Becoming Indigo

by Tara Taylor

  “Something happened,” I said. “I just don’t know what.”

  “Oh, my gawd! What if it was, like, some mass murder or something?” said Sarah.

  I shook my head. “It’s not that,” I said. “It’s something to do with her. She told me a doctor was coming. I think she might have died too early and maybe left her family, her children.”

  “Maybe we should try to be nice to her,” said Natalie softly. “Maybe that would make her stop crying.”

  I looked from Natalie to Sarah. “I think that’s a good plan.”

  “No way!” Sarah barked. “We have to get rid of her. I don’t want to make friends with some ghost.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll find a way. I promise.”

  The next morning, I left for work while Sarah and Natalie were still sleeping, the two of them in Sarah’s double bed. The three of us had moved into Sarah’s room, because she had a double bed and we all wanted to sleep together. The bus stopped in front of my work, and I swear I could hardly remember being on the bus I was so tired. I dragged my weary body across the street and entered the lobby.

  “Well, Blondie,” said Miles. “Are we a bit hungover this morning?”

  I wanted to tell him to shut up, but I clamped my teeth together and took my room list. When I scanned it, I couldn’t believe how many I had to clean.

  “Why do I have so many rooms today?” I blurted out.

  “I gotta leave early,” lisped Esther as she picked at her teeth with her fingernail.

  “And I ain’t got no other girl yet. Blondie, you was supposed to get me someone.”

  “None of my friends want this job.” Tired and cranky, I’d had it with Miles.

  He laughed at me. “Getting feisty, eh?”

  I stormed out of the lobby and went to get my cart, yanking it out of the storage room so hard it hit the side of the wall and almost toppled. My entire body shook, and I had a bad metallic taste in my mouth.

  I worked hard with no breaks and didn’t even stop for lunch. At around two, I saw Esther leaving and I cursed her under my breath. Brian had to come through. He had to. And I wasn’t setting him up with Natalie either. I would tell Mom, and she would make him give me a job.

  With sweat dripping down my back, soaking my shirt, I scrubbed and vacuumed and dusted. Finally, I had one room left. I stuck my key in the lock and entered, breathing a sigh of relief when it wasn’t too disgusting—lots of newspapers, but no stinky, gooey garbage. I started to pick up all the newspapers when suddenly my hands tingled. I stared down at the newspaper, and the word rape shone like a red light, pulsing in my vision. It pulsed twice, then stopped, then pulsed twice again. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, and when I opened them and looked at the newspaper again, the word was just black and didn’t stand out at all—it was just embedded in an article. This meant something. I knew it did.

  My stomach soured, and my breakfast moved to my throat. Then I heard the key in the lock. I knew I didn’t have time to dive under the bed like yesterday, but I knew exactly what Miles wanted.

  “Blondie,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

  The sound of it latching made my pulse quicken; sweat started beading everywhere on my body.

  “I have your paycheck.” He waved an envelope in his hands. “I thought I would deliver it to you personally. I’ve put a bonus in it.”

  He approached me with a horrible leer on his face. “We’re alone.”

  “Just give me the check, Miles,” I said.

  “Don’t be a greedy little girl.”

  “Give me the check.”

  He licked his lips. “Did you hear me say I put a bonus in it?”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “Don’t you know how to say thank you?” He waived the check in the air.

  My mind went blank, and I saw two walnuts.

  Walnuts. Think, Indie, think.

  He stepped closer, and as his stench hit my nostrils, I almost gagged. But I didn’t. I needed my wits.

  Closer and closer. “I’ve seen how much you want me, too,” he said. He started to undo his belt.

  Walnuts?

  He stared at my breasts as he clicked his belt open. “I’m not asking for much from you.” Leering at me, he unzipped his pants. Then he stretched his fat arms out and grabbed my arm, pulling it toward his open fly. “Just a hand job. That’s all.”

  Nuts?

  I yanked my arm away from him before I lifted my leg and kicked him as hard as I could in the groin. He doubled over. The check fell out of his hands.

