emma and red break from standard social conventions,open a music store+bar
|Graduation Day arrived on schedule. Her name was called: “Hunter, Emma”. She rose and took the stage. The Principal handed her a rolled up lump of paper, tied together with a piece of ribbon that matched her gown. She shook his hand. She walked down from the stage and back into the crowd; into the sea of students that were, according to this rolled up document, no longer students, and no longer children. She sighed and rested her head against Lorry’s chiselled shoulder.
After graduation Emma and a few of her friends went down to a local bar and had a few drinks. They got drunk and began dancing on tables, grabbing each other playfully and singing badly to the songs of artists they had worshipped as children. “WOOAH! To collage and hot girls!” Some idiot friend yelled across the bar his glass raised in toast. Emma responded by raising her own glass. By three A.M she was passed out in the back seat of her boyfriend Lorry’s truck.
They pulled up in front of Lorry’s parent’s house. The driver's door was shoved open, and Lorry staggered out. From the blackness of her drunken mind, Emma heard his door slam and then the door by her head opened up and muscular arms pulled her gently from the backseat and carried her behind the house. Lorry’s lived in his parents' pool house.
He laid her on his bed and stroked her hair. She could hear him mumbling something. He was drunk, maybe more so than herself, she thought. She could tell he wanted to have sex: she could feel him pressed against her. She would have rather slept but his constant presence, his overpowering “hunger”, pulled her from her lethargic, drunken state. She pulled herself into a sitting position, smiled, and yanked off her blouse. A toothy smile widened across Lorry’s face. He was a big guy, but he had a puppy dog disposition, and the features to match. They had sex. And at least one of them enjoyed it.
The next morning arrived on schedule. Emma pulled on her jeans and grabbed a raggedy shirt from her boyfriend’s closet. The keys to his trunk lay crumpled in the right pocket of his beige pants. After buttoning up her stolen shirt and grabbing a tube of toothpaste and his toothbrush, she took the keys, quietly shut the pool house door, and made her way to his truck. Lorry slept on.
Mr.McKenzi was outside. He was always out early, doing what needed to be done in the garden. He was married. His children came to see him every other winter... She started the engine. Four seconds passed in outward silence. Inwardly many things were passing through her mind, creating a turbulent storm of awakening feelings, suppressed desires, and hidden energy. The gears changed and the car growled. A bird took off from a nearby tree. Emma drove away.
Had it been the fucking god awful sex? The unwelcome arrival of her possible future? Was it overwhelming pressure of expectation, or of becoming like her parents; of settling down and possibly marrying Lorry, having his pups; sucking his dick whenever he asked, the repeating of the god awful sex?.. These thoughts made Emma shudder. Nothing she was doing, the stealing of his truck, the running away, made any sense. She had never seen this coming, but then again, she hadn’t been looking had she. Until today, and until now, Emma had just accepted her life because it was exactly as it “should be”; like everyone else’s, and this “buy ‘em in bulk”, “manufactured” lifestyle made things easier than swimming against the current. She was well liked, she was good looking, and she had a boyfriend, a part time job, a nice family, a diploma... She had been brought up like this, like them; but she wasn’t really like that, or like them. A smile rippled across the surface of her lips. She punched the radio with a well practised finger so that music blared at an ear splitting volume. She pushed her foot further down on the accelerator and the truck shot down the empty morning lane. The daisies on the side of the road became blurred. She drove for an hour pumped with adrenaline and excitement, not knowing where she was heading. She had been planning her getaway from the moment Lorry had passed out on top of her. Poor baby.
He would be heart-broken. He wouldn’t understand: fucking simpleton. And bless his soul; he had really loved his truck. But she had his truck. And his...
She braked suddenly, and the truck came to a crunch at a midsection in the road. A close up of her eyes would show absolute shock, then inner frustration, then open anger, then fucking rage. She slapped her fist down on the steering wheel and cussed loudly and inarticulately. Finally something of sense left her mouth, “FUCK FUCK FUCK! I forgot to take his fucking wallet. FUCK FUCK TRIPLE FUCKING FUCK!”
