Reply hazy, try again

Reply hazy, try again

She sat surrounded by the interior doorway staring at me with her fuck me eyes. Only not the fuck me eyes your thinking of. More like fuck you eyes. She was diagonally squatted, left foot on the hinged jam, right hip and shoulder just the opposite with a slight lean, feet pointed in my direction. Balanced atop her knobby kneecaps sat the magic 8 ball teetering on thumb, then forefinger, then pinky, and back again with no gravitational equilibrium. All the while asking the same question in her head, and echoing telepathically in mine, bouncing off what she would call my thick skull, trapped in gray matter quick sand. As I watched her spin what looked to be a mini bowling ball, it sparked a memory of my “Advanced Calculus and Probability” class in college. 20 answers floating unannounced inside the black orb. Mattel put the odds in my favor with 10 results affirmative, 5 negative, and 5 non-committal not unlike myself, as she would say. We both knew an answer was inevitable, needed, but not necessarily wanted due to it's possible outcome. The magic 8 ball would be a servant of fate disguised as a children's toy. It all seemed logical since we had used all 20 responses to cloud the truth or lies to suit our purpose, without the sphere. Same as looking in that murky window awaiting a random guess to glaze the viewing area only to realize it wasn't the answer we were looking for, and shaking it again. My mind drifted away from math class back to the jaded look on her face, eyes fighting back tears from anger or emotional pain, I couldn't tell which. But what I could see, was her about to let destiny roll. Although the world was riding on our shoulders, happenstance wobbled across her patella. After a short hesitation, her hands parted, as if it made her ill to have held it in the first place. The rotation started slowly, but gained speed as it traveled down her shin. As it reached her foot I could see her perfectly painted toes raise then curl under to shape a small incline. It was only airborne a short second, then bounced and rolled to a complete stop at my feet. I wanted to ignore that it was even there, but her stare said pick it up. My unsteady hand reached out for the hard black plastic in fear an hope. F.E.A.R Fuck Everything And Run. Hope. Hold On, Postpone Exit. My one hand palming made it easier to flip around to the smoky, somber porthole. I moved it closer to decipher through the glaze, and it read...