They stopped in front of a department store, and Betty was admiring a dress in the window.
“Isn’t that beautiful?” “Lovely,” Alette said. “That’s the ugliest dress I’ve ever seen. Perfect for you.”
One evening, Alette had dinner with Ronald, a sexton at the church.
“I really enjoy being with you, Alette. Let’s do this more often.”
She smiled shyly. “I’d like that.” And she thought, Non faccia, lo stupido. Maybe in another lifetime, creep.
And again she was horrified. What’s wrong with me? And she had no answer.
The smallest slights, whether intended or not, drove Alette into a rage.
Driving to work one morning, a car cut in front of her, and she gritted her teeth and thought, I’ll kill you, you bastard.
The man waved apologetically, and Alette smiled sweetly, but the rage was still there.
When the black cloud descended, Alette would imagine people on the street having heart attacks,
or being struck by automobiles or being mugged and killed; she would play the scenes out in her mind, and they were vividly real.
Moments later, she would be filled with shame, but on her good days, Alette was a completely different person.
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