The Boots
Clunk. Mandi dropped her white bag with the red "thank you" letters on it as she went to chase her hat that was flying accross the street. The wind was crazy that day and that was the third time she had lost her hat to the wind.
"Are you serious?" Mandi uttered as she walked back towards the box of take home food for her dad. The box was completely smooshed in the center, and about six yards past the box was a woman walking quickly in her big boots. "Well, gee, thanks boot lady," Mandi sarcasticly mumbled. She picked up the crunched box, turned the corner and entered Washington Heights. She knew that there was no time to go back to pick her dad another sandwhich up before she started her next shift.
"Now you better remember to bring me some food tonight. I ain't waitin around all damn night starvin cause you forget it or somethin. Since you've obviously been too lazy to make it to the grocery store," Mandi's dad told her earlier that morning.
Mandi didn't want to bring her father food at all, in fact she considered spitting on it somewhere for every time she thought about how much she hated him that day, or she would have liked for him just to not have a dinner at all. Mandi knew what her consequences would be if she didn't do as he asked... and unfortunately she knew what was going to happen for bringing home a squished sandwhich box; almost worst than no sandwhich at all.
Mandi rattled her keys in the door and walked in to her father passed out, as usual, on the recliner. He was awakened by her enterance. His eyes were immediately gleaming at the squished box Mandi was holding.
"Damnit girl. You can't even bring your own father a decent dinner? You have to go and let someone smoosh all on it. Huh. Like that was an accident. You probably did that yourself you little wintch," he said as he rose from the chair walking towards her. "You know after all I do for you... huh. Can't even bring be a decent SANDWHICH," he screamed as he slapped the box out her hands. The red katchup container cracked open and splattered on the walls. "Now look what you made me do," he said grabbing her wrist with one hand, shaking her back in forth with the other.
"Well why don't you just go ahead and hit me for it, save you the trouble, save me the time, and let me..."
"You are more like her every day. Just can't shut your trap, now can ya? And she wondered why I abused her. Huh! Its not that hard to see woman!"
Mandi wiggled loose and went to pick up the trash. As she was bending down to grab the white bag, he pushed her with his foot, making her lose balance and splat right into some of the spilled katchup. "Quit it!" She screamed up at him. "Look what you've made me do!"
"Me? Me? Look what I have made you do? Huh! If it weren't for you trying to screw up my super, if you could just do one damn thing right then none of this would have happened." He slowly bent over, grabbed her shirt on each corner and pulled her off the ground. His hand reached back and swung full throtle at her left cheek; knocking her back to the red sauce. "Now maybe next time I ask you to do somethin, you'll think twice about screwin it up."
Mandi stabalized herself and stood up, then walked out the door. "Stupid peace of shit," she heard through the muffling of the door. No time for make up to cover what had happened.
She walked in the enterance of the back of the dinner and began to put on her uniform peaces.
"Darlin, what is that on your face. Has your father..."
"I'm fine, thanks Mable," Mandi replied, avoiding making eye contact.
"Now Mac, come here darlin, you look like you need a hug," Mable said walking over towards Mandi. Mandi turned and embrased the welcoming arms. "Shh... it's alright dear," Mable said, trying to calm Mandi's crying. "Darlin, there are just some days when the sky is gray for a reason."
13 comments:
Elizabeth put her hand to her forehead for the thirteenth time that day.
"Another cup of hot tea?"
"Please," she sighed as she continued to stare at the computer screen.
"Elizabeth,"
She looked to the waitress.
"Are you alright?"
"I—" Elizabeth paused. "Do you have any ice cream?"
"Ice cream?" The waitress asked, perplexed. "It's sleeting outside and you want ice cream?"
"I'll take that as a no," she said, starting to gather her things.
"Wait," she said placing her hand upon Elizabeth's. Their eyes met. "Your burning up."
"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about." She said, pulling her hand away. She stood. Or at least tried to stand. Her knees went limp. She tried to brace herself on the table with a nearby hand, but it slipped on the rough steel edge. The corner slit her palm. Blood began to bloom from her hand and fall like rose petals, staining the floor. The room began to swirl. She heard her name being called at a distance before she was consumed by darkness.
