A Scuffle

The air is heavier then it was a few seconds ago. She looks at you and the bag. You slowly start rising to your feet. While you do, she lunges down towards the bag. You don't even know if you want to stop her, but you duck reflexively and grab it up before her hands can snatch it up.

“It's mine.” She grasps it. You hold a strap but she hold the bottom of the bag. She rises to her feet and the bag is pulled taunt between you. “Let go, creep.” You let go of the handle, and within moment she's huddled the bag close to her chest, cradling it with both hands.

“I'm sorry...” you begin, genuinely ashamed of yourself for not having let go sooner. “I was just curious. That's an entire gimp suit in th-”

“shhhhh” she growls at you. Her eyes are daggers, but she hasn't walked away yet.

“Want to talk somewhere a bit more private?” you ask, pointing towards the section of the quad covered in a shade of trees. No one is anywhere around there. She nods back, and you both sit down on the first bench you see in the area. For a few seconds you both struggle something.

“I think the suit is beautiful.” You say, breaking the thick white ice.

“Thanks,” she says quietly. “It was a gift.”

“It looked expensive,” you observe. “Who was it a gift from?”

“None of-” she pauses mid sentence. One of her hands rubs the side of the bag. Everything you've seen of her in public has been so bubbly. But, is all of that just an act? Is she really this contemplative girl in front of you? “Just, from someone important alright? He said, I would look good in all white.”

You try to picture it. Her willowy curvy body underneath the thick white second skin. So smooth, devoid of breaks in the surface. You struggle to maintain your composure. To stop yourself from asking if you can see it.

“How long ago did you first...” You start.

“Since I was 18. I like being able to run my gums. Wear what I want, be who I want. But, that's an act. But, this..” she doesn't look you in the eye, her gaze is locked wistfully on the bag. “...this is my life. My real life. It's who I am.”

“Who you are?” You ask. She at last lifts her gaze from the bag and looks straight into your eyes.

“A doll.” she whispers. “I'm white.” Then she stands up, slinging the backpack over her shoulders. Then she begins making the long trek across the quad.

“Wait,” you rise to your feet. “I'm Sam. What's your name?”

“My given name is Blanche,” she doesn't look back.