Betty Blue

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They were predicting storms for the end of the day but the sky stayed blue and the wind died down. I went to take a look in the kitchen-make sure things weren’t getting clogged up in the bottom of the pot. Everything was just fine. I went out onto the porch armed with a cold beer and stayed there for a while, my face in the sun. It felt good. It had been a week now that I’d been spending my mornings in the sun, squinting like some happy idiot-a week now since I’d met Betty.

I thanked my lucky stars again and reached for my chaise longue, grinning. I lay down comfortably, like somebody with time on his hands and a beer in his fist. I hadn’t slept more than twenty hours all week and Betty had slept less-maybe not at all, who knows? She was always shaking me, always thinking there was something better we should be doing: Hey, you’re not going to leave me alone here, she’d say. What do you think you’re doing? Wake up! I would open my eyes and smile. Smoke a cigarette. Fuck. Talk. I did my best to keep up with her.

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