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hs19150.jpgbuy prints of select* halfsquatch photographs at etsy or dawanda. (*prints of all photographs are available upon request) day 19

Rebecca was moving a rack filled with postcards to the other side of the shop when Dave arrived. She was making space at the front of the store to allow for the Sasquatch souvenirs that were scheduled to arrive that afternoon.

“Do you think Kelly would mind if I put one of these up by the door?” Dave handed Rebecca a sheet of paper. There was a shadowy photograph of the Lady Sasquatch and bold, tabloid-style type. YOU’VE HEARD ABOUT IT! NOW SEE FOR YOURSELF! TUCKY THOMPSON’S SASQUATCH AT THE SOLID GOLD KLONDIKE LODGE! POLAROIDS $20! ONE WEEK ONLY! CASH, DEBIT, VISA AND MASTERCARD ACCEPTED – NO PERSONAL CHEQUES!

“Wow,” Rebecca said. She took the roll of packing tape from Dave and affixed the poster to the counter. “Your dad’s really running with this.”

“Yeah. And he’s having her stuffed. He even wants to change the name of the lodge to the Solid Gold Sasquatch Lodge.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“What’s it like – the Sasquatch?”

“I don’t know. Big. Hairy. It’s hard to describe,” Dave said, suddenly uneasy.

“What are you doing later? Maybe I could come by. Check it out.”

“Maybe.” Dave wasn’t so sure. “But I have to finish putting up all these posters and drop off handbills and then try to have a nap because I have to stay up again tonight to make sure the icebox is filled with, you know, ice.”

Dave was acting odd – and he wouldn’t look straight at her. Rebecca stroked a hand across her face. She did this whenever someone didn’t meet her gaze, as if to make sure all of her features were still in place. Eyes, nose, lips. Her cheeks flushed – she was overdue for a facial depilatory session.

She’d tried bleach, but that just looked weird – white downy hair growing from her dark skin and when the sun hit her face every hair seemed illuminated, creating a soft halo of white from her forehead to her chin. And she was afraid to wax, scared of the pain. So she relied on depilatory creams and powders that she ordered online – she found it too humiliating to walk into the drug store on Main Street to buy such things.

While her face was essential, Rebecca would let her legs go – and her arms and her torso and the rest – for weeks, until her skin started to itch or she became paranoid that everyone could tell, that they could see the dark fuzz through her clothes. These thoughts were especially irrational since she was always covered up, wearing long black skirts or pants. She bought men’s shirts and sweaters so they’d be long enough in the arms. Whatever she couldn’t find or order inexpensively, she make.

Yes, Rebecca thought, she’d have to do at least her face before heading over to Dave’s.

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                                                                                                                                                          ©2008 pamela klaffke