With no money to purchase more gas, Emma only made it as far as the adjoining state. She pulled up at a truck stop, pushed the door open angrily, and slammed it in loud frustration on exiting. She then proceeded into the seedy, resident diner. Her mood of exhilaration, which had momentarily returned even after her fury at forgetting the most crucial object of her survival, the cash, was quickly overpowered by fear and remorse over actions that now seemed both foolish and rash. She had no idea what to do. She figured she would have to hitch-hike. It was this thought alone that rebooted the sense of excitement, which fluttered like tiny metallic wings, inside her stomach.
All eyes focussed on her as she swung into the “Joint”, so named because that was what quite a few of the people were smoking. A woman with greasy blonde hair was pouring coffee out of a similarly greasy metal coffee pot. She too looked up and ran her eyes critically over Emma’s attire. The unasked for attention only served to enhance the rush that Emma was feeling; to further excite the flapping wings in her abdomen. She took a seat by the window and waited, not knowing what it was she was meant to do next. The coffee woman swayed over. The slight movement of the coffee pot indicated to Emma that the woman was asking whether she wanted any coffee. Speech seemed a luxury Emma was not going to be afforded. At least she had been acknowledged. She shook her head. She had no money. The woman raised an eyebrow. “Are you lost?” she asked in a blunt liquorice coated voice. Emma blinked. “I came here to hitch a ride.” She said, just as bluntly. The woman continued to stare, but a strange look had flickered dully to life at the centre of her pupils. “Where are you from?” She asked, more conversationally this time.
“I drove up from ---“
“Why do you need a ride if you have a vehicle?” Liquorice asked cleverly.
“I ran out of gas”
“So buy some more.”
“I ran out of money too.”
Up came Liquorice’s eyebrow. “Alright, I’ll see if I can help. “ She said, after a slight pause. “Sit.” And with that she sauntered into the kitchen leaving Emma to wonder, but not to think.
Thoughts were unable to manifest themselves under such a circumstance. What was there to even think about? Somehow, though completely clueless to what she was doing, Emma was being lead gently by the hand, step by baby step, into the unknown.
The woman came back moments later with a bouncy female with shoulder length red hair. They both slide into chairs opposite Emma.
“Hi, I’m Charlie,” The red head grinned charismatically, and stretched a hand across the table. Emma shook it. “Emma,” She said. She then looked at Liquorice, but no name came. Instead Liquorice pressed her lips together, condescendingly, into a thin smirk. “Where are you going?” She asked instead. The question made Emma pause, but only momentarily. “The City”.
The red head’s grin widened visibly. “Perfect,” she sang. “That’s exactly where I’m heading. We can go together!” The girl’s excitement made Emma’s heart swell with enthusiasm, whereas it seemed to tire Liquorice. “Yeah, nice idea; however there is the little problem of non-existent funds on both your parts.” Neither Emma’s nor Charlie’s smiles wavered at the revelation. In fact, Charlie’s eyes sparkled warmly at Emma, and her gaze shifted down to the top of Emma’s shirt where the buttons were not done up. “Charlie, focus” Liquorice snapped when she realised she was being ignored. “I am focussed,” Charlie retorted playfully bringing her eyes back to Emma’s face and grinning. Liquorice sighed and Emma blushed. “I’ve got an idea,” Emma said, pulling herself together. Her skin had begun to tingle beneath this red heads gaze, a feeling she couldn’t quite comprehend but took to be a good omen for their journey together. “Yes?” Liquorice prompted without the same enthusiasm. She seemed suspicious of Emma’s intelligence, and with good cause considering the latter’s self induced predicament. “We could sell my truck and hitch?” Emma suggested. Liquorice groaned, suspicions confirmed. The red head smiled prettily and shared a look with Liquorice. “It’s a thought.” She said, interrupting what Emma could only suppose would be a verbal bashing from the coffee woman. “I’m just reluctant to let go of a truck. It’s a good start, you know?”
