Betty Jane

Betty-Jane1

I never pay attention in class. A crazy gunman could come and shoot us all, and I wouldn’t even realize. It’s just the ambience of the whole thing-the chatter of my fellow students, my teacher helplessly droning on and on about whatever she’s droning on and on about in the hope that someone would listen. I feel bad for her. I know that the situation is tight at home, they are surviving hand-to-mouth, the husband is a beater, but I know that even if I listen, no one else is going to actually help her to justify to the School Committee why she needs a raise. And no one can ever help her to leave her husband. It’s just one of those things that even God can’t control.2

So I was sitting there, my feet propped on my desk, trying to listen to my teacher when suddenly she walked in. It was a pretty life-transforming moment, when everything is completely shut out from your mind, like being a horse with blinkers; you can only see what the rider wants you to focus on. My mind immediately made my eyes focus on her. She seemed to have a spotlight on her, though there weren’t any tube lights, let alone spotlights in the class. I knew what everyone else was thinking-“Another plastic bimbette”, “Ooo…what lovely shoes!”, “Hmmm…I’ll try asking her out before Lalit tries”, etc. I wasn’t thinking at all.3

She had long poker-straight black hair, black eyes and a porcelain complexion. She was quite well-endowed (I could already hear some boys getting aroused) and had shapely legs and arms and a curvy figure. It was hard to believe she was the new student in tenth grade-she looked like a supermodel. I already knew she’d be one of the ‘players’ in the school-both ways, a player with boys, and a player on the field-everyone could see her muscles. She apologized for being late, tucking one of her fine black strands of hair behind her left ear, blushing and looking down-evidently not a outspoken or promiscuous girl as her figure suggested. There were catcalls of “Good Morning Madam” which died down when she opened her bow-shaped lips and spoke in a sweet, chirpy voice, “My name is Betty-Jane Gonsalves. I’m from Goa-I used to live in a small town near Anjuna Beach. It’s a quite simple name, I know, and we are also very simple people. My parents have come here because my uncle is ill”-at this point her voice took on a grave tone-“and someone needs to take care of my aunt and little cousins. Did I mention they are twins? Yes, and-” she droned on and on, like the teacher, but everyone listened intently. I knew I was in love with her. 4

After class ended, I immediately offered to show her around school, before anyone else could ask. I could see the boys glaring at me, but I ignored them. She did not accept my offer however. “Oh no,” she said in an alarmed voice, “my mother said not to talk much to boys.” She walked away then, and I could clearly hear the other boys snickering behind my back. I frowned, dug my hands into my pockets and walked to the cafeteria. 5

It had been two years at this school and I had still not made any friends. Everyone here was richer than me. Girls followed me around because they thought I was good-looking, but when I ignored them, they got miffed and went back to the studs.6

I was sitting alone and sipping a cup of coffee when Betty Jane came and sat down at my table. I frowned. “Why are you here?” I asked.7

“I don’t like this school very much. The boys make moves on me and the girls get jealous and ignore me.”8

I could sympathize with her-it was the same situation I had been facing, except that it was the girls who made the moves on me and the boys who got jealous and ignored me.9

“It’s okay,” I said warmly, grinning, “I won’t make any moves on you.”10

She beamed. “I know you won’t.”11

I was fairly puzzled by her statement, but I did not ask.12

Betty Jane was a very chatty type of girl. She told me everything about herself, her family, and their problems. She was very vulnerable-she herself admitted she gave personal information to strangers if she was feeling bored. I warned her and told her that it could get her into trouble, but she squeezed my hand and said that I would protect her. By this time everyone thought me and Betty Jane were dating, so we really were unpopular-the girls were jealous of Betty Jane and the boys were jealous of me. But we were happy in each other’s company. I liked her innocence, and I felt I could trust her with my most important secret.13

“Betty-Jane, do you believe in God?” I asked casually. I was feeling very nervous on the inside though.14

“Yes, I do,” she said, beaming. 15

“Ddd-do you believe in angels?” I asked, trying to be as calm as possible.16

Her face was clouded with concern. “Yes, I believe in angels too. Why?”17

“Because I am one. An angel.”18

I thought she would laugh and tell me what a nice joke it was, I thought she would get angry and leave me. But instead she simply smiled and said, “Of course, I’d always known that,” and I could see in her eyes that she was not being sarcastic-she really did believe me.19

Then one day, I phoned Betty-Jane’s mother and asked her whether Betty could come over to my house. Betty-Jane’s mother spoke in a strange, slithery voice-“Of course darling, I trust you to take good care of her.”20

Betty Jane came over, dressed in, according to her, her best dress, a blue frock. I introduced her to my parents. While she was animatedly talking to my father, my mother pulled me aside and told me, “Honey, I know how it is in the young years, but you know God forbids carnal contact with anyone other than a fellow angel.”21

I could feel my heart growing heavy, but I simply said, “Mother, of course me and Betty are not going to do anything like that! She’s a very virtuous girl, she doesn’t believe in anything like that before marriage.”22

It wasn’t that I actually wanted to do it with Betty. It was because God forbid even love between an angel and someone who was not an angel. I knew it was silly to take a random teenage crush as love, but then, what if Betty Jane stayed with me throughout my adult years? What if many years later, I had to see her getting married to someone else?23

I took Betty Jane to my room, and showed her around, pointing out the posters and the wallpaper. I never heard her closing the door. Then suddenly, she put her arms around me.24

“Beetty-Jane, what are you doing?” I mumbled, though I knew very well what she was trying to do. I begged her to reconsider, but she shushed me up before I could explain. 25

After one of the most pleasurable experiences in my life, I was not at all feeling guilty. I looked at her smiling, and was shocked. Her baby blue eyes had turned into crimson ones. A devilish expression was on her face. Two black wings had spread out from her back. “I have to go, honey,” she said in the same slithery voice her mother had used. Her wings folded closed against her back with such elegance that it made me gasp. As I tried to force his body to move, she was already in front of me, her cool hand on my burning forehead. Before I could react to anything, the whole room was engulfed in nothing but the hot licks of fire-I was in hell now.26

“Nnooo!” I cried out in horror, “Noooo!”27

She simply smiled at my torment and her crimson eyes turned into the blackest black and she opened her mouth, full of glistening white fangs dripping with saliva. As she tore into my flesh, I felt my entire body burn with the same pleasure she had given me a while ago. As I lay there, a mutilated mangled mess, she smiled and let out a devilish cackle that was in stark, terrifying contrast to her sweet, chirpy voice. She then raised her hand, which’s white, short nails had turned into long, yellow and curved ones, dipped her hand into my blood and made the sign of the Devil on my forehead. I was a fallen angel now, doomed to rot here for eternity. 28