She was back in San Francisco. Lying in a hospital bed with her face bruised, hands scraped up and a small line of stitches beside her right eye. They were still sore. Kaylee lay upon the sheets asleep beside her. She had knocked him out. She had made the phone call. She had ridden in the ambulance.
'Hang on,' she had said to Elizabeth. 'It's going to be ok.'
"Hang on," a voice said in the distance. The bruised face of a woman came in and out of view with a known face behind. "Hang on,"
She was moving. Everyone one was flying past. The sweet smell of the diner had surrendered to the putrid odor of the gutters. Her creative sanctuary was gone — lost.
Lost. Kaylee's innocence was lost. Lost for a memory of flesh meeting flesh with a consequence of red. The slender figure of a fifteen year old tanned only for her desire for nature was now altered forever. Nothing was the same. Not the smoothness of her long brown hair, nor the occasional smile upon her face. Tainted. Stained.
"I hope Mable can get the stain out,"
A whisper on the wind.
"I'm sure she'll be able to get it out," a familiar voice assured her. Kevin.
Gentle and lovable according to the Gaelic. Elizabeth looked over her notes for "The Never-Ending Night." Kevin was her antagonist originally, yet the name seemed more suitable for the protagonist, or the role of the helper depending on which gender she chose for the protagonist. She hadn't decided.
"It can't be that hard to decide, Mandi Mac," Kevin assured the whisperer. "The symptoms aren't that complicated. She has a fever and ... what did she order?"
"Tea," Mandi Mac replied.
"Tea?" Elizabeth had inquired as her mother entered with her hands wrapped around a mug.
"Hey there," her mother whispered as she came to her side. She held Elizabeth's limp hand. "How are you feeling?"
"Terrible!" Madi Mac cried. "I should've known! The last cup of tea I gave her was at six o'clock."
"A few hours ago?"
"No, this morning!"
Sirens echoed her frustration along the streets.
"That's the seventh police siren since we arrived." Kevin observed.
"How can you count when we're sitting in the clinic?" Mandi Mac protested.
"There's nothing else to do."
Quick, sharp footsteps entered the room.
"What's the diagnosis?" Her mother inquired.
"We have two daughter in a hospital bed." Her father observed. "And they both look exhausted."
"Stop being so observant. What did the doctor say she needs?"
"Since we've cooled her fever down, all she needs is lots of rest," the doctor replied. "And fluids. Water and juice, no tea."
"Is that all?" Kevin inquired.
"And some ibuprophen or tylenol for the swelling. Her hand should heal up fairly quickly despite the deepness of the wound. How did you say it happened again?"
Silence.
Kaylee was sitting up in the bed beside her. "I don't know," she sighed at last. "I went to her apartment as the sun was beginning to set. We were supposed to go out tonight. The door was ajar. I ran to the door and followed the sounds of shouting into her bedroom. As I opened the door I found Elizabeth unconscious on the ground with blood running down the side of her face. Malcolm was standing over her beside the file cabinet — blood trickling down the metal. Just as he began to turn his head, I raised my fist and knocked him in the jaw. He fell to the ground unconscious, his lip bleeding. I called 911 and dragged his body away from Elizabeth."
"One of the police cars drove us over." Kevin explained.
"Are either of you related to Ms. Farraday?" the doctor asked.
"No, we just live in the same apartment building."
"Ah, well Ms. Farraday should be set to go home as soon as she wakes."
"Hmm?" Elizabeth inquired.
"You're awake," the doctor smiled. "I'll see if the black van is available."
"The black van?" the three tenants asked simultaneously.
Soon enough Mandi Mac returned to work and Kevin was heading towards the stairs from the seventh floor corridor. He had placed Elizabeth's computer case and a large water bottle by her bed. Elizabeth only slipped into her pajamas before she climbed into her bed to read, hydrate, and soon sleep.
It was done. Finally.
Ow.
Worthless doll. It's even sleeting now. The worst possible weather for me besides a desert country sandstorm. Snow melts quickly, sleet decides to wait awhile after it hits you in the eye to melt. I'm basically blind outside at dusk. I couldn't imagine a more fun-derful situation if I had payed for those tapes teaching one how to be more expressive.
Useless tapes.
I have put in a call to Brone to pick me up, his reply being; "somewhere in between the time he has to stop grabbing onto his carpet to stop himself from falling off the earth." Vodka is quite a powerful drink I suppose.
