Bella, Part Two

As I zipped up the tent, I figured Bella would mumble a quick thank you, and we’d both be out like lights. But the moment my head hit the makeshift pillow, the questions started. Who was she? Would this be Abby’s and my last night on Earth?

I started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Here we are, two strangers, lying side by side—almost as intimate as it gets—yet we know nothing about each other.”

“Would you like to hear my story?”

You’d think the scream that prompted me to “rescue” her would’ve been a sign to say, “Maybe tomorrow?” or “Just a quick version?” But nope—I told her to go ahead.

Bella’s originally from Wisconsin. Estranged from her parents, who used religion as a weapon. Two summers ago, she’d had enough. She hit the road for New York—on foot, no less—wearing these badass motorcycle boots.

She had never been to NYC. Instantly, she fell in love—not just with the city, but with the wrong man. Hancho. A Greek Jew who spent more time in the gym than he did sleeping.

Hancho wore tight shorts and a muscle shirt. Bella fell in love with the veins running down his arms. She wasn’t paying attention to the force behind them.

“Sit here!”

“Get out the fucking way, bitch.”

She’d never encountered a man like Hancho in Wisconsin. Bella did everything to appease him—polished his lifting shoes, ironed his sweaty socks, handed him his 128 oz thermos between sets.

It didn’t take long before Bella lost track of her finances. One day, sent to buy protein bars, her card declined. She panicked. What would she tell Hancho?

She raced back to the gym—where else would he be?—and muttered her confession. For a moment, he looked at her like she’d turned into a rotting corpse. Then he resumed his workout and ignored her for the rest of the day.

There’s only so much of Bella’s story I can tell in one sitting before getting ill. It’s so tragic. Absurd. And it’s to be continued.

Until next week, I hope your eyes stumbled across the affiliate link above. May the boots fit—and may you never trip over your own feet. Bella didn’t. Why should you?