  “I QUIT!” I screamed.

  I scooped the check off the floor and ran out.

  My lungs burned, and my legs screamed in pain, but I kept running farther and farther. I dodged by the people walking leisurely down the street. My vision blurred, and that’s when I tripped, skidding on the concrete.

  “Hey, are you okay?” A man helped me to stand.

  My knee was bleeding, and my hand throbbed. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll be okay.”

  There was no way Miles could have followed me; he was too overweight to run as fast as me. I started limping, and although my knee stung, it was my hand that was in the most pain. I kept walking, forcing myself to ignore the pain. Blocks away, I finally stopped and bent over at the waist. Dizziness took over, and I staggered to the wall and leaned against it. A horrible pressure in my chest made my breath come out in gasps. I hugged the wall until my heart stopped pounding. In front of me, on the other side of the street, was a bus shelter.

  I crossed the street and sat down on the bench to wait for my bus to come.

  Indie, I’m proud of you. You trusted what you saw.

  Hey, I helped, too.

  Tears loomed in my eyes. I looked down at my knee and tried to pull a few little pebbles out of it. Mom would know what I should do. Then I looked at my right hand and saw that my ring finger was starting to swell. Was it broken? I tried to pull my ring off, but it wouldn’t budge. I tugged and tugged, but it was stuck on my finger and the swelling was getting worse by the second. The tears I was trying to hold in fell down my face, and I closed my eyes to the world around me.

  Yes, I had used my intuition, and it had gotten me through something that could have been horrible. And that was a good thing.

  But now … I didn’t have a job. I needed money to pay my rent. And any of the other things I wanted to do. Miles had ruined everything.

  I inhaled and exhaled, willing myself to stop and think of a plan. As soon as I got home, I’d phone Brian, tell him he needed to hire me now. I could scoop ice cream with a bad finger. I could, and I would. I would get another job, too.

  I kept trying to twist the ring until the bus came. But it wouldn’t come off.

  When I got home, I almost crawled up the stairs. But worse than that, I walked into an empty apartment. I ran my hand under cold water, trying to loosen the ring.

  Slam. Slam. Slam.

  “Go away!” I yelled, sobbing. “Leave me alone.”

  Last night the wine had made her go away. I needed another glass. I pulled out the box, shook it, and figured there were a couple more glasses left. I poured one and sat at the kitchen table. One glass of wine on an empty stomach was more than I needed. Feeling tipsy, I picked up the phone and dialed home.

  “Mom,” I said.

  “Indie. You don’t sound good.”

  As soon as I heard my mom’s voice, I started sobbing again. “I quit my job.” I sniffled and grabbed a tissue to wipe my nose.

  “What happened?”

  “My boss was a total sleazebag.”

  I heard her breath catch. “Did he touch you?”

  “No. I didn’t let him. But he tried to.”

  I could hear her breathing and it wasn’t coming out in soft rasps. “I’m coming over,” she stated. “We have to press charges.”

  “We can’t do that,” I cried. “No one would believe me. No one saw anything. There would be no proof of anything. It would be my word agai
nst his, and you know how that works.”

  “It’s not right, Indie.”

  “I didn’t let him touch me. And I certainly didn’t touch him like he wanted me to do.” I paused momentarily before I said, “I kicked him in the nuts.”

  There was a pause on the line, then my mom suppressed a laugh. “Did you really?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I replied.

  Just talking to my mom made everything seem better. “I fell running, though, and think I might have broken my finger.”

  After that comment, my mother proceeded to go through a bevy of questions asking about my finger, and in the end, she pretty much figured out it was sprained, but she told me to try and get my ring off.

  “Should I come over?” she asked again.

  I heard the door open and Natalie call out, “Hello?”

  “I’ll be okay. Natalie just came home.”

  “There’s something else you’re not telling me,” said Mom.

  Natalie ran down the hall. “I gotta pee so bad.”