More interestingly, that is the seventh time that van has passed by this area. No license plate or markings, black. Or perhaps it only looks that way through one eye. I really wouldn't know, I usually have both in use. At least my ears work fine, and they are definitely telling me that it probably isn't safe outside.
"Excuse me."
A waitress with hands on hips looked appraisingly upon the thin stranger sitting yoga style in the booth.
"Yes?"
"Are you going to use all of the sugar you found? We put them on seperate tables for a reason."
"Perhaps the amount of sugar you placed was insufficient."
"...There were at least 50 packets."
"Yes. And I have had how many cups of coffee?"
"...Seven."
"Indeed."
She was still staring at me. Did she not understand our conversation? It should be simple enough to understand. Ah, she's servicing the woman at the table. Hm. Her laptop screen is either reflecting red light at a high percentage, or the woman is flushed. Well, the weather outside would cause such a change in health. I myself am rather uncomfortable with the numbing sensation in my bare toes. The fact that the waitress did not want to serve me while I had no shoes on did not temper my frustration.
"********* ice cream?"
Hm...I heard ask cream? Not a bad idea. I should ask for some as well.
"Elizabeth! ELIZABETH!?"
...She's busy, I'll ask later.
Fire engine red– Henry DuPont
It had been a great day of shopping. Dorothy was thrilled. Just as she'd been about to give up on Last Resort Thrift Store and go home, she'd seen it – that little bright red number at the bottom of one of the countless bins. Captivated, Dorothy had fished it out and tried it on. It fit perfectly. What luck! It was a fire-engine red, patent faux-leather strapless dress, lined at the top and bottom with a tiger-pattered fabric. The top fit nicely around Dorothy's small, sand-filled, barely A-cup bra (Henry never wanted to look unnatural, because he was a very small man), and the bottom came up mid-thigh. The dress was skin tight, and oh so hot! After admiring herself in the mirror for almost 20 minutes, Dorothy had made her way to the checkout line to purchase her fabulous new find. As she waited patiently behind a rather large woman who seemed to be buying the store's entire supply of undergarments, another item caught her eye. There, behind the cashier on one of the grungy display shelves, sat the best pair of patent white go-go boots Dorothy had ever laid eyes on. The platform heels had to be about three inches high, and the boots looked like they rose almost to the knee. Dorothy asked to see them, tried them on, and – oh! What luck! They fit like a charm. Who knew that the Last Resort Thrift Shop would have such nifty stuff?
And so Dorothy had bought her dress and her boots. Even though she felt the $15 was a little too much to spend, she knew she'd get her money's worth out of it.
By the time she left the thrift store, it was almost five thirty. Dusk was closing in on the town, and the infrequent but sharp, biting gusts from earlier had been replaced by an all-around dreary coldness. Dorothy was painfully hungry, but as much as she wanted to get back to her apartment and put on that new dress, she needed something to eat. She made her way right down Bucher Drive to Diner Royale, walked in, and took a seat in an unoccupied booth.
She was greeted by a peppy, "Hello! Can I getcha somethin' to drink?" Dorothy looked up to see a young girl with a big black spot on her upper cheek. The girl was standing there smiling, holding a pen and paper, ready to take Dorothy's order. The name on the name tag read, "Mandi Mac." Dorothy sometimes saw her in the diner, and, oddly enough, every time she saw her, the girl was sporting a different bruise.
Dorothy ordered a water, a cup of soup, and a garden salad. Since she was, after all, a woman, she wanted to eat something she considered womanly. As she waited on her food to arrive, she looked out the window. She saw a few cars pass, followed by a black van. Moments later, a police car and fire truck shot by the window, lights flashing and sirens blaring. The fire engine made her think of her new red dress, and she became even more excited to wear it. As she continued to gaze out the window, it began sleeting. Dorothy could tell it was sleet – she'd lived up here almost five years now, and sleet was no stranger to Baltimore.
Mandi Mac brought Dorothy's meal, and Dorothy ate quickly. She'd skipped lunch. When she finished, she paid her $5 bill and left, heading past The Wrath towards Washington Heights. The sleet had stopped, thankfully. As she approached the building's door, she heard a rumble and looked up just in time to see the black van she'd seen back at the Diner ago whizzing down Baker street.
