The Last Great American Dynasty - A Folklore Novella

Now That We Don't Talk

Chapter Five

Now That We Don't Talk

The first month of school went by quickly for Betty. Ivy didn't talk to Betty, and Betty didn't dare try to attempt to talk to Ivy. It was clear that their friendship was over- a breakup - yet Ivy was too polite to break Betty's heart. Instead, she had ghosted her friend into oblivion, just like James had done to Betty too. Every day Betty went home and cried as soon as she stepped off the school bus, like a switch when she was finally alone, her eyes turning on the tears. She told her mom everything, but it didn't help. Betty felt inconsolable. Her mom was distracted with her work and tried her best to give her daughters a good listening ear between the relentless sobs.

"Maybe it's for the best?" Betty's mom said trying her best to help her daughter feel a bit better.

Betty woke up every morning with puffy eyes. She looked in the mirror and examined all the flaws she saw in herself. Her forehead and chest had pimples. Her sandy blonde hair was always frizzy and in disarray, and her tummy and arms looked large in the mirror. Betty hated seeing photos of herself. They made her feel even worse.

Betty had struggled with eating and feeling "fat" since she was nine. She missed the days of girlhood. She knew it was nonsense, and she was not unaware that everyone had their struggles with their body, and she was not unique in feeling critical of herself. The thoughts had started to consume Betty more than usual lately, however. Every bite she took felt labored. Guilt washed over her every time she swallowed, and a little voice in her head constantly said, "Did you really need to eat that, Betty?'

Betty loved her mom, but she had been talking about her own weight and size for as long as Betty could remember. She was always on Weight Watchers or some other kind of fad diet. Betty had unknowingly picked up the voice in her mom's head that told her "You're fat." It reared its ugly head ever stronger the older she grew.

Once again, Betty had nothing to wear. She threw on a tank top, an old cardigan, and a jean skirt at the last minute in a panic before she had to leave for the bus. Betty ran late a lot, and no matter how hard she tried, she just never seemed to have enough time to get ready in the morning. She always felt chaotic and scattered. She knew she had 30 seconds to get out the door before the bus would be coming down the hill towards her stop. Betty's mom left for work early, so if she missed the bus she was out of luck. Her Grandma wasn't there anymore to rescue her and drive her to school like she did last year.

She ran up her driveway and down the street, making it just in time and being very careful not to step into anything again. She sat alone on the bus and stared out the window.

One day at break time, Betty did her usual gig of pretending like she had somewhere to be, and someone important to talk to. Usually, she would start at the bathroom, and make her way to the library to "look" for a book. Sometimes she would just sit in the classroom of her next block, if the teacher was okay with it. Her favorite teacher had quickly become Mr. Stephens, and she would inwardly sigh of relief anytime it was a double block or if it was his class after lunch. That meant she could also hide out in his room during break or lunchtime. Usually, Mr. Stephens wasn't there, but he always left his door open for kids like Betty. The ones who felt a bit homeless within the school walls. The ones still trying to figure out where they belonged.

"Good afternoon Betty!" Mr. Stephens sounded too happy as he entered the classroom, he had a cup of coffee in his right hand and a huge stack of photocopied papers in his left. He plopped everything on his desk, leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath, and let out a confusing sigh.

For the first time, Betty felt like she had been intruding on Mr. Stephens' space in his classroom. He had bags under his eyes and his happy smile from September had faded..