by S. R. Rashad
This woman, she's the source.
She is the light.
Yes, she is the bright engulfing glow.
This glow to her is real, not like the kind of glow you say a pregnant woman has, or the glow of a woman in love, but a real glow.
Rays of light, the biblical kind shoot out from her head.
Her skin is incandescent. Peter is nearly blinded by the immensity of her brilliance.
Trailer park Christmas trees didn't shine this bright.
Yet, seemingly no one sees it, just Peter. How odd he thinks. How can they not see this.
This could not be real he says to himself. People don't glow—do they?
But this is real. It has to be real. He needs it to be real.
But how? But why? And why is he the only one seeing this, he wonders.
He hovers over her, firmly grabbing the pole above her head. Then suddenly, the train rocks violently, as it speeds through the underground tunnels. He is nearly thrown into her lap. He catches himself. His elbow just shy of knocking into the top of her tightly pulled back ponytail. A little startled, she looks up at him.
He begins, "Excuse me," he sheepishly utters.
There is something creepy about him she feels, not scary, just creepy, like a nerdy High School kid who isn't used to talking to pretty girls. So she ignores him, puts her face back down into her book. Peter is used to being ignored by girls. He never really cared anyway but she is different. She's not like all those silly girls from school. No, she's…something!
He leans toward her right ear and says, "I think I know what you are."
She looks up at him bewildered and annoyed.
She says " Excuse me." Hers was not like his. Hers had an undertone, more of a ‘What the hell, jerk!’ He begins to think to himself this is a test; a test from God. She has to be one of God's messengers. Not willing to fail the test, he says, “don't worry, I'll keep your secret safe." She doesn't know if he's trying to hit on her, or what. She decides not to respond. He doesn't continue. He knows that up until this point in his life he hadn't been special, nothing extraordinary about him, but not anymore. He is certain she is an angel, a higher being and as far as he knows, only he can see her for what she truly is. Yes, he is special, indeed.
The train continues a few more stops, pulling into the 79th street station. Peter’s glowing woman makes for the door. She squeezes past the two linebacker sized businessmen blocking the exit. Their huge hulking bodies make it almost impossible for people to get through. Peter follows, moving toward the door, watching her go up the staircase leading to the street. He stands there for a moment, not knowing what to do, then the drive, an overwhelming desire floods his being and as the doors begin to close, he jams his foot between, forcing the conductor to halt the train and the doors open. He jumps out of the train, knowing that if she vanishes, he may never find her again and that isn't acceptable to him.
He comes up from the subway to a dimly lit street, getting dark quickly as the sun is setting rapidly. He’s in the middle of a busy intersection. He looks around for her, but there's a sea of rushing bodies, a multitude of wayward commuters, passing by. Then, there's the glow a little further in the distance "yes, there she is!" He exclaims. He is filled with relief. He rushes toward her but not wanting to get too close, he follows at a distance, remaining a half block or so behind. Watching, admiring perhaps, he doesn't know what he’s doing, why he's following her or what he's hoping for, but he can't stop, something in him needs to go on.
He watches as she pops into her local wine shop; a place she's maybe just a little too familiar with, a little too reliant on, but only after her most pressing days, her most exhausting days of pushing herself ever up the corporate ladder. On days like today, she can't help but question her motives. Why does she want it so badly, the VP title before 30, the executive washroom, the huge corner office. She hates being another female executive trying to prove herself, but a nice glass of wine, a warm bubble bath and a little Ella or Nina playing in the background— something about those soulful voices and a chilled bottle of wine that hits home for her, helping her reset her clock and supercharge her engine again making her forget about the long frustrating days with seemingly unobtainable goals set by her silly, condescending and sometimes incompetent jerky bosses.
Yes, she already feels a little at ease, here in her happy place. She takes her time going through the aisles, all the lovely labels vie for her attention as she loses herself in a sea of shiny bottles of liquid comfort. The whites, oh how she loves the whites. But, when she is feeling extra decadent, in need of a little extra care, she almost always reaches for a red. "Ah!" She eyes the perfect Merlot. "Yes!" She congratulates herself on her excellent choice. "Mama's having you tonight, big boy!" She says with a little naughty smirk, pulling the bottle tightly to her chest, chuckling bashfully to herself.
Sam, the slightly older, dorky frat boy type, sales clerk, who has always had a crush on her, walks down the aisle, witnessing her playful shopping antics and chimes in, "Are you talking to me? You must be talking to me. You know you could have me any night," he says loudly and playfully, with arms outstretched in her direction, proud of his one liner. Slightly embarrassed at being caught caressing the bottle, but more annoyed by his constant overtures of lustful and childish banter, she looks at him as if she were looking through him. All the while, remembering one night a few weeks back, where she nearly took him up on his offer; a night where she was feeling extra vulnerable, the kind of day where she was regretting her life choices, and wanting to escape, but after a few bad experiences with big talkers always bragging of their sexual prowess, she knew, he would have little to offer sexually, all talk, no action. And she was definitely not going down that road again, period. So turning him down was easy.
“Sam," she says.
