He could go to a restaurant and buy a meal. That would mean looks from the other costumers about why he was dining alone. Why is that man alone? They would wonder. Does he not have a friend, a woman, someone to eat with? The times he actually went into a restaurant, which were very seldom, he sat gulping his food—hardly tasting it and hoping that everyone that saw him thought he was an out of town businessman. In his fantasies, he’d hope that they thought he was something exotic like an out of town hitman, but then his bubble would pop and he knew that if they thought of him at all, they probably thought he sold burial insurance.
The gnawing for a steak was killing him and the idea of a big baked potato churned in his belly. He would have to do something and his usual whatever burrito from wherever wouldn’t work today. Today was different; he needed that steak. Craig, exasperated, walked out onto his front porch and looked to see what condition his hibachi was in. He was desperate enough to cook.
Then, he saw her and said it before his brain could stop his mouth, “Hey Nurse Ratched… feel like a steak?” She was pretending to casually walk by and stopped to look directly at him.
“It’s Lisa, and who’s cooking? I’m not much of a cook…just a warning…not the home-maker type.” Craig stared at her. Shit, what did I do? She might think he was interested in her.
“No worries, I’m thinking of hitting the steak house a couple blocks down, just wanted some company…just company, nothing else. Nothing special, nothing extra… just somebody sitting in the booth with me.” Damn it, he was hoping she wasn’t a hooker; then again, maybe a steak and a hooker was exactly what he needed.
Lisa stared at him for a moment. She squinted and nodded. “Just company, perfect.”
Before Craig could assess the situation, he and Lisa were in his truck headed to the steak house. Before he even knew what was going on, they had ordered; and before he knew if he liked his situation, drinks were on the table and she was looking at him. She wasn’t staring; she was just looking, really looking, at him. Then, he realized that she was speaking.
“Listen, I’m not going to ask you a bunch of what’s your favorite color and what do you do for a living stuff. I really don’t care about that stuff. I’m thinking you’d probably be happy eating in silence, but I’m not so let’s talk about beer and baseball. Explain baseball to me.” Words were pouring from her mouth and Craig was having a mini seizure trying to focus on what exactly she was saying to him. He heard, “Explain baseball to me.”
Instead, he responded with, “Are you a hooker?”
At this, Lisa fell into a fit of laughter, “No, sorry Craig. I’m not a hooker and not interested in being one. Also not interested in any of that stuff…sorry. I’m not a very touchy feely person…”
It was Craig’s turn to squint at her. He didn’t understand why this woman would come to dinner with him for free, with no conditions. There had to be a catch to it all. What was her agenda? Lisa took a big bite out of her steak and looked right at him while she chewed. “Baseball…explain baseball.”
Craig started eating his baked potato and talking about baseball. Lisa ate, nodded, and asked questions. She asked questions about baseball that were almost like she had grown up on some other planet and needed simple everyday life stuff explained to her. Talking about baseball gave Craig something to do with himself. He could feel at ease talking about something that had nothing to do with digging for human baggage—it was a game with rules. Rules were easy for Craig to understand and rules were something Lisa was governed by from birth.
Lisa ordered dessert for both of them and asked another question about baseball. Not Craig’s favorite team or how many games had he seen, she asked a rule oriented question; a question he could answer easily and quickly without effort or stress. She wanted him to enjoy his meal and she wanted to fulfill that need of his for company. She had found her in with Craig; he wanted some company.
Lisa
Lisa insisted she would walk home; they were only a couple blocks away from her apartment, and she wasn’t ready to let Craig know where she lived. Not yet. What was surprising was that he put up no fight and seemed somewhat relieved to be rid of her and have no further commitment with her that night, other than the meal. Everything she had seen on television and online would make her believe that he would want to drive her home and that he would insist on knowing where she lived. When he put up no argument, she felt as relieved as he did. Good, nobody is wasting anybody’s time, she thought.