Lulu had yet another boring uninteresting day. Nothing of any significance had happened to her. Her job hadn't picked up. Absolutely no one wanted flowers and it looked like the job at grocery store was her last chance. Lulu looked blankly out the window. The weather was as usual crumby. It was cold, wet and dark. She could see the sleet falling in the beams of light from the street lights. People ran by on the sidewalks trying to get to where ever they were going. Suddenly Lulu felt a warm wet tongue on her arm. Sinclair was by her side and had a longingly look in his eyes. She knew that look Sinclair needed to use the facilities. So, Lulu begrudgingly got up to take Sinclair down to the patch of grass by the building. She put on a raincoat, scarf and gloves grabbed Sinclair and his leash and headed out the door. They walked slowly down the hallway to the elevator and she pressed the button. It lit up and she watched the numbers above the door come down from the tenth floor. The doors opened and an angry woman stood tapping her foot with an annoyed look on her face. She gave Lulu a half hearted smile as she and Sinclair walked on, then pressed the door close button. Lulu recognized the woman. She had seen her before in the elevator and always came down from the tenth floor. She never seemed to be in a good mood, but living in Washington Height's alone could account for that feeling. She thought that her name started with an 'm'. Marilyn, no. Martha, no. Mary, no. Mandi, well maybe that's it. Yes Mandi that's it! The elevator had reached the ground floor and the two walked out and went to the front door. Mandi went left and Lulu went right toward the grassy patch with Sinclair. She walked carefully along the sidewalk avoiding the icy patches. They reached the grass and Sinclair did his business. As he was going, Lulu looked back toward the building yearning to be back in the warmth. A black van slowly pulled up to the sidewalk by the entrance and a man got out of the passenger side. He looked nervous and young. The van pulled away and he looked back to watch it pull away than he walked into the building. Sinclair had finished and they headed back. Warm filled Lulu's body as she walked through the door. Washington Height's may be old and broken down, but at least it was warm. As Lulu walked in, the man from the van got on the elevator. Lulu walked over to the elevator just as the doors closed. She pressed the up button and watched the numbers above the door go up and stop at floor eight. They continued up to ten then eleven and then slowly came back down. Lulu and Sinclair walked onto the now empty elevator and headed to the fifth floor both ready to go to bed.
Mamie Wainwright:
I feel like I've been buried alive today in this musty, dingy, dirty building. As far as the weather, it's more of the same, casket gray skies and intermittent sleet. It never rains cats and dogs on this side of town--more like cockroaches and snakes. Something that hides in the dark corners like I do. Hindered by the rain, without an escape route. In a gloomy, crumbling hole in the stucco walls. The only variation is a route up and down the quietly deteriorating elevator lurking in the rear of the building.
Right after my husband's 50th birthday, I decided to redecorate the kitchen again as a surprise. Henry was livid. Told me to quit spending so much of his money, told me I was nothing to no one but an aging face. Thought I should get some culture. He sent me off to some literature class to learn about the world. All I know is that is what the elevator reminds me of.
The trip up to the top becomes gradually darker. The hallways have a rank odor and putrid shades of paint on the walls. The people become stranger, more foreign to an old woman like me--outside a seventh floor window, a young woman drops a bag and chases a hat. The eighth floor displays a black panel van rolling slowly down the street. The view from the ninth floor is of a small boy heading off alone toward the park at dinnertime. By the tenth floor, windows reveal only shadows creeping along the alleys and hovering on street corners.
The trip down, now that's another story. Try imagining Dante's levels of hell all in one apartment building. We have the pagans, the lustful, the miserly, and the abusers--all separated by a few thin walls of chipped concrete and a rust-encrusted elevator. A creaking, straining, decrepit old elevator.
The frozen dinners in my freezer were surrounded by ice and made me cold just looking at them. The cheese was sticky so I had thrown it out. The broccoli had a brown spot and was no good anymore. With no food in the fridge, I was forced to look elsewhere.
"I hope that the diner isn't sticky," I muttered as I hopped the sidewalk outside of the Washington Heights apartment building and moved quickly across the street. My shoes made an odd hollow sound as I stepped onto the manhole, so I stopped and looked down. The cover was black and shining in the dusk, the streetlights bounced off the melted sleet at strange angles. I shivered, thinking about all of the germs and animals and... gross things... that lived under the cover. It terrified me, and yet I couldn't step away. "Rats, sludge, germs, gross, sticky, bugs, roaches, old food, rats..."
