Eyeful Heat

I was spent, somewhere between tomorrow and today, struggling to keep my wits about me. My mind was flirting with some finicky belief about destiny and all the things that weave me into it as the conversation rolled on into the bleak afternoon where I knew nothing would bloom from this more than a few tickled words at the back of my neck and disdainful glares at how pompous I probably was for not being aware of my place.

And I knew my place, I just didn't fucking care to cater to a bunch of unctuous, lily-livered, sanctimonious geese that prayed on my demise. Yet, here I was, making friendly with them where my husband believed that I was 'friends,' when I was trying to give them every sense of the reason to believe me to be boring and lackluster, even if they'd try to stir something nasty up about me post factum.

Women.

I ran my tongue along my teeth, shoving down the gully of sweat that was beginning to seep into my hands, brows, and chafe the underside of my breasts where bras lie and other discomforts, but we're not here to discuss the discomforts of my womanhood today.

"Donna said herself that she saw you walk outside, throwing the food bank food straight into the garbage when you got home," Clara remarked.

"I'm sure she did," I answered. "What she doesn't understand though, is that if she came to me and asked me why I had to toss it, she'd also know I had to go straight down to another food bank the following day for the milk, eggs, and cheese I had been given from another. All of them were rancid. I couldn't eat them and give them to the kids. They were rotten."

"Oh that's terrible."

"I know. I felt bad, but I also lost all that gas driving out to that food bank she told me about. They didn't mention that the milk might be curdled. Most of it wouldn't come out of the jug. I tried to pour my son a glass and it was all chunks."

Clara made a gagging noise at that, to which I had to refrain from smiling. Let that teach that sniveling witch, Donna, to stalk me out front my own home. She knew about when I came back, so I know she's stalking me now. The lady lived in the next town over. What business was it to her of my comings and goings and throwing rancid food bank items out within the hour of returning home with them? Honestly!

My attention redirected to Clara who was making pleasantries with me. Ones I couldn't tell if they were genuine or fake, and that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and my arms prick with gooseflesh. I wasn't sure if I should be putting up my next façade, but the next words out of Clara's mouth hardly surprised me.

"You should put her out for that, you know? Tell the whole neighborhood. She's been shaming you behind your back, telling the neighbors not to help you. That'll you'll just waste anything given and beg for more."

"She said that?" I asked, feigning more shock. I mean, I was shocked, but not that shocked. I was more worried about the stalking, but I knew Clara loved to gossip from what I heard, but some of the sources that told me that had their... moments too. I wasn't sure if this was what women were supposed to be. It was scary, terrifying even. Stabbing each other in the back, talking shit, and then putting each other down to the neighbors. Fuck. I was really in for it if I said anything otherwise. The whole neighborhood would be in an uproar and I didn't want any part of that.

"She did. In fact, she went to Denise's party at her house-"

"House party?"

"Oops. I thought you knew."

"I didn't. I guess Denise doesn't like me too much."

"Well, her and Donna were talking about you a portion of the time. Talking about the whole thing with Donna helping you and the food bank."

"And Denise didn't say anything to me about that. Neither of them did." I couldn't help the disappointment oozing from my voice. It was hard to refrain and play dumb. My feelings were hurt and I'm sure Clara was delighting in seeing the disdain in my expression, but this felt no different than high school, only a little worse. We were adults and Denise and Donna were more than ten years my senior. Should I have even ever bother trusting a woman older than me if they were going to take me for a ride? Was this how my father felt with my mother before they subsequently separated? Fuck. I wasn't sure, but I was hating every moment of it.

"Really? Huh. Strange. I mean, Denise and Donna recently made up it seems."

"I'm glad they did," I said thickly. I turned the subject back to Clara's gossiping, to let her get it all out. I knew she wanted to and she was just baiting me with crumbs, hoping I'd eat it up. "What were they fighting about anyway?"

"Well, Donna gave Denise a gift and crashed her previous party."

"Crashed it? How? Like, was she not invited or something?"

"No. She wasn't apparently. She had planned a party that day at the same time for Denise, for Denise, and got quite livid when Denise didn't take to that and went along with her own party."

Nice. I couldn't help feeling sarcastically bitter about that. Like I was seeing a fucking pattern begin, but I kept my mouth moving so I didn't alert Clara to my wit. "And they've made up for it now?"

"I guess," Clara gleamed, smiling heartily. "It started a whole outpour of new party plans by Donna. She can't help herself, you know? Inserting herself in and making plans on others behalf."

"I suppose not. It sounds like they might have a fallout again, but I hope not. I'm glad they get along." I was exhausted trying to play along at this point and my eyes were turning away. My mind was fixing elsewhere, on how I might board the fucking windows up of my rental. How I might shutter the blinds and close out from anymore of these gossips and their... distaste for me. A shudder rocked through me as I glanced at my phone. "Oh, it's almost time for me to pick up my son."

"Oh, don't let me keep you then!"

"Right. Sorry, Clara. Anyway, if you want to... You're more than welcome to join me at the banquet up at Ruston Point. It's supposed to be a small gathering and I'm putting my acrylic painting up. If you can't go, no big deal."

"I'll try," Clara told me, smiling back at me widely, though the twinkle in her eye told me she wouldn't. I don't know, something told me she was talking as much shit about me as Denise and Donna. My stomach twisted. They all fucking hate me anyway, why drag me in? Why? For fucking entertainment? I smiled, waving to her as I went to my car and we exchanged a few minor pleasant words as I started it up. My throat was tightening up, my heart clenched, and I drove off, forcing back the tears.

"How fucking embarrassing. I'm a laughing stock and no one bothered to even ask me my side. God. I hate this town." I couldn't wait to move again, to place myself even further from them, because being under a microscope like this was suffocating and I refused to let my esteem be any more of a spectacle than it already was. I wasn't their entertainment, and I wasn't going to dance to any old rag time show for them any longer.