afghangirlscifi

Science fiction stories chronicling Afghan women and girls.

Monday, January 09, 2006

Baseball 8

Zohra is hanging up her coat when Indira approaches. I know the look well, b****y, smart ass, spoiling for an argument; but have never seen it look that ugly before. I can only assume Indira used to hold back with me, afraid of losing boyfriend.
Phony smile, "look more relaxed, musta got laid."
I her Zohra's angry thought, "get lost b****." But she puts on a phony smile, "you know how it is when you have a busy lifestyle. Sometimes the dusting falls behind a bit. Did some, feel nice."
It's a mistake, gives Indira an opening, "my former BF, the ball player, pain in the ass. Not abusive, just neglectful. All that stuff athletes get caught up in."
Bland, "aren't all men so?"
"He had one redeeming feature, one reason I hung around, he was multi-cultural. Explained to me how Feng Shui works." Now the smile is earnest, not phony, "it really works, changes I made in my apartment. I have a magazine article in my desk, would you like me to run a photocopy?"
"Yes please."
I sit, Zohra laughs, "how on earth did you manage two years with that?"
"We-ell, she's less hassle than baseball groupies."
"My respect for you has just gone up."
The article arrives and Zohra reads. Front and center is the business of clutter holding onto negative energy.
Musing tone, "so you were helping me out?"
"Yes."
"Good, tonight you and I will redo the books. I know darn well lotta those hafta go."
She starts in reading email that arrived during her absence. She can't concentrate, endlessly re-reading them.
I ponder that, get discord in a workplace, production goes down. Takes her til morning coffee to read a dozen. If she weren't on edge from Indira, I'd guess it would her half an hour.

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