Sitting in the barber chair was one of the few public places Craig could just relax and not worry about seeming angry or aggressive. He was at ease looking out the window and listening to all the barber-shop-guy-talk going on. He was feeling the most relaxed he had in weeks, when he noticed her.
There she was standing outside the barber shop window smiling and waving at him. The ‘what the fuck’ and ‘holy shit’ that Craig felt was palatable. He jerked so hard that his barber stopped cutting and looked out the window with him.
“Dude, she skinny…okay looking, but skinny…need some tacos or something.” With that, a chorus of men chimed in, “Need some meat on those bones…gonna break her if you ride her too hard.” On and on it went. Craig liked the BS talk in the barber shop, but not when it put attention on him. He gave her the coldest stare he could possibly give. He put his hand up in a quick hello and put it back down.
The relaxing feeling was gone. Now, every uptight bone in his body was on guard. Craig felt exposed as if she had seen him on the toilet. Getting a haircut was a private thing that was done in public. There was an understanding that the barber shop was a place where your personal needs are taken care of with others that need the same thing. Having her wave outside that window, to have her see him, made Craig want to bash her head in to erase it all.
“Flaca left…she stalking you Bro?” Craig woke up from his fury and realized his haircut was finished. He tipped the barber extra this time, “She can’t get a hint.” He left out the back door; his car was parked out front, but there was no way in hell he was going to chance running into her again. He’d walk home and get his truck later tonight.
Lisa
She had thought that seeing him in the barber shop was the lucky break she needed to get to Craig. A friendly gesture of waving at him acknowledging she knew him and maybe was interested in him was a good thing. After all, she was on her way to the donut shop to see if she could break the ice with mark 2.
Lisa felt a sense of urgency lately that she was not used to. In The Grey, everything was on schedule and done as they were told by the Mothers; nothing was done with urgency and everything was done with efficacy. Her time was waning and Lisa knew this, so seeing Craig gave her a sense of accomplishment that the Mothers might give a congratulatory nod at. But, the look in his eyes when she waved unsettled her.
Feeling unsettled was something Lisa was used to. When a girl in The Grey did something wrong, something that was not the way it was done by The Grey, the Mothers gave her that cold-eyed look. That look always rattled Lisa and would immediately cause her to stop whatever she was doing and fix herself.
Girls that did not fix themselves were promptly taking away from the other girls. Days later the girl would be back, almost always well behaved after that, and Lisa never heard it spoken of what was done to them. She wanted to know so badly where the naughty girls went and what was done to ensure that they never misbehaved again. How could the Mothers convince such a young child to never miss-step again? Lisa sighed and squinted; she knew that the fear of not knowing what was done to them is what kept her from ever crossing the line with the Mothers. Her fear now of the unknown with her marks was supposed to make her sharper and street smart, but all it did was seem to paralyze her actions and make her second guess every strategic move she thought she should make.
Craig’s cold stare was the same as the Mothers’ and she didn’t want to see it again. The problem was that Lisa didn’t understand why he was angry. She could not understand what social line she had crossed. Men were too complicated for Lisa. The women of The Grey were clear of their wants and needs. The women of The Grey never bothered being complicated and emotional—that was a waste of time. This man was wasting Lisa’s time; that rose a frustration and anger in her that she had never felt before. She had limited time in this place to accomplish all that needed to be done so that she could become a Mother amongst the women of The Grey. All of her marks, with their strange emotional behavior and being completely unreasonable and time consuming when there was no time to consume, were filing Lisa with such an anger that she almost walked past the donut shop.
Maggie
It had taken hours for Maggie to calm down and now, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the lady again. Maggie’s body told her get away, but her mind told her to learn. Learn this woman’s name and learn this woman’s home. A war could not be fought on ignorance about the enemy. If this woman was her enemy, Maggie would have to know as much about her as possible.
Her horoscope on TV told Maggie that a new person would enter her life, but it never said for good or for bad. Maggie knew better though—nobody ever entered her life for good; those that came only brought pain. She was better off alone and without living in fear of the pain that they would bring.
Maggie knew that a woman like herself—not pretty, not funny, not rich and not even interesting—would not attract the best of people. The lady, this skinny blonde lady, wanted something from Maggie; she thought Maggie had something for her, and this Maggie was sure of.
“Hola, mija…Can I help you?” Maggie smiled at the lady. She wanted to slit the lady’s throat, but she knew the lady couldn’t speak if her tongue wasn’t working. Instead, she smiled.
“Yes, coffee please… Maggie?”
Maggie nodded and poured her some coffee. “One dollar please…mmmm what’s your name hija?”
“Lisa…my name is Lisa…” she handed Maggie the dollar and did her very best not to touch her again. Lisa knew she could touch her marks only once to test for the icy itch—after that it was not allowed. Only once she became a Mother would she be allowed to completely touch the humans. She had heard whispers amongst the Mothers that the humans felt too warm to the touch—that the human’s skin felt hot, like cooked food, all the time. The Mothers who had been with human males talked of sleeping in the same beds with them and the heat of their bodies making them feel like cooked food also.
