four

I guess I knew she’d ask me into the fitting room. It wasn’t as if I didn’t want to go, I just couldn’t bear accepting that I did. I walked behind her, never looking at the pert caramel colored body before me. She was beautiful but she was making me sick at this moment. I allowed myself to drift off, to become a part of something else, the clothing racks, the smell of canvas shoes, the laughter of the sales ladies. Anything other than her. ‘How many?’ asked a woman wearing a headset. I imagined headset woman onstage in a Britney Spears outfit, and wondered if she could sing. ‘Uh, four,’ she replied. Four times. Four times I’ll die at the sight of her.