  I paused until I heard Natalie shut the bathroom door. Nothing got past Mom. “There’s a ghost in our apartment,” I whispered. “She slams doors and turns on taps. She is freaking me out.” My words came out in a rush. “The other girls have seen her, too, briefly, but she follows me everywhere.”

  “I think you need to come home, Indie.”

  “No, Mom. I can’t. I promised the girls I’d figure this out. I’ll deal with this.” I heard the toilet flush. “Listen, I’ll call you back in a bit.”

  “Indie, I can come over.”

  “Mom, no, please. Let me handle this on my own.”

  “Okay. I’m going to meet Martha for a quick bite to eat, but I will take my pager. And don’t forget to clean up your knee with rubbing alcohol and ice that finger.”

  I twiddled with the telephone cord. “Thanks. Have fun with Martha. Say hi to her for me.” Martha was an old high-school friend of my mom’s.

  I hung up the phone, and Natalie was staring at me. “What the heck happened to you?”

  I put my elbows on the table and my head in my hands. “It’s a long story.”

  “I have time.”

  After I had told Natalie everything, and she stared at me. Horrified, she looked at my finger. “Your mom is right. Ice it, and that will take the swelling down. And let’s phone Sarah and get her to bring home pizza. Lard Jesus, you’ve had a day of sufferin’ and need your friends with you.”

  I laughed for the first time all day. Pizza. That sounded good to me. But the friends sounded even better. “Thanks,” I said.

  Later that night, my mom called me back. I knew she would. “I’ve made an appointment for you,” she said.

  “Mom, I don’t want to go to a doctor. My finger is fine. I’ve been icing it, and the swelling is going down. And I’m not—I repeat, not—going to another psychologist.”

  “This has nothing to do with your finger or a psychologist,” replied my mom. “I went to see this friend of Martha’s at her angel store, and the woman wants to see you.” She paused for a moment, then said, “She’s a psychic.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Indie, just go to the appointment.”

  “When is it?”

  “Tomorrow morning. Nine thirty.”

  “I have to job hunt tomorrow. Brian said he can’t get me in for two weeks. As of today, I don’t have a job, and I need money. I can’t go two weeks without working. I need to pay my rent. I’m going to try to get another part-time job. What is this woman going to tell me anyway?”

  “I don’t know what she’s going to tell you, but I just know you have to go see her. It is important for your future. And Dad and I can help with your rent this month.”

  Go see her.

  I wanted to tell Isaiah to just shut up. But for some reason, I held back.

  “Where is this store?”

  Chapter Five

  My alarm went off at 8 A.M. I groaned. A horrible hangover hit every part of my body. Gross. I sat up and was pretty certain that I was still drunk. After Mom called to tell me about the appointment, Sarah came home with pizza and a case of beer. I wanted to chip in, but Natalie and Sarah insisted. They said I could pay them back when I got a job.

  A job. I needed a job. And I needed to get it today.

  I moaned again. I didn’t want to go to this appointment. I wanted to scour the want ads. As I grabbed a pair of shorts and a T-shirt off the floor, my finger throbbed. It was still so swollen, and the ring looked as if it was cutting off my circulation. Perhaps George could get it off for me; he would have some sort of jewelry cutter in his store. Later. I would go to him later, once this dumb appointment was over. I got dressed, then I plodded down the hall to the kitchen and called a cab. Mom insisted I call one—she’d pay me back. While waiting for the cab to arrive, I lay on the living-room sofa until I heard a horn outside.

  The cabdriver looked at me funny when I got in the car, probably because I smelled like alcohol and hadn’t brushed my hair or my teeth. Who really cared? Not me. I would go to the appointment, come home and clean up, then hit the pavement. I leaned my head against the back of the seat and gave him the address. Then I closed my eyes until I felt the vehicle stop.

  Upon opening my eyes, I realized I was somewhere in Ottawa I’d never been before. Whatever. My mom was being a bit weird, and I was just doing this for her benefit.