“But I won’t need it in the city,” Emma continued, verbalising her thoughts before she had actually thought them. She was desperate to redeem her idea in the eyes of the red head. “And gas is so pricey these days; a truck will just be more of a burden. It would be easier to sell it off around here and use the money for food or to compensate any drivers we hitch-hike with, you know...Besides.” She lowered her voice slightly, “It’s stolen.” At the last part both Red Head and Liquorice’s eyes grew wide. Numerous emotions played on the coffee woman’s face as she tried to picture such an occasion. Charlie seemed impressed by the notion. She turned to woman beside her, “Told you she wasn’t a dumbass prude, didn’t I?” She smiled at Emma.
“I never said that.” Liquorice countered, only half angry, and slightly embarrassed.
“Yes you did Georgie. In the back. You said, I think I’ve found you an escape, but she a bit strange, a bit slow, and she’s got one of them accents that piss me off.”
“So? Where was the words ‘dumbass prude’, huh?” Liquorice retorted, refusing to look Emma in the eyes now.
“Well, they’re a summation, aren’t they?” Red Head said, “But don’t feel embarrassed Em, she thought I was a fucking worn out skank when I stumbled in here.”
“And I still do,” was the final response from Liquorice before some big armed, large bellied trucker started cussing at her; complaining about poor service. “Oh for fuck sake.” Georgia muttered getting up. “The pair of you work it the fuck out and tell me your plans. Lord knows neither of you have half a brain cell but you’re both better together than you are alone.”
After she had left, Charlie turned to Emma and said, “Okay, we’ll sell up. Me and George’ll talk to one of the truckers about a lift part of the way, after we’ll have to hitch as best we can; find cheap ass motels to stay in for the night and stuff. Okay?”
Emma nodded. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t find the words to express the stirring inside her body, the change in how she was viewing her life and herself, or the sensations evoked by this mysterious pixie like girl sitting opposite her. Her hand twitched as the girl hopped up and danced her way back into the kitchen. Emma waited alone, tapping her shoe against the table leg.
They got a ride with the same big armed, pot bellied trucker who had been complaining about the “Joint’s” poor service. Georgia had arranged the whole thing: the trucker was going to take them all the way to Rennington; from there they would have to make other travelling arrangements. Georgia had also managed to sell the truck at a very reasonable price. She then proceeded to take a little of the money for herself, as a compensation for her time. Neither Emma, nor Red head minded. Charlie was too good natured, and Emma was on a different planet. Everything was happening so quickly, and so easily. It was like she was walking down the path fate had paved for her; yet at the same time carving out her own destiny. As such, she was in quiet repose most of the way to the next town. Red head sat in the passenger seat and chatted with the trucker the whole way. The trucker didn’t mind. Charlie was a very attractive girl, and her conversational skills and amiable presence eventually coerced the balding man to by them both milkshakes at the nearest McDonalds, which was in the town.
All three of them hopped out of the truck, and entered the food place. The trucker went straight to the counter to order the drinks, whilst Red head and Emma went to find seats. As soon as they sat, Red head pulled Emma close. “Okay, here’s the plan. We drink. We go to the bathroom, and we leg it.”
“What! Why?” Emma asked. “Why do we have to run? We had a deal he’d take us this far and he did. I don’t –“
“Oh for fuck sake, shut up.” Red head said, good humouredly. “He’s gross! He’s been hitting on me the whole way; really freaking me the fuck out. I think he might try something. Trust me, its better if we leg it, OK? You think you can do that Ms. Grand Theft Auto.”
