn,” in his left ear.
He snorted. Their in-joke got him every time. “It’s true,” he said. “I am indeed a son of a bitch.”
Rebecca laughed, and Dave laughed louder, and in seconds they were laughing in tandem, twisting in their chairs.
“So this is funny to you?”
Rebecca stopped laughing, and wiped at her eyes with her hand, smearing thick kohl eyeliner toward her temples. “Lisa?”
Hands on her hips, her stepmother regarded Rebecca with familiar exasperation. Her expression was sour.
“At the lodge I would imagine — everyone’s so worked up about this Sasquatch situation.”
“David!” His mother was back, clutching a handful of pink triplicate forms. “Everything is in order. Hello, Lisa.”
“Hey, Andrea.” On-dray-ah. “The kids sure can find trouble, can’t they?”
“It would surely seem so. Now David, your father is expecting you.”
Dave stood. “See ya, Beck,” he said, following his mother to the door. “’Bye, Mrs. Richman.”
“It’s Lisa, remember? You can call me Lisa,” she cried after him, waving maniacally, her skinny Ramones T-shirt stretched too-tight across her chest, the thin fabric buckling and pleating under her arms.
This, Rebecca thought, is so much more humiliating than getting arrested. And later, she knew, after Lisa drank a few shitty beers she’d rant on about Andrea Thompson, about how they were the same age – forty-one – but no one would ever know it, would they? Not dressed in all that fleece and with that short, sensible hair. Then she’d put on some records (Depeche Mode? Maybe New Order?) and wax about the year she spent in London when she was nineteen, about the bands she saw when they were no one, about boozecans and dancing at Luv-A-Fair in nineteen-eighties Vancouver, and about her pet albino ferret and trying coke and smoking too much weed, and of course about meeting Johnny Depp on the set of 21 Jump Street and knowing – knowing – he was going to be a big, big star.