Laying on her living room floor, Lisa’s stomach churned. The food at the restaurant was delicious and awful. The dead animal cooked and presented on a plate in chunks was off-putting to her. The Grey consumed no flesh and consumed no grains. Vegetables were rarely cooked; most food was eaten raw. Lisa was repulsed by the plate of cooked flesh with the heavy potato, but she knew that to win him over she would eat as he ate and act like it was as natural to her as to him. Lisa balled her hand into a fist and rested it on her belly. She might be an empath and now she had consumed flesh, both considered vile among The Grey.
Lisa relaxed her fist, then held her gut and buried her face into a couch pillow. The first bite of the cooked flesh sunk into her mouth. It buried itself into her tongue and Lisa wanted it to live there. She had never tasted something so lush. Lisa had never eaten something she wished to repeatedly stuff into her mouth and suck the juices. This was bad. The Mothers would not approve. She was raised in The Grey with its rules and the Mothers. A drop of blood from an animal had never touched their kitchen tables. Every time her stomach bounced, Lisa knew it was punishment for swaying away from the life rules. It was a warning from her inner self to not stray. Lisa needed to walk the line.
Rolling onto her belly, Lisa couldn’t help but feel satisfied. She felt sleepy. The sugar she consumed in the cake was swishing around her blood. Meat and sugar in one night and at one meal. Lisa felt like the teenage rebels she had seen on television doing something they had been taught and raised not to do. She rebelled against the Mothers while trying to conform for her mission. It was a twisted knot with no answer.
Craig
Craig sat in his recliner, drinking a beer and feeling calm now that the steak was swimming in his gut. Nurse Ratched wasn’t bad company either. He didn’t feel like she was the ‘one hand on his wallet, another on his dick’ type. But, what type was she? She didn’t seem like a drugged up hooker—too smart for that and her teeth were looking pretty decent. She didn’t seem the lonely cat lady type. She didn’t want anything to do with him physically—obviously didn’t want a boyfriend. It bothered Craig that this lady had nothing obvious about her. There was nothing obvious where he could pinpoint what her deal was. Craig chugged his beer and opened another. Not obvious, Lisa was definitely not obvious.
Iggy
Iggy felt insecure, a feeling that he was used to. Being homeless was a constant flow of insecurity. He slept insecure. He ate insecure. He dreamed insecure dreams. It wasn’t new to Iggy, but this type of insecurity was new. He wanted to know when the lady was coming back—the lady demon with the apples. She learned his name and left him. He needed her to return and had started looking for her.
Iggy walked up and down Feline Street, eyes darting. He didn’t want to be noticed, but he wanted to see the lady. He wanted her to see him and talk to him and hopefully give him an apple. Scratching his head, he decided to get up and stretch his legs. The bugs on his head were working their way through his body. He knew he had to shake them off. He needed to remember where he could find the lady, but the itching was getting worse every day, every second.
That’s when he saw Augustine, the man that sometimes helped him. The man that helped at the shelter. The man that sometimes, when Iggy let him, fed him. He never had apples—it was always sandwiches or water, never apples and for that Iggy almost hated him. Augustine walked up to Iggy and handed him a bag with a sandwich and water bottle in it. “Never apples…never apples,” is all Iggy said to him. He put the bag down and
scratched.
Augustine looked carefully at Iggy and quietly took his arm and led him to the shelter. Walking down the block together, they said nothing. Walking into the shelter, Augustine nodded at the salvation army ladies and kept hold of Iggy’s arm. Silently, he put on gloves, sat Iggy down, and shaved his head. He had done this many times before and Iggy never protested. Iggy never yelled or explained to Augustine that the sidewalk would laugh at his bald head. Augustine never winced, coughed, or showed disgust. He was one human being taking care of another human being with the most extreme amount of kindness.
After shaving Iggy’s head, Augustine gave Iggy the clippers pointed to his face and pointed to his body then turned his back to him. When he could no longer hear the clippers, Augustine pointed to the shower and handed Iggy a bar of soap. The two men had done this routine over and over again for years. NO words passed between them, ever. Augustine pointed and Iggy obeyed. Iggy never understood why he obeyed this man; he only knew that when he did, he would feel better. If he did what this man wanted, he would sleep. If he did what this man wanted, he wouldn’t feel so itchy. Iggy, lost in his own crazy, could focus enough on Augustine to know that he must do what he wanted.
