Bonnie's Going To Hell

Valentine’s Day loomed ahead of Bonnie like a flashing neon sign reminding her that at this rate there was a very good chance she was going to die old and alone. Rolling her eyes, such things never bothered her. If people felt a need to celebrate their love with flower deliveries in front of watchful eyes, and if they needed a date on the calendar just to go to a nice restaurant together, well, they probably weren’t going to make it anyway.

She smiled knowingly to herself and, as always, sipped from her glass.

Bonnie had once had a boyfriend who insisted on buying her flowers every week. Initially he’d told her it was because he wanted her to know how special she was. Then, as the weeks turned into months, he admitted it probably had a little more to do with him liking the way they made her bedroom smell so pretty, and then, on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, he’d come clean and admitted that it had a lot more to do with his own personal love of flowers. In particular he was a fan of orchids and she’d recently learned that he had a whole section of the garden outside the apartment he shared with his boyfriend, Lawrence, just dedicated to exotic varieties.

Sometimes Bonnie missed him a little and wished they could’ve stayed in touch, but then her life was not Will & Grace, and even yearly Christmas cards were just a little too much commitment for her. There was only one person she was prepared to even attempt any level of commitment with and it looked like another day had passed without her having to make any moves to realising who that man may be, and for that she was thankful.

So thankful she took another sip from her glass.

It was a groundhog day of an evening that left her with two options: stare at the television or stare at Facebook. Years earlier she’d learned that growing up as part of the MTV generation meant she had no idea how to sit still and read a book; a shame given how much she enjoyed writing them.

The divorced plus age two friend of her brother’s was still waiting to hear from her but her mind was no clearer. She prayed that something would save her from having to give him an answer. As wrong as it would be for the mother to secretly snatch the child in the night, it would really suit Bonnie if that happened. Not indefinitely of course, she wasn’t completely heartless, but long enough for them to cement a relationship strong enough that she didn’t run away at the first hurdle. Like when the child started crying the first time. Bonnie trembled at the thought.

Like divine intervention the phone sang to life beside her and shattered her daydream.

Katy Perry ringtone, of course.

‘He’s done it again,’ the voice sounded frantic. Bonnie nodded. She handled these situations regularly, plus, she just kind of liked to nod knowingly at regular intervals. That and stare with a murderous queen-like rage like Charlize Theron suggested. Through experimentation Bonnie had established that equally desirable results could be obtained from each.

‘What did your husband do that could possibly warrant screeching down the phone at me like a banshee?’ Bonnie swung her ponytail side-to-side, bored.

‘He wasn’t listening when I was talking to him. Honestly, I was at work all day, I came home and he wouldn’t even listen to me.’

It was a conversation that Bonnie had had a million times. Julie was the closest thing that Bonnie had to a best friend and this very scene played out with alarming regularity. At first the phone calls had made her anxious, threatening to steal her calm with the desperation in Julie’s voice, but she’d since learned that as much as she loved the woman, the truth was that Julie was a drama queen who seemed intent on running her marriage to Jack into the ground for no good reason other than that she could.

‘What were you talking about?’

‘The kids.’

‘The school kids?’ Bonnie screwed her nose up, trying not to side with Jack but finding herself living with his pain. Julie was an artist who was currently trying her hand at running art classes with school groups.

‘I was telling them about our painting today.’

‘Okay. And what did Jack do today?’

‘How would I know?’ Julie cried frantically into the phone. She was not handling the line of questioning with the level of calm that Bonnie would’ve preferred.

‘Well, I guess if I was Jack and you hadn’t asked me how I was and then you started prattling on about finger painting six year olds, I’d probably stop listening too.’

‘That’s my job!’ Julie protested.

‘Sorry, sweetie. That doesn’t make it anymore interesting to anyone except an over-bearing, finger-painting enthusiast, stay-at-home mother with a child in your class.’

Bonnie supposed she was going to hell when she died.

‘You’re so infuriating sometimes!’

The phone went dead in her hands and Bonnie couldn’t help but nod in agreement. Infuriating she may be, but it was also borderline impressive how she had managed to avoid yet another opportunity to give her potential date an answer by filling her evening with staring at her laptop screen and consuming copious amounts of red wine.

The truth was, Bonnie Martin would’ve been infuriated with herself too, if she could have been bothered.