Emma grinned. If there had been a semblance of remorse at the idea of mercilessly, and without cause, doing something so malign it was gone in a moment without so much as a footprint. “I do love a good chase,” she said jokingly, brushing her uncertainty aside. Red laughed. “I thought so. OK, here he comes. Now try and be fucking pleasant. I want to take his wallet with us when we go.” As she finished speaking, the trucker, carrying a tray laden with chocolate milkshakes and curly fries, stumbled over and took a seat beside Red.
“Chocolate for you and me, Vanilla for the Red Head,” He said, grinning in ridiculously large proportions, handing Emma her cup laden with ice-cream and a yellow, plastic spoon. His teeth were yellow also, with occasionally brown stain. He smelt of sour milk, month old sex sheets, engine oil and oven grease. What little hair he had left was grown out and combed over the top of his cranium to hide the worst. Emma’s nose wrinkled in disgust, but immediately regained composure. Beneath the table her foot came up to touch the trucker’s heifer sized leg. His eyes lit up like Jack-o-lanterns. Emma shuddered, again, more visibly. He took it to mean she was tired. “Long drive, huh?” He asked, shovelling a wad of chocolate ice cream into his gob with a nonchalant chewing that was only attractive on the under twenty.
She could feel Red’s gaze. It was time to play her part. Resisting the urge to throw up, she giggled and smiled coyly. “I’ve had longer,” she said abusing the spoon with her tongue shamelessly. The sexual connotation was unmistakable. The trucker coughed up a little ice cream speckled spittle onto his lower lip. His serpentine slits for eyes slid down across her body, and he almost leant back in open contentment. Red inched in closer, silently. Trucker laughed, “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” He moved closer as he spoke.
“I have an idea,” Red cooed into Trucker’s ear, “How about the three of us get a room, OK? That way we can have a bit more fun.” If Trucker hadn’t looked delighted with the turn of things, especially on Emma’s part, before, he definitely was now. Red smiled sweetly at him, “Whaddaya say?”
They made their escape very soon after that. Trucker had needed to use the “pisser”. He had nudged the table violently as he got up, knocking the half empty ice cream cups to their sides and scattered, crusty, uneaten curly fries. He had grinned sheepishly, and then curled his finger under Emma’s chin. The touch made Emma want to recoil. Red blew him a kiss, which he caught. Then he swaggered away towards a white door marked with a little blue stick-man. Somewhere between Emma’s sudden attentions, and the calls of his small bladder, the trucker had reverted back to his boyhood days. There was an overly done cocky edge to his red-neck swagger. Emma looked at Red; Red met her gaze. A pink smile unfolded on the mouth of the latter and was returned instantly by the former. Red’s hand rushed up from under the table, a worn, good sized, wallet pinched smartly between its fingers. Then the laughing started, and they raced from the restaurant without a backwards glance, into one of the many back alleys that criss-crossed the town. They stopped once to ask for directions, and then didn’t slacken the pace until they had reached the bus station.
With a huff Red collapsed against the ticket booth, Emma tumbled into her moments later. Instantly the belly-aching laughter recommenced. “Oh my fucking God!” Emma cackled. Suddenly Red straightened up, her eyes still alight with laughter she pulled Emma’s face towards her. “You were fucking brilliant,” She said, gazing steadily into Emma’s eyes. Red had bright green eyes. They sort of jumped out at you and snarled playfully. Emma wished her eyes weren’t light brown. She felt boring and plain in comparison. Red had pulled out the wallet from her pocket, and was conversing with the ticket booth lady in the worn two piece suit. “I can’t believe he actually has a wallet,” She said, making a face as she pulled out all the green. Emma howled and punched the air at the sight. “Motherfucker was loaded!” said Red.
“Guess we oughta find ourselves a truck. There’s seems to be money to be made in being fat and gross and perverted.”
“Why bother when we can just fuck the fat, the gross, and perverted outta their loot?” replied red casually. “Like fucking pirates.”
“You’re change Ms.?”