A horn honking suddenly made me look up and jump out of the way of an oncoming van that didn't slow at all for me. I hopped out of the street just in time to watch it skid past, black against the streetlamps. I heard a siren in the distance. "Vans and sirens, great place to choose to live, Maria," I chastised myself, yet again. Sigh.
A man jostled past me, glass bottle in his hand. Although it glistened prettily in the dimming light, I thought he probably had had enough since the smell of alcohol drifted off of him already. I raised my eyebrows realizing it was my neighbor, the man who had given me the crisp ten. "Happy hour's over," I said quietly, glancing away. He paused to look at me for a moment; I wasn't sure if he had heard my words.
"I thought you didn't like sidewalks," he smirked, and walked away.
I looked down and nearly jumped out of my skin. "Ah!" I cried, louder than I had intended. I hopped off the sidewalk and back into the street. "I'd rather be here with the threat of vans then on the dirty sidewalk."
I stepped out of the night and into the fluorescent lighting of the diner, jumping the sidewalk on my way inside. I was pleased to see that it looked rather clean. The table nearest me even sparkled contentedly. A girl at the counter was wiping down the table with a white rag. "That looks clean, too," I commented to no one in particular. But the girl heard me and looked up from her work. "What can we do for you tonight?" she asked pleasantly enough, but something in her look made me think of caution and fear.
"Just here to get some dinner," I muttered, looking up and down the counter for something to distract her attention from me. I hated it when people stared at me. Like I was some freak. Like there was something obviously wrong with me. But i had always thought that my oddities were only visible when actually talking to me... maybe I was wrong?
"Sit anywhere you like," the girl said, and went back to cleaning. I sighed quietly.
That was when I saw him. Seated in the last swivel chair at the counter, hunched over a half-empty plate of relatively edible-looking food. He was engrossed in his dinner, eyes down to his plate, feet propped up on the rail of the stool. The waitress seemed to be avoiding him, but he didn't even seem to notice.
I did, though. I noticed him, much more often than he realized, probably. When sitting in my living room at home I was always conscious of the sounds from across the hall, doors opening and closing, footsteps up and down the hall. I awaited his quiet smiles when we passed in the halls. Hearing him say "Good morning, Maria," whenever he hurried past me, off to school, was often the best part of my day. Even if I was in the middle of freaking out or calming down about something or another, his presence always made me pause.
I took a step across the linoleum and towards him. "What are you doing, Maria?" I asked, almost silently. "What are you doing? He doesn't even notice you. He just smiles to be polite. He doesn't notice you." I was still walking slowly towards him. I slid into the seat next to him, and it was only after a moment that he looked up from his plate. That small smile spread across his face in recognition, and my stomach dropped a few inches. "Hey, Maria," he said quietly, "I wouldn't have taken you for the diner type."
I actually grinned in reply before I realized what I had done. I blushed. His smile widened as he looked back down to his food and continued to eat.
Lola hobbled on her broken heels down the side walk as the cold, biting rain drops stung her face, and burning tears streamed down her cheeks. Chills ran up and down her spine as the wind swirled around her bare shoulders and back. As the rain poured down, the short walk back to Washington Heights seemed to lengthen. The looming building seemed to get farther and farther away with each step Lola took. At least no one will see me cry...mother always said to never let anyone see you cry or at least that is what she probably meant when she told Lola to shut her face and quit all that blubbering. But it would not make any difference if she cried in Washington Heights. There was no one to see or even care for that matter. The torn, ripped feathers clung to her body, and as she walked, dragging her sequined headdress, she left a shining shimmering trail of sadness. When she got up to her apartment she looked in her makeshift vanity. Seeing the melted make up on her tear- stained face, the naked headdress, the ripped bodice, the soggy feathers, the beautiful heels, something inside Lola broke, shattered, and fell apart. She took off the dripping costume, delicately hanging her destroyed dream over her shower rod to dry. She slipped on her pajamas and dragged herself into bed where she cried herself to sleep.