The two ladies stood and smiled at each other—that certain smile women give one another when they are pretending sugar and kindness, but feeling more salt and bloodlust.
Iggy
Iggy sat and ate his food in the alley next to one of dumpsters on Feline Street. Sometimes, Iggy felt that the dumpsters where his friends. They hung out where he was. The dumpsters smelled like him. They kept to themselves and tried to never bother anybody. Most importantly, they were filled with many different pieces of everything that, when put all together, still seemed to accomplish nothing. Iggy felt like that; he was filled with many different parts of who he was and what he thought. He could never put all the pieces together to make sense, and they ended up as nothing more than trash. They were trash thoughts and trash feelings. His brain was filled with nothing but broken parts of his life, just like the dumpster.
Iggy felt loose; today he had slept for a long time and had his first full belly in days. Street life was endless—there was no rest to it. Being on the streets, he never felt at ease or rested. To feel rested and full would usually be a blessing, but not today. Today, the sidewalks were hot tempered from the heat coming and the endless feel of feet, bicycles, and baby strollers. Iggy knew he’d be the victim of the angry sidewalks.
He pretended to not look at the sidewalks, same as he did with his mother when she was angry. He would walk around the house pretending that he did not notice her anger. He pretended not to notice her anger when he smeared applesauce on his face. He pretended not to notice when she spoke about him in small voices to his abuela. He also pretended he didn’t notice his father’s tears when he hid in the hall closet holding apples.
Spending his days pretending not to hear whispers about him from the people on Feline Street was just like pretending not to hear his mother. He pretended they didn’t pity him or think he was no better than a cockroach. He pretended not to see them. He pretended not to hear them and he pretended he couldn’t answer them.
Iggy could hear the growling of the sidewalk and was starting
to wonder if he could escape the alley though the other side. Maybe the sun hadn’t hit that sidewalk yet enough to make it ill tempered. Maybe he could get to his hiding place until the sun went down and the sidewalk cooled.
He walked slowly to it, hiding behind a dumpster here, then there. He walked slowly, convincing himself that it was a good plan and that he had a good idea. Then she appeared at the end of the alley, looking at him and waving him over. Iggy froze and looked over his shoulder. He was stuck between the growling sidewalk and the lady. There was no place to go. He couldn’t go up and he couldn’t sink down. The lady was the only choice; he didn’t think he had the strength to battle the sidewalk today.
And then he saw it… she was holding an apple. At the end of her long skinny arms, trapped inside her fingers, was a red apple. A big, fat apple and Iggy could not contain himself; he couldn’t control it. He looked down and his legs were running. His hands held out, Iggy watched himself like a movie run to the lady, take the apple, fall to his knees, and rub the apple into his face. He rolled on the floor under this lady’s feet smelling the apple.
She smiled at him. “Tu nombre?” She asked of him. I have to pay for this apple with my name, Iggy thought.
“Ignacio.” He replied. With that, she smiled and walked away. Iggy held his apple as if it was the most precious of things to him. He knew he sold his name for an apple. Iggy knew that his very soul had looked at a demon and fallen for its game, but he didn’t care. He would look at the demon again and again if it meant apples and no growling sidewalks.
Lisa
Lisa walked away feeling triumphant. Maggie had given her name willingly, and Ignacio had given his name willingly, but Lisa had the preconception that Ignacio believed he sold his name for an apple that Lisa was about to eat. While Iggy lay on the alley floor, he was ready to sell his soul for that apple, Lisa was sure of it. She felt calmer, but couldn’t shake off the idea that Iggy was… was… Lisa just didn’t know what Iggy was. Nevertheless, the feeling of urgency had melted a bit.
Now for the trickiest, and also the easiest, mark—the little boy. She needed to find out his name. Lisa needed time with the child, but she knew of humans and their offspring. She could not so easily get time with the boy without the mother noticing and objecting. How could she sneak time with the boy without someone spying her? How could she get that boy?
Rafael
Rafael’s mother stood on her porch holding a broom. It was her day off from both jobs and it was every intention of hers to clean the house; but even the best of intentions get pushed aside. She couldn’t actually make herself accomplish anything. The morning had been an endless practice of starting to do something, then giving it up before it even began. She’d much rather do nothing but sit and stare at the walls. Staring at walls was wrong and she knew it, so sometimes she would turn on the TV; whatever Novela was on would do. It was enough to make it look like she was watching something when, honestly, she was lost in the wall behind the TV.
She only pretended such things for the boy. The child that lived in her house; the child that papers and people said was her child. She knew better; he was human and she had been told that he came from within her, but he was empty and damaged. Yet, something in her told her not to damage him anymore, mostly because she had the suspicion that his damage came from her and the empty was her dead mother’s revenge—revenge for allowing her brother to roam the streets like a cockroach. Her mother was a vindictive woman. A woman full of detest and hate for herself. When Rafael came into the light of this world, she reached in and took his soul before he had a chance to giggle, laugh, or cry.
