As the Wyrm Turns

by Morrhys Graysmark

      “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”
      “Nope, Wade,” says Brice, setting her glass of iced tea on the tan laminate tabletop, where condensation from the glass instantly makes a wet ring. She wipes her pale, red-nailed hand on her white paper napkin, then puts the napkin back on her lap. “She drew your initials and a plus, inside a heart, with flowers, and bells, and ribbons that look like snakes! In all different colors of ink! She put some time into it, that’s for sure.”
      “Snakes?”
      “Yeah. Weird.” Picking up her fork, Brice stabs at her salad. She holds the dripping greens inches away from her slightly open, strawberry lips, then looks up at me. “Wanna see it?” she asks in a low, breathy voice. “I got a snapshot on my phone.”
      Not waiting for my reply, she puts down the fork and opens her tiny, overstuffed red leather purse. Reaching inside, she brings up a little pink cell phone. She flips it open with a deft movement of her bony wrist, turns it on, and pages through some images. Smiling suddenly, she tosses her short, straight straw hair, turns the screen toward me, and locks her water-blue eyes on mine.
      I pull my gaze away from her and settle it on the phone. Sure enough, the image fills the screen: WL + JM, encased in a heart, bells and flowers around it, and odd, opalescent ribbons ending in ovals rather than squares or angles. My cheeks feel suddenly hot. I wrest my attention from the screen, and see Brice looking at me triumphantly.
      “Pretty low class, huh?” she states as much as asks.
      I look at the forkful of Brice’s lettuce, balancing on the edge of her salad bowl. I fantasize her dropping her phone so it hits the fork handle, launching the oily wad through the air into her obvious cleavage. Fantasy is so much better than reality! “I’ll talk with her about it when she returns,” I say in a carefully controlled voice. “I’m sure she meant well.”
      Brice’s expression drops from triumphant to sour. She snaps her phone shut and stuffs it forcefully back into her purse. I expect the seams of the handbag to rip, but they manage to stay intact. She grasps her fork and lunges at her food like it insulted her. A sticky green leaf breaks in her teeth and tumbles down her chin, right smack where I want it to land. I smile behind my water glass as Brice gasps and grabs her napkin.
      “Hey guys! Mind if I sit?” calls a deep voice.
      I look up to see my best friend Max heading for our table. “Sure thing,” I say. “I need to go anyway.”