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Lines and shapes is how she speaks. She speaks in lines and shapes. Presents us words to evaluate. What to think, what to say. “How will you make the white stand out amongst the white around it?” he asks. “It’ll be underneath,” she says. He nods, understanding. I see. “I’m confused.” He laughs, wondering about the negative space. “Containment.” She considers. Stoic glass wall on a balloon flat disk, a challenge to atmospheric space. Cut the shapes out to see what they’re doing. Contrast the space. Space, space, space. Proportion. Squished in there, like a crowded hallway. 

Betsy. Oh, Betsy. Blue-eyed Betsy. Betsy and her blue eyes. Bubbling Betsy. Betsy, seen from three-quarter view. Betsy with a smile. Betsy smirking at the world. Betsy as she sits and stares. This is Betsy. A portrait of Betsy. Betsy on a good day. Betsy on a bad day. Betsy as she listens to a joke about Russia. Betsy as she listens to a joke about America. A smirk on Betsy’s face. Betsy with a fake smile. Betsy pretending not to laugh.

 

Dead. She stands with deadness in her eyes. No explanation. 

What goes on in that head of hers? Silence. 

 

We move onto the next one. 

 

I see a fear in you. The kind of fear that is buried so deep you don’t even know it’s there, stinking of rotten meat. It’s crazy how blind a man can be when the answer is deliciously fed to him.

Whoops. I’m sure you didn’t mean to barge in. Don't be embarrassed, the discussion was boring anyway.

I see you over there, radiating with light from deep within. It pours out like lava. Across the room, vibrating, sending me into a tingly haze.