********
Lola found herself staring at the tattered costume that had been hanging for months on the shower rod. She could not bring herself to touch it after what had happened, so she left it hanging there limp and lifeless. The satin had been so silky, the feathers so fluffy, the sequins so shiny. Now, everything was dull and ruined just as her dreams were. She ripped the costume from the shower rod, stuffed it into a box, and jammed the box onto the tiny top shelf of her closet. She could still see a teasing yellow feather sticking out of the box, taunting her, so she slammed the door shut. Lola had to leave. The box in the closet was just like the incessant beating of a heart beneath the floor boards or a watch with no hands and a broken face continuously ticking away, reminding her of regret and disappointment. Lola closed the door to her apartment and headed towards the elevator. No one was on the elevator, just as she had expected. She felt so alone in Washington Heights, it was only appropriate that she actually was alone. As she stepped out onto the side walk she heard police sirens and frigid sleet slapped her in the face. A strange black van rolled silently past her. "Perhaps that van could take me far away form Washington Heights. Any place would be better than here. I just don’t see how anything could be much worse than how I lonely and lost I feel," thought Lola as she stared dreamily at the mysterious van. Just then she saw Mandi Mac exit the building with a huge deepening welt on the cheek and bruises on her wrist. At that moment, Lola knew that life could be much worse than she could even imagine, so she turned her frown upside down and picked herself up out of the pity party for one she had been attending.
Her Lesson Pays Off!
I was back at the clinic. I was back in the swing of things and back to myself again;however, happier than ever. Spending the night with Mark was great and it gave me a whole other attitude about things. Just knowing there was a guy out there who likes me was wonderful, and knowing that he likes me for who I am was invigorating.
As I sat in my office I glanced at the plain clock on the wall. It was six o'clock and the sun had just started to set. I could hear the sleet smacking on my window. It was coming down hard.
"Ugh" I sighed in relief. It wasn't much longer till I got to go to home sweet home.
The weather made everything outside look so disgusting. Mud was splattering everywhere, and the wind blew whatever remaining leaves off the plants. The environment couldn't even help to resemble the town's bare ugliness. It didn't take long till I heard the sirens from the neighboring police department go off. That occurred at least six times during my shift each day. Violence and crime was always happening, exhausting the public service workers. Some people have been loyal to Washington Heights for twenty some odd years and little old me was struggling serving the community for only two. It was an undeniable fact that the town was taking it's toll on me. None of the doctors in the town got paid well enough to face the problems they are dealt with every single day.
"Perhaps one day I will be able to leave this hell hole and move to a nice city with blooming flowers and live in a nice suburban home...maybe even have a kid or two." I stared at my computer just imagining it.
In the midst of my day dreaming, "Dr. Evans, calling Dr. Evans. You're needed in the front lobby. Dr. Evans please report to the front lobby."
I immediately got up and made my way down the hallway towards the front lobby anticipating to discover another innocent victim of violence. I came prepared with everything I needed...
...As I walked I could hear giggling and noticed a nurse trying to hide her smile and excitement facing the opposite direction.
"This is odd. I wonder what's going on?" I said quietly as I turned the last corner.
Suddenly I spot Mark all dressed up in a suit and tie, but also holding a bouquet of red roses. All the women nurses thought he was so cute and sweet. They looked at me with the largest smiles I had seen ever since they got their raises. They were happy for me.
"I came to pick you up and I was hoping that you would let me take you out for a nice dinner?" He said.
I smiled and looked him in the eyes, "Wow you surprised me!" I hugged him tightly and gently kissed him (that was our first kiss).
"It's just about that time that I get off anyways." I said. I was really tired, but I could suck it up. I was determined to have another splendid time with my guy. "I don't see the harm in us having a good time." I said.
"Phew! Good! I was terrified that you would tell me no." Then we both laughed. I quietly directed him to follow me to my office so I could go pack up to leave, and as I left I could see all the faces just filled with joy. They were happy I finally had a guy. Ha! Ha!
Mark and I walked out of the clinic and were headed towards the car. I passed a man, Ryan I think was his name. "Peculiar guy." Anyways, he said good evening to us and we wished him a good evening as well. Anyways, me and Mark got in the car and left for our night out.
