The Bitch Caves Nicole Restrepo Content Warning: Minor depiction of violence It was decided that Clara Mandel would spend the rest of her days in the cave her family had purchased for her. This was fitting for Clara. She was not a people person, a family person, or a loving person; she valued her alone time and made hell for anyone who disturbed it. A cave was the only option. Clara’s family knew her well and outfitted the cave with all her favorite things: knitted blankets, bottles and bottles of red wine, World War II-era books, peanut butter M&M’s, a dartboard, and enough lotion to last her lifetime. The facility’s proper name was Residential Retiree Cave Compound East, but the residents called it the bitch caves. That’s what they all were or were thought of as by their respective families. On her first day, Clara sat on the gravel at her cave entrance and observed the other women at the compound. She didn’t wish to interact or make friends, but Clara loved to watch other women. It was interesting, the way they humored each other,
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played nice only to act differently when someone wasn’t around. A few of them gathered at the fountain on the path below. A blonde woman sat in the grass mindlessly picking at weeds while the other three, dark in hair and features, sat on the edge of the fountain. Their bodies arched toward each other; they seemed to be deep in conversation. Then suddenly, all four women glanced up at Clara’s cave. Clara tried to look away but caught the eyes of the blonde in the grass. “Hey, Clara! What’d you do to get into the bitch caves?” the blonde asked. Clara groaned, disappointed that her first day at the compound wouldn’t pass in solitude. She stood up and wiped the dust from the gravel off her pants. “The bitch caves? And how do you know my name?” She should have just ignored them, gone inside to play darts or read. The four women pointed above Clara’s head in unison. “Every cave has a nameplate at the top,” said the largest of the fountaindwellers.