The bus ride was long and exhausting. “I’ll bet that whatever he wanted to show me wasn’t half as long as this,” Emma joked, a few hours into the ride. Red burst into impudent laughter. A few heads turned in their seats. Red lifted her pinkie and gave it a quick wiggle, “or half as long as this.”
They had hit the highway less than twenty minutes into the journey and now only the rush of adjacent, candy coloured cars offered a distraction from the monotony of driving in a straight line. “How much money do we actually have?” Emma asked, staring into the back window of a Silver Reno Something. Both herself and Red lay splayed out as comfortable as possible at the back of the coach; their feet almost touching. “Charlie?” She turned her head towards Red, who had stayed silent. Red was staring back at her. After a slight pause Red hitched herself higher into her seat and pulled the wallet out of the small canvas bag she carried around with her. “Two-hundred fifty” she waved the paper in front of her face like a vintage fan. “Will that take us all the way?” Emma asked, though her thoughts were on Red’s curious gazing.
It made her happy, and it was a turn on that Red hadn’t been uncomfortable about being caught doing it.
“Probably not. This coach was two hundred each – “
“Oh, wait. Sorry. One-hundred. Each. This stops in Lutherton which is still a way away. We’ll have to take another coach at the same rate. That leaves us fifty for sleeping and eating arrangements but I ain’t fussy about all that.” She yawned, “As long as we get there.”
“Yeah.” Emma turned back to her window and leaned her forehead against the pane. The sun was setting in a topaz sky. The motion of the bus on the tarmac reverberated through the glass of the window, causing her head to rattle monotonously along with it. It was annoying, and yet, somehow, an addictive sensation. Emma continued to allow the present conditions to drum her skull against the glass until she slipped into a shallow and claustrophobic sleep, and her head slid lower, as if trying to escape the tremors it was being subjected to.
Red woke her up the next morning. She felt the girl’s soft finger pads, cold, against her cheek and woke up, eyelids fluttering madly. “Where are we?” She asked voice dewy with sleep.
“Lutherton Station. Come on, let’s go.”
Red sauntered away down the aisle and Emma rose, rubbing her eyes, trying to get a proper view of the Station from the greasy bus windows. It was mostly beige and appeared well stocked with people. Visually satisfied, she reached into the overhead compartment, feeling with her fingers for her usual travelling backpack, but there was nothing there. For a wild second she figured that some other passenger had taken it by mistake; and then she remembered. She had no belongings. She owned nothing; technically she didn’t even own the shirt on her back. And this sudden revelation left her slightly stunned. Almost frightened.
“Coming?” Red asked, from the front of the coach. The driver stood behind her, wearing a regulation hat and looking impatient. Emma nodded slowly, gathering just her thoughts, as she had no items to gather, until they were securely fastened inside her skull: nothing hanging dangerously out to trip her up or deter her from her resolve. She was going to get to the City. She was not afraid and she didn’t need a stupid travel bag. She met Red at the front of the coach, slipping past the driver, and together they walked down the steps and out into the humidity of Lutherton Station.
The station was twice as packed as Rennington’s. This station had a livelier atmosphere, created by its open layout, allowing street vendors to adorn its circumference, and street performers to occupy its centre. Buses rattled in at regular intervals, and the individual personalities of those who came and went were louder and had better distinguished personalities due to the brazen accompaniment of heavy punk rock or preppy attire. Emma felt like an out of place Hick. Red didn’t seem to notice; she had proceeded straight to the ticket booth to purchase the required documents for their next journey. Emma watched her quietly from one of the diagonally placed plastic benches, characteristic of many of the stations. Red was standing on her tiptoes, leaning almost half way through the ticket booth window, blatantly flirting with the guy inside. She fit right in with her choppy red hair; Motley Crue T-Shirt and leopard print skirt making Emma feel even more of a target in her own plaid, button up shirt, pale blue jeans, simple black pumps, and tangled, un-styled hair.
