Fisher's Light

I rub at the spot on my arm he was clutching and shoot him a dirty look. “What the hell, Stanford? That hurt.”

“WHAT are you doing?” he cuts me off angrily, pointing to the group of people still shouting and high-fiving.

“Um, it’s called celebrating, Stanford,” I reply sarcastically.

I’ve never spoken to him with anything other than kindness, but he’s really pissing me off today. First with the proposal, and now with the attitude.

“Have you taken a look at yourself? It’s indecent,” he tells me crossly.

Realizing that I’m still sopping wet from the bucket of ice water that was poured over my head, I look down at myself and see that my white tank top now makes me a contender for a wet t-shirt contest. The pink lace bra I put on this morning wasn’t obvious when the shirt was dry, but now it’s all you can see since the wet material of my shirt is sticking to me like a second skin.

I try to pull it away from my body, but as soon as I let go, it just slaps right back against me. I just shrug and laugh at the fact that I look like a drowned rat.

“This is NOT funny, Lucy. Everyone is staring. And those shorts? They barely cover you. You realize that when we’re married you’re going to have to dress the part of a proper Southern lady, not like a seventeen-year-old girl,” Stanford informs me.

I really try to stay calm, but the accumulation of the day’s events is wearing on me, and I suddenly feel like a dam about to burst. I forget about the fact that I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of everyone, especially since that’s exactly what he’s doing to ME right now.

“If everyone is staring, it’s because YOU’RE making a scene,” I inform him. “And you JUST proposed to me five minutes ago. I didn’t even give you a fucking answer, and you’re already planning what it will be like when we’re married?”

Stanford reaches for my arm and I twist out of his reach.

“Will you keep your voice down? My goodness, what has gotten into you today?” he demands. “You are not the type of woman who uses such trashy language.”

I can’t help it, I throw my head back and laugh. I laugh until my stomach hurts and I can barely catch my breath. Stanford stares at me like I’ve lost my mind and who knows, maybe I have? I lost my mind when I started dating this man, thinking he was exactly what I needed. All I’ve done for the last few months is try to be someone I’m not. I’ve dressed the part, I’ve talked the part and I’ve acted the part and none of it has made me happy. I’ve been mad at Fisher for hiding part of himself from me when that’s exactly what I’ve been doing with Stanford. I’m not a proper Southern woman and I never will be.

“You have no idea what type of woman I am. I’ve been pretending to be someone that could be worthy of you and it’s all bullshit,” I tell him as I grab onto the hem of my tank top. “I like to curse, I like to be loud and I like to wear whatever the fuck I want.”

Peeling the wet tank top from my body and sliding it over my head, I chuck it at Stanford’s chest. His hands fly up and he scrambles to grab it, staring at me with wide eyes. Wearing nothing but my “indecent” black shorts and my pink lace bra, I tug the engagement ring off of my finger and toss it towards him, too. He quickly drops my wet tank top to catch the ring.

“I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to marry ANYONE who is embarrassed by me and I can see in your eyes that you are completely appalled by my behavior. Well, TOUGH SHIT.”

Throwing my arms wide, I spin in a circle, noticing that the crowd who was cheering and calling my name a few minutes ago is now trying to stifle their laughs.

“Hey, you guys! Do you have a problem with what I’m wearing?” I shout to the crowd.

“Nope.”

“Hell, no!”

“Lookin’ good, Lucy!”

“If I had a body like that, I’d NEVER wear clothes.”

Turning back around to face Stanford, I smile at the horrified expression on his face. “I thought I wasn’t good enough for you and that I’d never fit in your world. Turns out it’s the other way around. YOU aren’t good enough for ME. And you definitely don’t fit in here.”

The crowd goes wild behind me, hooting and hollering as I turn away from Stanford and walk right over to them with my head held high.

“So, does anyone have a shirt I can borrow?”

Everyone starts laughing and a few of the guys take their own shirts off and toss them towards me. I throw one on and put Fisher’s wet baseball cap back on my head. I get a few pats on the back and everyone congratulates me for kicking the stiff to the curb as I walk away from them and head off the field.

As soon as I get to the fence line where the gate is, I see Jefferson standing there with his arms crossed. I should probably turn and find another gate to walk through so I don’t have to deal with him, but I’m on a roll right now. If he wants to give me shit, I’m going to make him regret it.

He’s blocking the gate by the time I get up to him and I have no choice but to ask him as politely as I can to ask him to move.

“You’re in my way.”

Okay, so polite has obviously flown the coop.

“You surprise me, Miss Butler,” Jefferson tells me with a smile on his face.

I’m a little taken aback by his smile and I make the mistake of pausing instead of trying to shoulder my way around him.