Often Raphael’s mother would stop herself from doing things she wanted, like staring at walls or not cleaning the house, only because she was the source of the troubles. She was the vessel for it all. The broom handle felt good. It was a solid stick of wood, something she could grip in her hands. The wood felt real, not plastic, and not cheap like everything else in her life. The broom handle felt like the handle of a quality sword.
Her grip was tight on the handle as she watched a lady walk up the block. The boy was inside watching TV, or pretending to. His mother wasn’t sure and as long as he stayed inside, she didn’t care. Today, he had to stay inside because she told him so. Today—the sun, clouds, the air—everything told her that he needed to be within her reach. She couldn’t have him gone today. Today, he would spin in his room. Today, he would hide in her closet. Today, he wouldn’t go wandering the streets because when she woke up this morning, she knew that’s how it had to be today. The boy didn’t argue and didn’t budge; he knew it to.
She’d seen the lady around and had seen her give Rafael candy once. She wasn’t a street lady. She wasn’t a drug whore. This much she could just sense. This lady was different. At first, she thought maybe a TV person was doing a very uninteresting story on Feline Street, where nothing good ever happened and nothing interesting ever tried to happen. It was daily survival here at its most compliant.
But, what was bothering Rafael’s mom was that this lady was catching her eye a lot. It seemed like every time she looked down the street, the lady was somewhere in her view. This woman was catching her eye too much. This lady was out on the street too much. She didn’t like seeing this lady all the time. Nobody had invited her into their life. She wasn’t welcomed in her sight. She wasn’t wanted.
Lisa
The boy’s mother was outside, but the child was not. It was usually the opposite of that and Lisa knew there was a reason; she was just unsure of what that reason was. The mother looked directly at Lisa, even though she was a block away. They locked eyes and Lisa turned down another street.
Something was off. Something was unusual about the mother’s actions. The boy’s mother seemed apathetic towards the child and allowed him to wander the streets without boundaries. It looked that way to Lisa daily. Why today, of all days, did she change that?
All Lisa knew was that she needed access to the kid. She needed his name and time alone with him to make him listen to her—to make him understand that, when the time came, Lisa was the person to mind; she was the person he could run to.
With the mother, there was no wandering. Her boundaries of where she could go and what she could do were set in stone. Unless she wanted to disappear for days or never return, boundaries were respected. At first, this woman allowing the boy to come and go as he pleased confused Lisa. Why would he be allowed to do that? Was the mother not afraid of the dangers? Then, in the pit of Lisa’s gut, by questioning this boy’s mother’s ways, she realized that this woman’s lack of parenting worked for Lisa’s advantage, every day but today.
In frustration, Lisa wanted to rage. The idea of breaking windows and shattering glass seemed the appropriate response to the mother of the boy getting in her way. But instead, Lisa sat down on a random bench. She sat and concentrated on her breathing. Lisa had been taught that anger was a time waster. If you felt anger, lashing out in a rage would only get you a mess to clean up—another time waster.
Rage and anger should be handled with focus and planning. If someone has angered you, focus on what they did and what you are going to do about it. The Mothers always said that an act of violence may satisfy your anger in the moment, but a well-planned attack of violence will satisfy your anger for a lifetime. It was also instilled in Lisa not to question her anger. The Mothers taught that if you feel anger, there is a reason; do not dismiss it. Your anger is guiding you to the truth.
The frustration with the boy’s mother was causing Lisa to feel a great deal of anger. She needed to focus and follow her anger to a plan. A plan for them all.
Maggie
Maggie loved her church. It was very old and almost ruined, like her. The smell of the candles and incense along with the feel of the wood could make her swoon. She was taught that stepping into a church would allow her to feel at peace, but most of the time she felt power. There was a pulse to the inside of the church. A quiet power that Maggie knew o
thers felt, but rarely mentioned. To Maggie, God was not peace, He was power. A power to lift a person up or drop them down. Maggie had wondered since she was a girl why this God chose the ones he did. Why did some fly, some drop, and others crawl? She spent her life crawling and couldn’t understand why this God hated her.
Then, there were those that were meant to fly. Those that, from the moment they came into the light of this world, had a glow to them that made everyone believe they would be a great person that would do great things; those that crawl take them away in vengeance. Her sister would have flown. Her sister would have saved Maggie from this life of dirt and nothing. But, the desgrashado shot her and God left Maggie to crawl.
Craig
Craig was hungry, and Craig hated cooking. It was one of those afternoons after work that he wanted a big, fat steak and a beer. Beer was always abundant in his home, but the steak was another issue. He could go to the grocery store, buy a steak and fry it up, but that would mean buying just one steak, having the clerk give him that look about buying just one steak, and grabbing more beer.
He could go to the grocery store and buy more than the one steak. He could buy all of the things people keep in their houses: coffee, milk, cereal. He was thinking back to his mother and what was in the fridge when she was alive. There was always orange juice, yet he never remembered anybody ever drinking it. He could do that; it was a normal every day thing to do—walk into that store, grab a cart, and look around at random things to eat, then take them home. That was normal, but Craig knew better. He would wander around the store looking at whatever, then come home yet again with nothing but beer. He would probably not even bother to buy that steak.
Starburst book 1 Page 6