“Got us a discount on the tickets,” Red smirked, when she returned. Emma didn’t respond, still contemplating her outlandish kit. Curious, Red sat down beside her and turned Emma’s face so that they were, again, locked in each other’s gaze. This time Emma felt self-conscious and uncomfortable; she tried to turn away. Red immediately cottoned on. “Something’s wrong.” She stated, simply, but Emma, now feeling slightly foolish, denied the statement. “No. Nothing. Tired, is all.”
“Okay...Well listen, I’ve been looking at you all bus journey” Emma’s heart jolted at the memory. “—and, well, you don’t look the part.”
Emma turned red; she was right about thinking she looked out of place and this made her more upset. “You stand out like a sore thumb, to put it blunt. You’ve got no attitude. No, je ne c’est quoi” she said giving the words a French edge, “—So, Listen, sit still, I’ll be right back, OK?”
Emma nodded silently; she was intrigued – where was Red off too? What was her plan? Red ambled off and out of the station leaving Emma to people watch, alone. She figured it would be a good thing to observe how the Townies interacted with each other, how they held themselves, how they walk, how they just didn’t seem to give a shit. Their attitude, like Red’s, mirrored her own internal attitude but her quaint little lifestyle had stylised her into keeping that inhibition under wraps: silenced.
People streamed in and out, Emma watched as couples entered; she listened as kids screamed, she watched punk teenagers light up cigarettes and, finished, flick them carelessly any which way; and time passed. But Red’s absence was sorely felt. Emma missed the warmth that came with Red’s fiery hair, and the song that resonated in each of her musical steps. Emma missed the blanket like security of Red’s constant gaze. “Thinking of me, I hope” whispered a cheeky voice from behind. Emma bounced, startled, in her seat and turned to see Red crouched beside her ear, smiling widely. “Well?”
“Just wandering what you’d look like naked is all,” Emma said casually, adding a wink for effect. And it did have an effect. “Maybe I’ll show you sometime,”
“Sometime soon I hope.”
“Weather?” Emma asked curiously.
“Whether you behave or not, that is.” They both laughed. “Come on now. It’s time to prove to me that you can behave.” Red grabbed Emma by the arm as she said this and dragged her into the ladies toilets. She pushed Emma in front of the sinks, and threw open the canvas lid of her bag, pulling out a pair of large scissors and some dye. “We have about an hour before the next bus leaves, so let’s get cracking bitch,” she said, throwing Emma’s head into the curve of the basin, popping open the bottle of hair dye. “What’s the colour?” came Emma’s voice sounded muffled from inside the basin. “You’ll see,” was the sly reply.
As Red’s hand worked through Emma’s scalp, rubbing the colour into the crevices of all her hair follicles, Emma allowed her thoughts to drift back to the place that was once her home. She wondered how her parents were reacting to her disappearance. She was sure they wouldn’t believe her to have been kidnapped: the absence of Lorry’s truck and keys would put a stop to any thoughts drifting towards that notion. She wondered if they would cry, or be upset, or wonder if they were to blame. She thought of her father’s dignified repose, his natural understanding and his subtle way of making a person feel they could tell him anything in the world without fear of judgment. He never judged, that man.
A strange feeling, like something was being pulled out of her caused her to squirm. Red stups-ed, “Woman” she scolded.
And her mother: her mother who was so very graceful, and compassionate. How unfortunate that Emma could only see that now, after she had made up her mind to never return. When Emma had lived with her parents, she and her mother’s relationship was kept for appearances only. They never outwardly fought, but they never agreed with each other on anything. They could never understand where the other one was coming from. They were, often, inwardly disgusted by each other’s differences and thus avoided too much contact. But as a child, her mother had been very loving. Somewhere along the road, though, that love had faded along with the desire to be loved.
And Lorry! Emma couldn’t help but smile. She would dearly love to have seen his expression on finding both his girlfriend and his truck, missing. What a blow.