By the time I was done getting dressed it was almost eleven o'clock. We searched for any nice restaurants but couldn't even manage to find one. Not even one! So we had to succumb to the inevitable. We decided to eat our dinner at the local twenty-four hour diner. The food was good, and everything was nice. We shared good conversation and told each other some of the funniest things that ever happened to us. The only alarming thing that happened was our waitress. She was young and very nice, but for some reason she had a bruise on her face and more all over her arms. I felt like it was my responsibility to talk to her, but I was afraid I'd make her uncomfortable, so I left my business card with a message on the back of it saying...
"I'm pretty sure I know what you're going through. I've seen it all over at the clinic. I've seen people come out of the situation you're in all the time, and I wanted to let you know that you can too. Come and visit me at the address provided. We can help. You don't have to accept this."
Mark said I did the right thing, but not to be surprised if she didn't contact her or get any help. I just shrugged, and told him that at least I tried. I gave her the tools to get started and now it's up to her to act on it.
Pancakes and a Pancreas
Despite cold air and intermittent sleet, Kevin was in a cheerful mood. All he had left to do was to burn some rat entrails. Not wanting Patrick's first day of resurrection to be sleety and gray, Kevin was taking his time in obtaining the entrails. He even allowed himself a normal meal in the diner down the street.
Taking the last seat at the diner's counter, he waited to be served. He didn't understand why "waiters" referred to the servers instead of the customers because it always seemed to him that he was waiting on the waitress.
At last, a young waitress approached. The small placard pinned to her shirt read "Mandi Mac." Kevin found her name to be a bit rustic, perhaps even redneck, but this was a diner, after all.
Kevin placed his order for a stack of chocolate chip pancakes. Mandi Mac turned and headed back behind the counter. Kevin began to stare off into space, lost in thoughts about the day soon to come. He needed those entrails first, though.
A few minutes later, Mandi Mac placed a plate full of steaming chocolate chip pancakes in front of Kevin. Dousing them in syrup and butter, Kevin ravenously dug into the pancakes.
After a little while, the bell on the diner door rang, letting in the street noise of sirens and squealing brakes. Kevin, however, was too engrossed in his food to look up. But before he knew it, Maria, his neighbor from across the hall, sat next to him. Kevin smiled. Maria blushed.
Half an hour later, Kevin emerged from the diner. He strolled down the street, noticing a black van whizzing around the block. Merrily whistling the overture from the Marriage of Figaro, Kevin took a shortcut through the empty lot behind Washington Heights to the lonely taxidermy stand. He approached the small, dark-haired woman behind the stand. Here goes nothing, he thought.
"Can I help you?" the young woman asked.
"Uh, this might sound like an odd request, but, uh, do you have any extra entrails I could have? Preferably of a rat?" Kevin responded.
"You're in luck. I just finished a rat moments ago. I was going to give the entrails to the bu- never mind. Sure. You can have them."
She fished around in a bucket behind the stand and withdrew a gloppy-looking mess of rat organs. Wrapping the innards in a sheet of newspaper, she handed the newly-formed, slightly leaking package to Kevin.
"Thanks," Kevin muttered as he turned to head back to Washington Heights.
After his daily sprint back up the stairs to the ninth floor, Kevin proceeded to Apartment 981. Sneaking in and shutting the door quietly behind him, he unwrapped the package of entrails. Based on his studies as a premed student, he guessed that he had been given the intestines, gall bladder, and a pancreas. It would suffice. Spreading the innards out under a lamp, now all he had to do was wait for them to dry.
I am standing on the Pier, looking at the ocean that is spread out in front of me. It is such a gorgeous picture, I am breathless. The skirt of my white dress billows in the wind, my hair is flying everywhere. I am so entranced by the ocean I do not hear him come up behind me. All of a sudden his big, strong arms incase me, making me feel so safe. He kisses the top of my head and says, " I love you so much. You know that, right?" I turn around and look at him. At his beautiful face. "Yes."
I wake up to a loud noise that is going on outside of my window. Damn. I hate this place.....is there construction going on somewhere?
I look out the window and see that the sleet is what is making so much noise.
I am surprised to see some crazy lady running down the street, chasing after something that must've gotten caught in the wind...
that's why you don't go outside when the weather is THIS bad....duh.
I finally ate something today....an apple. I must say, it wasn't as good as I thought that it would be. i had to drink a beer to get rid of its after taste. I guess that my body needs something, though. I have been feeling so weak, lately.
