Her dark hair fell
down her back in one continuous sheet down to her waist. She wore a thin white
headband at her hairline. A gold cross necklace dangled down her cleavage. Around
her wrist, she wore rosary beads, looped around several times to form a
bracelet. Her grandmother had prayed daily with these rosary beads, but now
Leah wore them to accent her bohemian style. Today, worn with a bikini top and
a skirt that flowed down around her feet.
Between long
draws, a cigarette carelessly hung between two fingers, swung at her side as
she strolled along the empty sidewalk, the hot cement warm on her weathered
feet. Leah had always despised wearing shoes, and her calloused feet showed the
preference. This had started out as just a walk, but her walks inevitably ended
on the front porch of her on-again-off-again boyfriend Jake. He was, of course,
sitting on rickety chair, with a bottle of whiskey in his hand, already drunk
at 11a.m., an occurrence that was not unusual.
“Hey, babe. Come
over here and give Daddy some lovin,’” he slurred. Leah stood in front of him,
hand on hip, not moving, not saying anything. She flicked the ashes off the end
of the cigarette. She was tired of this. Everyday, the same thing, and she
could pretty much guarantee he would be making out with someone else by the end
of the night. Probably with the slut that just moved in next door. He seemed to
have his eye on her. Leah knew how this would turn out, yet she always
returned. She didn’t really have anyone better.
Reluctantly, she
sat down on his lap. He tugged on her skirt, lifting it, until he could get his
hand under the fabric. He rubbed up and down her leg, and this was only the
beginning. Leah relaxed against him. She might as well enjoy it.
Somewhere far in
the distance, a church bell played How
Great Thou Art to signal 12 o’ clock.
