10

Ten
“Imbolc fires, hypnotic trance,
February, Frost’s romance,
For mundane world to borrow, lend
Spells cast now reap dividends.”
February 1 Imbolgen 7
SHE stared intently at her Pepsi One. Absentmindedly she chewed on the purple pen held in her right hand. The Simone de Beauvoir Anthology lay strewn haphazardly across the cafeteria table along with The Penguin Book of Renaissance Verse, college ruled notebook paper, highlighters, and chocolate chip granola bars. She smelled her before she spoke, before she looked into those golden eyes that would later have her memorized in ecstasy.
“But first, we must ask, what is woman. Tota mulier en utero,” came a breathy,
Alto voice that gushed like music. Her eyes moved from the Pepsi One to the golden eyes that stared at her intently, half hidden by micro-braids. A low cropped spaghetti strap tank exposed her ample cleavage, which, randomly sparkled with glitter, contrasted drastically with the mocha of her smooth skin. She sat down, moving stray pieces of notebook paper with purple scrawl. Adrienne stared at the ankh resting in her cleavage, trying to regain her composure. “Woman is womb,” she replied, and continued to quote the passage of Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex. “And yet we are told that femininity is in danger; we are exhorted to be women, remain women, and become women. It would appear ,then, that every female human being is not necessarily a woman; to be so considered she must share in that mysterious and threatened reality known as femininity.” The mocha goddess stared at her intently, tilting her head to one side.
“So…Adrienne, how do you plan on connecting sixteenth century poetry with Simone de Beauvoir?” Adrienne looked questioningly at her. “Your name, it’s written all over The Second Sex,” she replied, smirking playfully and gesturing to the book on the table. Adrienne smiled. “Then it appears you have the upper hand.” Her voice trailed off. Her movie references were lost on most people. “Hadassah. My name is Hadassah,” her alto voice interrupted, picking up a chocolate chip granola bar. Hadassah opened the wrapper effortlessly, without damaging her manicure, French tips complete with diamond studs in the middle of each nail. It fascinated Adrienne, because she could never survive with long nails; they would always break off or get in the way of buttons and zippers and opening soda cans. She was mentally relived that she was wearing makeup. Hadassah picked up The Penguin Book of Renaissance Verse and leafed through it. “Let me guess. Interdisciplinary masters? English-Creative Writing with a concentration in sixteenth century lit?” Hadassah lifted her eyes from the book and gazed at Adrienne, waiting for a reply.
Adrienne smiled in spite of herself. “Yeah.” Hadassah smirked, Adrienne staring intently at her luscious purple lips. “So what does the early women’s movement have to do with the plight of the sixteenth century woman? Simone was part of the struggle after the suffrage. I mean, earlier you have The Vindication of the Rights of Women, but that’s still nineteenth century. Mary Wollstonecraft is about as far back as you could stretch it.” She folded her arms and rested her breasts on the table. Adrienne tried not to make it obvious that she was heavily engaged in the movement of Hadassah’s breasts, especially because she knew Hadassah was doing it on purpose. She moved her eyes from Hadassah’s chest to her face, aware that her own were sparkling with amusement.
“Margary Kempe, 1373-1438, give or take a few hundred years prior to Mary Wollstonecraft. Sixteenth century speaking though, there weren’t any distinct feminists because there wasn’t a distinct definition of gender. I plan on using the sexual duality of Elizabeth I in conjunction with St. Thomas Moore and Simone de Beauvoir.” Here she drank the rest of her Pepsi One. She looked questioningly at Hadassah. “Women’s studies?” Hadassah smirked. “Close. Women’s Studies and Religious Studies. Double Major.” She leaned forward across the table and moved a stray curl out of Adrienne’s eyes, her hand trailing down Adrienne’s face. Adrienne fumbled with her Immaculate Conception medal, aware that her black eye was fading slowly. Something indistinguishable registered in Hadassah’s eyes. Her voice hit a husky level. “You want to get out of here?” Adrienne held her gaze. “Where’d you have in mind?” Once again, Hadassah smirked. “I’ve got a few places.”