|buy prints of select halfsquatch photographs at etsy or dawanda. (prints of all photographs are available upon request)||day 36
After the DNA results were announced, after it was revealed that a second sample tested belonged to Rebecca Richman and after Rebecca and Dave had sex and her father broke his hand on Dave’s head, the days in Whitehorse would no longer be ordinary.
No one would have thought to look for Rebecca at the lodge. It was Dave’s idea. The day the story broke, the reporters decamped, scrambling en masse to the Richman house hoping to catch the half-Sasquatch girl coming, going, maybe hiding her face under a blanket and barking “no comment!” on her way into a car.
The liquor burned through them in shots and as they drank their way down the bottle Rebecca’s resolve to avoid and ignore her feelings melted into tears. “I’m a monster,” she said.
Dave moved closer to her and swung his arm around her shoulder, pulling her head to his bony chest. He touched her hair, and then her face the way he’d seen men do in films – softly along the cheekbone. The next move was to lift her chin lightly between his thumb and his forefinger and lock into her eyes before the kiss, but he couldn’t. He was too afraid of the rejection or anger – or worse, pity – he might find instead of movie magic. He mumbled into her hair.
“What?” Rebecca pulled away.
“I think you’re beautiful,” Dave said, more clearly this time. She kissed him and in his surprise he jerked back.
“I’m sorry,” Rebecca said.
Dave shook his head and kissed her. She didn’t protest and his confidence grew. He was hard and he wondered if she could feel it as they fell back onto the bed. She was wearing a long sweater. Dave eased it up over her breasts until it was bunched around her neck and scratching at her face. Rebecca sneezed and sat up. She tugged her sweater down and reached for the Schnapps bottle. “It’s really bright in here,” she said.
Dave leapt from the bed and adjusted the mini blinds, blocking as much as he could of the relentless summer light. Rebecca slid the sweater over her head and folded it neatly before placing it on the floor. She unhooked her bra. It wasn’t so dark that Dave couldn’t see the blackness of her nipples against her skin. She lay back and unzipped her skirt. That, too, she folded neatly.
She wore tights. Dave grasped the waistband and stretched them down over Rebecca’s hips and legs. Her feet were stuck to the hose with dried sweat — she’d worn heavy boots all day. Dave peeled one foot off, then the other. It took a moment for him to realize that the smell that suddenly filled the room wasn’t her feet.