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hs09150.jpgbuy prints of select* halfsquatch photographs at etsy or dawanda. (*prints of all photographs are available upon request) day 9

“Hey, Rebecca.” Lisa knocked at her bedroom door.

“It’s open.”

Lisa tripped into the room. She was carrying two tall cans of beer. She handed one to Rebecca, who took a short sip before setting it on the table beside her bed. She didn’t really like the taste of beer, but knew it was always best to humour Lisa when she was drunk and thinking of herself as a finalist in some imaginary cool-stepmom pageant. She flopped onto Rebecca’s bed.

“Can you believe Andrea Thompson? She’s such a bitch. I mean, I look at her and I can’t even….” Rebecca stared at the wall, concentrating on her collages, examining the narrow shelves of dolls she’d rescued and made over. Lisa’s babble was going nowhere. “I mean, fuck. If you saw her on the street, Rebecca, and then you saw me, would you ever, ever think in a million years that we were the same age?”

“Never,” Rebecca said. She took a sip of beer and made a sour face as she swallowed.
“So what was that all about tonight, with the cat?” Lisa sat up. She patted down the frayed ends of her fashionably ragged X-Acto cut hair.

“Oh that.”

Lisa propped herself up with one of Rebecca’s rose-and-skull pillows she’d made and embroidered herself. Rebecca flinched. The pillows were decorative, special, not to be used and not to be squished by Lisa’s head. Lisa hugged another pillow to her chest, holding her tall beer against it. The condensation on the outside of the can soaked into the pillowcase. Rebecca reached over and snatched it away. She fluffed and smoothed it before setting it on the red velvet chair in the corner.

“God, Rebecca! I didn’t realize the pillow was one of your things,” Lisa said. She pulled the second pillow from behind her head and tossed it at her stepdaughter.

“I’m sorry. It’s just….” Rebecca reached for two regular pillows, sleeping pillows that she was certain wanted to be slept on, held close and cuddled. She handed them to Lisa.

“Here.” Rebecca gulped back some more beer. “It’s good to have a drink — after everything tonight. Thanks for coming to get me, Lisa. That was really, um, cool.”

“Yeah, well, you know. Your dad took off in a rush after Stew called. And I couldn’t let you just sit there in that place. Actually,” Lisa leaned forward, “I gotta say that stealing that fucking cat was pretty genius. It’s like something I would have totally done back in the day.”

“Sure.”

“Seriously, though. What were you and Dave gonna do with it?

” “I don’t know, give it a better home, I guess.” It sounded stupid when she said it aloud, but it made perfect sense in her head. She couldn’t stand how the poor thing was stuck under scratched glass at a bar, an exhibition for gawking tourists. She wanted was make sure it knew it was loved.


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                                                                                                                                                          ©2008 pamela klaffke