"That's right," Sam says and goes on, "that's the name I want to hear falling off your lips, tonight or any night for that matter,"...never breaking his cheesy, flirty, over the top overtures and silly frat boy image, even though college was nearly a decade ago for either of them."
“No Sam, the big boy I'm referring to is definitely the merlot," she says, looking down at his crotch then up at him with a smirk… "Um, the little boy doesn't have a shot. So, could you be a nice fella and just take my money. So, I can get home to a more exciting evening."
“Okay," sam says all the while hiding his feelings of rejection, but not wanting to seem hurt, he says...
“There will be a day when old sammy boy will have his way with you and you'll be begging for more..."
"Well Sam, until that day, I'll just take the wine," she says bluntly.
knowing this day will never come. She exits the shop.
In the shadows, a half block away, Peter sees her leaving the shop, brown bag in hand. He continues to pursue. It's just a few more blocks to her home. She lives in a spacious two bedroom, one and a half bath apt, in a lovely, relatively safe prewar building. purchased just a few years ago, as a sign that she is doing well, and to show that the big bad NYC, will not have its way with her.
There's a large fancifully decorated, formidable iron rod gate that acts as sentry to her apartment house. It tells the residents ‘you're safe, you're home.’ Further past the gate, is a tastefully designed courtyard which most of the building's upwardly mobile residents seldom take advantage of, if they even bother to use it at all.
She searches through her purse looking for her keys as Peter looks on from a coffee shop across the street. She passes through the gate "of safety" and passes through the courtyard "of seldom use." And then, through the enormous glass doors which are the last passing point to her nest of normalcy.
A light goes on in this fifth story window, Peter believes this must be her apartment. He waits and watches. Seeing her luminous silhouette pass by the window, his feelings are confirmed. He scurries across the street, knowing that the gate would be difficult to climb and very conspicuous to say the least, he decides to
wait for a neighbor, or someone entering the building, to see if he could gain entry that way.
Up in her modestly decorated apt, she runs warm water for her bath and pours a lavender scented oil and soap combo into the tub, creating the most pleasant aroma and the silkiest bubbles. The decadence begins... she hits the remote to her newly installed surround sound system, filling every inch of the apt with the sultry sounds of Nina Simone. She lets the music fill her as she dances throughout the condo, while singing along loudly, however poorly, to Nina. A feeling of mild contentment and peace fills her, she is becoming so much more tranquil. Her long, hard day is turning around... but the final touch is of course...the Merlot!
After what seemed like a long wait, a young man approaches Peter and the gate. He begins for his keys, "Hey man, you know Jenni, I'm her boyfriend,” Peter says. He remembered reading somewhere that Jennifer was one of the most popular girl’s name of his generation. There was bound to be one in this huge apartment house.
"Um, redhead Jenni,” the kid says.
"Yea, her buzzer isn't working and I don't want her to come all the way down here just to let me in."
“No problem," the young man says as he lets peter in.
Peter is pleased with himself. He knew he would gain entry. He takes the elevator to the fifth floor. The elevator door opens to a beautiful newly remodeled Art Deco hallway, filled with the sounds of a lovely jazz tune coming from the first of the four apartments on the floor. He walks over to the apartment door, puts his ear to the door, and hears a woman singing harmoniously in tune with the record, just on the other side...
"Birds flyin' high, you know how I feel
Sun in the sky, you know how I feel
Breeze driftin' on by, you know how I feel
It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me…”
He listens at the door for a few minutes, then begins to feel a bit conspicuous, in this big open hallway. Looking around, he sees a window that leads to a back ally, a fire escape and not yet known to him, to her apartment. He opens the small window and climbs out onto the fire escape. He is immediately overwhelmed by the smell of lavender seeping through the cracked bedroom window. He peers through the window. He sees a dimly lit room, illuminated by a few scented candles, and through the bedroom, there's a slightly open door. He can just make out her luminous figure dancing in the background. He is pleased.
"Now, where is that bottle opener,” she says interrupting her singing and dancing, as she looks around the kitchen, frustrated. She's becoming a bit worried she won't find it, and she needs the comfort of that merlot about now.
With her window unlocked, Peter decides to climb through. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and wraps it around the handle and slides the window open. Climbing through, he sees vacation magazines and single's getaway brochures and pamphlets showing fun singles frolicking in the sun, littering her bed. Night time reading and dreaming or planning, Peter believes, a single girl and her plans to snare a boyfriend, in overpriced lavish resorts.
She has given up on finding that crappy old dime store opener as she remembers the beautiful and overly elaborate ivory handled corkscrew her grandmother gave her as a house warming gift a few years ago, that she never uses, for fear she might break it. All her grandmother's things took on a more sentimental value after her death a couple of years ago, but today grandma's gift was needed.
Peter is too far away from her. He needs to get closer to her, to be nearer. He makes his way toward her, attempting to walk quietly across the hardwood floor but the creaks and squeaks of these old wooden floors are not made for discretion. Every step makes a sound. There's nothing quiet or stealth in his approach. This makes him a little nervous. But It's a good thing, the music is loud, and her desire for merlot, too great for her to even have noticed the squeaks coming from her bedroom and now hallway.
