Hers were very bright, interested, as though time were only something to
embrace us here at this old table. Mine were green. I didn't mind them,
exactly, though I would have preferred something dark. I would have
preferred dark hair, too, like hers, instead of light brown. It was cut short
because it was thick and curled into wretched tangles I hadn't the time to
deal with when it got any length to it. Occasionally I buzzed it all off.
"Mine's Alma Genestra."
"I'm pleased to meet you," Adonie said quietly, with a touch of humor in
her eyes, I think, at her response, a little formal
to fit our interaction so far.
"I hate it."
It jumped out from me, another gout of anger. I had so many.
They were like abscesses bursting at the slightest touch. Naturally
people moved away from me. I no longer cared. Sometimes I scarcely
noticed. That's what I told myself. I knew it was my fault.
My genetics, yes, that too, but my fault for not managing my genetics.
It distilled to the same thing however amplified and cultured it became.