I hate this weather. It has been so miserable outside for the past couple of weeks. I peer out of my window again, this time seeing a black van making its way slowly up Baker Street. Hm.
I close the curtains.
I hate this weather.
I am cold......blankets?
Where are my blankets?
I find one underneath the bed and wrap it around me. I go and sit on my couch.....I find a cigarette squished between the cushions. My lighter is on the coffee table. God. I love smoke.
I look at my wrists. They are looking a little better today. After my cutting frenzy, they began to swell and turn purple. Thank God they look better. I hate doctors.
I finish my cigarette and smash the butt on my cushion...a bad habit.
I close my eyes, the rhythmic noise of the sleet is now putting me to sleep.
I look in the mirror. My hair is in its usual messy ponytail, my teeth are brushed, make-up is on. I have on my new sun dress that hugs my naturally thin body.
I smile.
Today is the day.
I leave my apartment at exactly 12:00 p.m. We are meeting at a little restaurant in Manhattan called Imagio's at 12:30. We all know that New York traffic is a mess.
My red pumps click as I skip down the stairs. I am so excited.
The weather outside is gorgeous: sunny, cloudless, in the high seventies. I love this weather.
I wave hello to Victor, the bellman. He blows me a kiss and calls me a taxi.
"Have a wonderful day, love," he smiles at me.
"Why thank you," I smile back.
He tells the taxi driver where I need to go as I look out the window onto the streets of New York city. In this beautiful weather, in this beautiful city, all I can think of is how today is the day.
and over and tried to find you then tried to move on then tried to forget but i can't. please delilah come home i don't know what more i can say. i miss you on the swing, in the garden, watching the butterflies. i will give you anything everything just come back please. i'm not angry, i don't care why you left. but i can't wait anymore and
The familiar red ink ran slightly as it mixed with Delilah's fresh tears. Her hands shook as she read His words. She traced the rushed pen strokes with her index finger and felt His own shaking hands as He scribbled the letter on the scrap paper. She smiled as she took the back of her hand to her cheekbone and tried to remember where her suitcase was
whoo.whoo.whoo.whoo.whoo.
Delilah blinked her dry eyes furiously as she awoke to blaring sirens coming from her window. She raised her imprinted cheek from the plush red pillow of her couch and looked down at the unopened envelope wrapped in her five fat fingers. Body stiff from an unexpected sleep, she pulled herself over the edge of the couch to look out the window. The day had been exceedingly miserable for the season, and bits of ice mingled with the tiny wet droplets on her window sill. A black van scurried beneath her as the sirens began to die away, and Delilah remembered where she was.
The letter.
It had been days since she recovered it from her tiny metal cubby. She had attempted to open it 47 times but couldn't go through with it. She tried to keep her body occupied with the usual menial tasks she could complete around Washington Heights, but Delilah's mind was focused on the small, unopened envelope resting on the kitchen counter, dozing on the coffee table, waiting on her bed. But every time she found herself ready to dig her plump finger beneath the envelope flap and shred the silencing seal, she began imagining what she wished it said. She could not bear to be disappointed.
So she never opened it.
Today had been no different. Delilah eyed the letter in the quickly fading suffocated sunlight for what felt like the millionth time. The corners were beginning to fold and brown slightly. The edges were becoming discolored from the oils of her fat fingers. The red of the ink, however, remained vibrant and His handwriting unmistakable. She was tempted to put the envelope up to window to get a clue as to its contents, but she could not even manage that.
Instead she looked out of her small window without any obstruction but the bleak, polluted atmosphere of Washington Heights. She watched the people busying themselves below, playing her familiar game. She watched the peculiar foreign man from her building walk off towards Barton street before changing direction and coming back the other way – 24 cracks. A younger girl with more years on her face that on her driver's license held on to her hat as she made her way to the Diner Royale – 8 cracks. The beautiful basement tenant did not let the threat of sleet faze her as she walked, grocery bags in hand, back home – 5 cracks. Perfect.
Like a dandelion sprouting from the crack in the sidewalk, life managed to survive in this hopeless offshoot of greater Baltimore. Moving, breathing life.
Marginally inspired, Delilah made a decision.
Sunday.
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