Peter moves through the hallway, continuing his advance...
“Okay grandma Millie, let's see how good this antique is." She say reluctantly.
As she grabs the bottle and reaches for the opener, Peter is just a few feet behind her, emerging suddenly from the dark. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she feels his presence. She turns swiftly, and in complete shock, she drops the bottle. The moment overwhelms her. She is in complete terror, like a deer in headlights. She is without words, without emotion. A new level of fright and bewilderment overtakes her. Out of pure defensive instinct, she immediately points the corkscrew at him, nervously saying her boyfriend will be here any minute...Peter is confused, but then he remembers all the single's vacation pamphlets. And coupled with the fact that there's only one wine glass out, and just a single dinner plate on the counter, he feels certain there will be no boyfriend. There will be no one, just her and him.
What should he do. He followed her from the train, broke into her home. He was going to rape her, or God knows what. He just... He didn't think this through. He's still not sure why he's in her apartment, or what he wants from her.
The two stand there for a second, her with a scared and defensive posture and Peter awkward and unaware as to why he was even there, in the first place. She wanted to yell, to scream as loud as she could, but she didn't know her neighbors. She didn't know anyone in the building, or if anyone was home, or even if anyone would come to her rescue. Because she never took the time to get acquainted with the other upwardly mobile tenants in the building, her head was filled with doubt that screaming would be of any use. Not knowing what to say “I'm sorry,” are the first words out his mouth, "You wouldn't talk to me earlier. I just wanted to say if you have a message for me. I'm ready now. I wasn't when I was younger, but I'm ready now..."
She hasn't the vaguest idea what he was going on about, but his mannerisms, non-threatening posture, and the tone of his voice, relaxes her a bit. She decides to play along while she makes her way to the door. She knows there is a police station just a few blocks away. Being an avid runner, she is beginning to be confident she would make it there.
Peter begins to look down shyly and submissively, as strange thoughts filled his head; Angels and Demons, beings of light and dark, messengers from heaven. He sees she is shrouded in light. His brain is overwhelming him, his thoughts crippling.
She is a highly trained negotiator. She makes things happen. She is skilled at making big deals with the best of New York's A type personalities. She has an MBA from the Wharton school of Business. Peter is a strange, and frightened 20 or 21 yr old boy. It doesn't matter how much his awkward 6'3" frame towers over her diminutive 5'4 thin athletic body. She is in charge, not Peter. Things are going to go her way.
"What messages? Perhaps, I can help,” she starts the negotiations.
"Why did you lie about a boyfriend?" He say angrily.
"Well, 'cause at first, I thought you....well, I don't know what I thought," she says, wanting Peter to believe he's in control.
"But you see now...you see why I had to..."
"Well, tell me..." She says in her most inquisitive voice as she begins to inch her way slowly to the door.
Peter thought for a second that maybe she was really a messenger. Now, he has doubts.
"Why do you keep moving away?" He sees she is still clutching the corkscrew like a weapon. If she were really of light, she wouldn't fear him. She would know he is special. She would know he could see beyond the veil. She would know God chose him. He didn't ask for this gift. "Stop!" He says harshly. "I just want answers..."
She is far enough away. She feels she could just make it out the door and down the emergency stairwell, out through the back alley, and down to the police station to safety. She grabs the doorknob and begins to turn it, but Peter is much quicker than she imagined and his reach is much greater than hers. As she attempts to open the door, Peter pushes it shut. She reacts quickly, jamming grandma's house warming gift into peter’s leg. He pushes her against the door. “Why the hell did you do that?!" She jams him again as he clutches his wound. She
starts for the door again. Then with unimagined strength, peter grabs her, twisting her arm, taking the ivory handled heirloom from her. He looks at his wounds, upset and hurting, in a fit of rage, he takes the corkscrew and plunges it fiercely into her neck. She attempts to yell. Peter covers her mouth and pushes the door close. Something hideous takes over him as he continues to plunge the corkscrew deeper and deeper, twisting and pushing it madly. A fountain of blood pours forth from her neck. The rushing blood begins to cover him and her, symbolically sealing their union, a covenant of life and death. Peter watches the color leave her flesh, watching her eyes search his, for mercy. But there will be no mercy. Peter finds something appealing here; the act gives him strength, a maddening rush of emotions fill him. As she falls motionless into his arm, he is overwhelmed by all new feelings. This is the closest Peter has come to love. He feels a deep release. He makes a joyful sigh of satisfaction, slowly removing his hand from her mouth, he kisses her lips as she gasps her last gurgling breath.
Jill Hornsby died that evening, in her lovely condo purchased to show the world she had arrived and that she was a true New York player, at the hands of Peter VonNetzer, a boy on the way to discovering himself. She never took any vacations after landing her high-powered finance job, just after grad school, never married, never had kids, never did anything of true significance, but her sacrifice helped a boy find his way... to "monsterhood." From now on, Peter will mark all the sacrifices people make for his betterment.