Bald from head to toe, the bugs where gone. Clean from a shower, with clean clothes on his back, Iggy stood silent waiting for Augustine to point again. It was to the bench this time to eat with the others. He put two bags in front of Iggy and nodded. Iggy ate the tasteless sandwiches and drank the water. Never looking up and never glancing sideways at the others.
When he finished, Augustine tugged at Iggy’s shirt and took Iggy to a cot in a back room. He handed Iggy a little pill from his pocket raised his eyebrow until Iggy put it in his mouth and then gave him another bottle of water. The final point was in the direction of the cot. Iggy laid down and closed his eyes. The pill was doing the backstroke in the sulci of Iggy’s brain, taking him off to a deep sleep where he wouldn’t move or awaken for two days. And for those two days, his insecurity paced the room waiting to be remembered again.
Rafael
Rafael had a new teacher. His usual teacher wasn’t there. He wanted his always teacher. Where was his always teacher? The new teacher didn’t look right and the new teacher didn’t turn on the lights first. The new teacher didn’t know his name and didn’t know he had to put his books in line before sitting down. She wasn’t doing anything right and Rafael was getting more anxious by the second.
He stared at her. She wasn’t doing things like she needed and he tried to tell her, but she would just pat his head and nod. The new teacher touched him. Rafael didn’t like to be touched. First the light, the books, and now the touch. It was too much. It was too much, and Rafael couldn’t fight it anymore. “THE NEW TEACHER IS WRONG…” he said loudly and looked at the other students, some nodded and some laughed. “IT’S WRONG…YOU’RE WRONG.”
The teacher’s aide, knowing the storm that was about to break, tried to calm Rafael. She told him his good teacher would be back tomorrow and not to worry. But, it was too late. It was too much for him to handle. His breathing quickened. His chest was going to cave in and he had no choice. “No choice,” he said to the aide…there was no choice, but to run. He had to run away from the wrong.
With that, Rafael bolted out the door, through the playground, and he was over the school fence before anyone could catch him. He ran for his life, knowing that if he didn’t, the wrong would catch him and sit on his chest to keep him with the wrong teacher. Rafael ran down blocks and blocks, passed stop lights and street signs. He was in a panic, but he knew how to get home. He knew how to hide in the boxes piled up in his backyard until his mom came home from work.
Rafael also ran passed Lisa who picked up her pace and ran right behind him. He never noticed and she never announced herself. Instead, Lisa followed, knowing that whatever action this little boy did was going to be quick and she had no time to waste. When Rafael reached his back porch, he crawled into the boxes. Lisa, from the alley, watched silently. Rafael knew the police would be called. He knew they would call his mother at work. His mother would calmly walk home, get dinner ready, then go get him from the boxes when it was dark and no one saw.
His mother knew that the wrong would go away, but only after dark. There was no point in asking him to come out or explaining to the police that she knew where he was and that he’d eventually come out once it was dark. The top corner of his box opened and all Rafael saw was a hand holding a water bottle and some candy. The yummy, gooey yellow candy from before. He reached for the water and candy, then saw the blonde lady from that tiny turned up corner. She smiled, nodded, and put her fingers to her lips for quiet, then closed the top. Rafael wondered if the lady could tell the wrong to go far, far away.
Lisa
Lisa sat across the alley from the boy’s backyard watching him. She expected there to be lots of police and his mother running towards the house crying like Lisa had seen on the TV over and over again. But, no police came. No screaming mother. Lisa waited and nothing. It was confusing. Why did the TV handle life one way, when real life was nowhere close to what was depicted? It made no sense to make people believe false information. Why breed ignorance when the TV could spread knowledge?
When Lisa got her apartment, a TV was allowed and she was encouraged to watch and learn about pop culture to help her assimilate to this world and better understand her marks. Lisa found Feline Street to be the opposite of TV. This boy who ran away from school and hid… shouldn’t that bring in police and a concerned parent? Yet, nothing happened.