  I paid the taxi driver, got out, and stared at the store’s big window front. Crystals hung from what looked like wire attached to the ceiling and sparkled when the sun hit them. Books, massive chunks of rocks, and angel figurines lined the window ledges, along with what looked like white stuffing. Was it supposed to be clouds? Perhaps this was what heaven was supposed to look like?

  Farther up the windows, near the top, in purple scrolling letters, was the store’s name: Annabelle’s Angels.

  When I entered, the store was empty, which was strange, especially since I thought I had an appointment. I glanced around.

  Although I was feeling unbelievably crappy, a mysterious peace surrounded me as I stared at the store’s contents. Multi-colored angel dolls and statues seemed to occupy every corner and crevice. They were so many shimmering shades: gold, yellow, white, pink, blue. They sat on counters and hung on all kinds of different racks.

  But it was the walls that stunned me. Painted on the cream-colored walls were blue clouds, and embedded in these amazing clouds were golden flecks of angels. Had they been sponge painted to look like that? I looked up to the high ceilings. Golden angels looked down on me. A delightful warm air blanketed me.

  Music played as well, and I recognized one of my new favorite singers: Jewel. Her distinct voice soothed me. At the far right of the store sat a big huge chest, and it was filled with stones like the ones I had seen at George’s antique store, but they weren’t in any form of jewelry. I walked toward the chest and picked up a stone. As I held it, I remembered that my dad had put all kinds of stones like this by our pool. The stone felt hot in my hand, like it had been sitting on a fire. I put it down.

  Some of the stones in the chest were clear, but there were also many pink quartz and amethyst and topaz and turquoise. I knelt down and reached into the chest with one hand and let them sift through my fingers. I did this over and over. They felt so good to touch.

  When my legs were numb from kneeling, I stood and glanced around the rest of the store. Books and decks of cards also lined a shelf on the left side of the store. But they weren’t playing cards like for UNO and Rummy. They had angels on them and strange depictions of wands and swords and crashing towers. I stepped back and away from them.

  I preferred to look at the angels, which wasn’t hard to do because, seriously, they were everywhere. I craned my neck to look around the room, trying to absorb everything but knowing that wouldn’t happen in just a few minutes. There was just too much to take in.

  Then off to the side, I saw a door with a sign on it. I walked over and read i
t: For readings with Annabelle call 1-613-555-1888.

  Readings? I shook my head. The woman did psychic readings? Of course I knew about this from John. He had been obsessed with Edgar Cayce. Sure, I was feeling some sort of comfort and warmth, but that still didn’t take away the absurdity of the situation. I needed to go back to the apartment and get cleaned up and start looking for a job. I wondered about the places I had applied to a few days ago. I should go back and be persistent. Something would come up.

  Open your mind, because you are meant to be here.

  “Isaiah, why are you talking to me now?” I whispered.

  I continued to look around the store for another minute, just gazing at everything and basking in the warmth of the surroundings. Then I figured that this Annabelle I was supposed to meet had obviously flaked. What a waste of cab fare.

  I had just turned to leave when I heard violin music. I closed my eyes. Was someone playing tricks on me?

  Then I heard a voice. “Indie. Come to the back.”

  “Okay. Let’s play this out,” I whispered to myself. “To the back I go.”

  I’d come this far, so I thought I might as well meet her.

  The door to the back squeaked open, and I saw a hallway. Boxes lined the walls and were stacked up three high. Unbalanced from my hangover, I stepped around them, holding on to the walls. At the first door, I stopped and peered into the room.

  Two fluffy, pearly pink chairs sat across from each other. An exotically beautiful woman was in one of them with a violin under her chin. I have to admit I was surprised by how attractive she was. She had to be in her 30s. She had dark curly hair and brown eyes, and she was slim and dressed in normal clothes: jeans and a pretty green-and-white shirt. Was I expecting someone old, gray, and frumpy—maybe a flower-printed muumuu, huge gemstone rings, a chunky necklace, and a scarf?

  When she saw me standing at the door, she carefully placed her violin and bow in a black case on the floor. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said. “My name is Annabelle.”