Copyright © 2013 by John Mc Caffrey
First Edition, May 2013
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people or events are purely coincidental. All right reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced without the express written consent of the author.
Second chance Rose
by
John Mc Caffrey
Sally sat on the roof of the building, legs dangling over the side, gazing at the few cars driving by on the expressway a quarter mile away and seven stories below. The smell of exhaust mixed with the rising odor of urine and garbage from the dumpsters in the alley beneath her, creating a smell both rank and familiar. It was an urban smell, the odor of the city at night. She took another drink from the bottle of whiskey, the excess dribbling down her chin. She’d been sitting on the roof for over an hour, hoping the sun would rise soon; she wanted to see it once more before she died.
The wind blew in lazy gusts, stinging her face with the light snowfall as it lifted and rearranged her dirty blonde hair every few moments. She barely noticed though, the pills, booze and lack of sleep effectively numbed her senses. Besides, she was wondering where the people on the highway were going so early on a Sunday morning.
“Y’all should be home in bed,” she slurred, seeing her breath vaporize in front of her face.
She raised the bottle and drank deeply, wiping at her mouth with the sleeve of her leather jacket. Her cheeks were raw and numb from the cold. Her ears were freezing and her eyes watered occasionally, but she couldn’t have said if her tears were from the cold air, the lack of sleep, or from the depression that had driven her to the roof of the building.
She glanced down at the cigarette butt in her hand and wondered when it had gone out. Spreading her legs, she dropped it, watching as the wind whipped it off to her left. She’d wanted to see it fall in a straight line; the path she would soon take, but the cold November wind had robbed her of it. She reached in her jacket and pulled out a fresh cigarette, fumbling in her pants pocket for her lighter. Setting the bottle down on the ledge beside her, she cupped her hands around the small flame as she inhaled deeply.
Won’t have to worry about these damn things killing me now
Strange how your perspective changes when you’re on the bottom, she thought. Sitting on a ledge at four o’clock in the morning with puke on your jacket, reviewing the ruin that is your life isn’t something she thought she’d be doing at thirty-five years old. Yet, here she sat doing just that.
She looked off to the south of her perch to the railroad tracks, where four winos sat around a garbage can they'd lit a fire in. The red glow from the small blaze seemed inviting, a softly pulsating beacon in an otherwise gloomy night. They kept her company this past hour, waving to her occasionally as they passed around what she figured to be a bottle of liquor. She wondered if the four of them were good friends. If they cared for one another, concerned when one was depressed. Did they worry about one another the way friends were supposed to, or did they say ‘it’s late, you shouldn’t call at this hour’. Get your shit together Sally, get a life and grow up. During their friend’s worst time, did they tell them to piss off? Did they turn their backs on them? Probably. That’s all people seemed to do. When you ceased being useful to them, they turned their backs on you.
“To friends,” she said, and raised the bottle in the direction of the four winos.
She brushed the snow off her legs, and took another sip from the bottle. It had been a long time since she had a good friend. Andy was probably the only real friend she ever had. That seemed so long ago, in another life, another place and another time. She could have seen him again just a few years ago if she had gone to either of her grandparent’s funerals, but she had dreaded the thought of returning to Brandenville as a failure. She was certain the whole town knew what she had become, and she was too ashamed to face them. Especially Andy. From the moment she left home at eighteen with Richy Steward bound for Los Angeles, she’d started down the road of failure. Richy had been two years older, long hair and motorcycle, tall and dangerous. At the time she would have done anything to escape what she felt was the capital of Boredom-Town USA. She had thought she was in love and he swore he would take care of her. He died their first year in L.A. robbing a convenience store; the owner pulling a gun Richy must not have counted on. She spent the next few years at an escort service, working as a high-priced call girl, making a few adult films along the way to earn a living. Although not proud of her career choice, it enabled her to take a few classes at a local college, in hopes of one day becoming a R.N. Her eventual downward spiral into drugs and alcohol however, made other plans for her.
She ran a hand through her hair, and closed her eyes. She was tired, having barely slept in the past two days. She had drifted off for an hour earlier that afternoon in Ruben’s apartment, but he’d been too eager for her to get undressed to let her get much more. She’d needed a place to crash, and hoped she could stay with Ruben. Her landlord had let her know in no uncertain terms that she either paid up, or got out. Ruben however, rushed her out after sex, telling her she couldn’t stay. His girlfriend dropped by too often.
She inhaled deeply from her cigarette and looked to the sky hoping to see a glint of light, but the gloom of the night still held sway over the sky. It was that special time of night, right before dawn, when husbands rolled over in bed; pulling their wives close to whisper they loved them. When children woke safe and sheltered, knowing that no demons lurked below their beds or in their closets. Heaters clicked on, warming the many homes where people loved one another. The city slept secure, waiting for the assurance of a new sunrise, and a fresh day filled with promise.
“To new days,” she whispered, raising the bottle. Her words dissolved into an icy hiss, the cold November breeze blowing them across the rooftop like discarded promises. A heavier gust of wind knocked something metallic over far below her, causing her to look in the direction of the gloomy alley, but it was far too dark to see anything. She stared down into the darkness for a few moments as she flexed her stiff fingers, trying to work the numbness out of them. She dismissed the noise and tilted her head back to let the light snow fall on her face, gazing towards the heavens. The sky was the same color as the slushy snow in the streets, gray and dirty. She listened to the night, deep now in its slumber as the wind dozed and sighed and whispered to her of the past.
She'd come to Chicago with Linda, her roommate in L.A. three years ago, in an attempt to escape the life they led in California. They tried to get straight, and give up prostitution, but even as roommates they were unable to pay their bills working in ‘straight’ jobs. Once again, they found themselves working as hookers to make ends meet. She still was. Linda however, had finally managed to find a way to quit; an overzealous John who was a bit too kinky had killed her last year. The funeral had been a sad affair, only eight people showed up.
“Miss you Linny, maybe we should’a stayed in L.A.” She whispered to the darkness.
She looked around the roof, two skylights, a couple of small brick structures she thought were chimneys, a few metal pipes and the door she had come through the only things up here. The lights from the city, east of where she sat, bounced off the thin coating of snow, casting everything into a soft blue haze. She loved the snow, the way it covered the dirt and grime of the city, making it all seem beautiful and new. Booze was a lot like snow she thought. She’d found this place last year when she’d been at a party given by some rich artsy creep who was a student at Columbia. He'd been showing off his paintings to anyone who would look, but Sally had only been interested in the amount of coke he had on the table. She had come to the party
with a wealthy middle-aged guy Linda had set her up with. They had snuck away later that evening to the roof where he showed her where the buildings superintendent kept the key hidden. They'd drank wine, snorted coke and screwed under the stars and he told her she was beautiful and asked to see her again. He was wealthy and attractive, and seemed to genuinely like her. She had dared to hope and stayed straight waiting for his call. When two weeks passed and still no word, Linda had taken her to another party to forget it.
Party-time--- remember party-time Richy?
Her whole life had been party-time, starting in her freshman year
Second Chance Rose Page 1