Fury, Lisa felt fury…once again she felt that sting of anger that needed to lead her to a path. What was the path for such a strange child who didn’t act like the other children on the street? His mother didn’t act like other mothers either. Lisa never met a child like him. She didn’t understand a child like him. She wanted badly to beat his mother for neglect, yet she also wanted to sit with her and ask questions.
Lisa squinted and squirmed. Sweat was running down her back, and she was now craving more meat. The sun had set and no one showed up at the house. Then, a light shone in the kitchen and the back door opened. Rafael’s mother calmly opened the box, picked up the boy from out of the box, and led him into the house. With that, Lisa knew this boy; this little human puzzle piece needed a guardian—someone to stand guard at his gate. Pathetically, Lisa knew she wasn’t it.
Maggie
Sometimes the church calmed her, despite her anger towards God. Despite her questioning of whether her God was ever listening, despite the look of pity the nuns gave her when her sister had been shot down, and despite her solid belief that God ignored her every wish, Maggie sat in church.
Maggie loved the solid feel of the wood benches. Sitting in them made her feel like she had a secure place in the church. She ran her fingers across the bench and wondered if that was done on purpose. Was her seat made to feel secure so the words that poured out of the priest’s mouth seemed secure also? How could she question what the priest said if the foundation was so strong?
Trickery, but still Maggie sat. She was actually unsure of why she sat because sitting here gave the appearance of faith while all she did was question her actions. Why did she get up, get dressed, and come here? Especially on her day off—a day that she would usually stay inside her apartment all day, relishing seeing no one and no one seeing her. Yet, it called. She drank her coffee and ate her cereal, listening to the whisper of the church telling her to visit it. She wasn’t sure if it was God that called her or the building itself.
Churches have an aura to them that Maggie could not resist. The old churches that have had the most souls within them tremble with human aura and Maggie could sense it. Often, she wondered if she felt the call of the building more than anything. There was an energy in the walls, floor, and—strongest of all—in these benches where thousands of people have sat, prayed, and believed what the church told them to.
That had to leave an imprint, Maggie was sur
e of it. These feelings conflicted Maggie more; she could not accept the religious teaching of her church to be completely real. So, she thought the building had called her, but that led her to believe the aura of the members called her. This didn’t sit well with her either because Maggie, at her core, hated people. Humanity had ignored her, thought nothing of her; why would she want to sit with humanity? Maggie wanted the opposite. If she knew humanity would end tonight, she would rejoice in it. An ending to all the tedious daily rituals that were not the love and adventure she craved, but would never have.
She felt a small bump to her side and there sat the lady. The blonde, skinny lady that Maggie trained herself to smile at—to pretend that she was a wanted companion.
“Hola,” said Lisa. Maggie nodded and pictured herself stabbing Lisa in the eye with a fork. Why did she appear in odd places? Why did she appear here, the one place where Maggie would sit and try to calm herself?
“Are you praying?” Lisa asked and already knew the answer, but she figured it was best to play ignorant. Lisa felt Maggie’s confliction. Maggie sat in this place where humans worship, mentally shaking her fist at their God; Lisa could almost taste her struggle. So, even if Lisa was the wiser, it was best to ask questions; this got her marks talking. This got humans talking—just ask question after question. Human’s love thinking they have all the answers.
Maggie sighed and Lisa held strong; she wasn’t going to leave. Usually Maggie would nod, get up, and go home, but she knew she had to play the game with this gringa because she still didn’t know exactly what she wanted from her.
“I come here to find calm. I cannot find calm anywhere. Here, I sit and think, looking to find calm. Calm is hard to find for me.” With that Maggie went silent. Lisa was sure this was a dismissal in the form of an unapologetic explanation, but Lisa had been sitting here for an hour trying to figure out why Maggie was there, and now Lisa knew the answer. She had to find calm, which was almost comical because every inch of Maggie was the opposite of calm.
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