“What are you laughing about?” Red asked, surprised at Emma’s suddenly shaking shoulders. “Lorry!” Emma’s laughter rose on hearing herself saying his name out loud.
“You’re Ex?” Red asked.
“Yeah. It was his truck,”
Red chuckled, “Ouch.”
Once the dye had been washed out Red began the snipping. Emma hadn’t been allowed to looked in the mirror: Red had made her close her eyes, but when Red pushed her head downwards, towards the bathroom floor, Emma opened them, and allowed herself to watch the falling curls land softly on the foot encrusted tiles. With each snip, Emma felt lighter and newer. As they landed with a quiet blow on the cracked fall, the strands of hair would appear to shrivel in on themselves, as if they were dying, or like a small, abandoned child hugging their knees and shaking: forgotten at the store or in the rain. The thought made Emma smile, for the second time.
She really wouldn’t have recognised herself. After ducking out from under the hand dryer Red had been using to blow out her new cut, and eagerly straightening up so the girl could make some last snips, she had come face to face with Astonishment in the form of flesh. Red’s mouth was a gaping hole of awe. Emma imagined one of the contortionists she’d seen at the circus a few years ago unhinging their joints and sliding onto Red’s tongue, triumphantly.
“That bad, huh?”
“That bad!” Red blinked stupidly, and shut her mouth, “That bad!” She repeated, now with rhetorical emphasis. “Emma, I’m fucking creaming like the fucking Niagara Falls, I mean, jeezus, you were a flower before but my God if flowers can bloom twice, well, you sure as hell have.” As she said this she brushed stray hairs from off Emma’s clothes. Emma shuddered gleefully at both her words and her touch. “Can I?” She asked, grinning.
“Go on,” Red encouraged.
The sight was spectacular. Emma’s pupils dilated so wide; three contortionists could have fit themselves inside and not gotten in each other’s way. Her hand drifted up to touch. The dye had been dark chocolate; the brown complimented the peachy tones of her skin. The hair was angled, longer at the front it gradually declined to the back of her head, exposing the nape of her neck. She was shocked at the amount of hair lost, but she had to admit it looked good. “Awesome.”
“Glad you like it,” Red said from beside Emma’s knee. Emma looked down, she hadn’t heard Red move. Using the scissors Red began chopping holes in the jeans at random, then suddenly, “Ah! I’ve got a better idea. Take you jeans off.”
Emma frowned, but began to unzip, “Don’t fuck up whatever you’re planning to do. I’m not travelling in my fucking knickers.”
Red laughed, and the laughter increased in decibels once the pattern of the knickers was revealed.
“SpongeBob square pants. Oh please.”
“Fuck off, what knickers are you wearing?”
Red laughed again, “the fucking non-existent kind. Come on Em, cut loose!”
Emma had just finished pulling off her jeans when Red made that last comment. Raising one eyebrow she retorted, “OK. You asked for it bitch.” Grabbing the scissors from Red she cut through her underwear and let them drop to the bathroom floor. As if on cue, a woman and her child walked in.
Both Red and Emma turned. The child screamed. Emma’s hands flew to her crotch before flinging herself into a cubicle.
“Disgusting!” Spat the woman, quickly covering the small child’s eyes and shooing it back out through the door; Red’s laughter following them all the way out of the restrooms. Tears ran in steady streams from her eyes. “Oh shit! Oh shit that was super! Oh shit, shit, super shit!”
“Pass me my fucking jeans!” Emma barked from inside the stall.
“Alright, alright, chill out, it’s not as if I asked you to rib your panties off.”
“You’re right, you asked me to cut them. Now, would you please?”
Emma caught her jeans as they flew into the stall, neatly cropped to “hot pants” length. They looked good! She wriggled into them and catapulted out to dance in front of the mirror. “I like!” She exclaimed, turning slightly to get a better view of her bum.