Paula walked in laden with bags. “I’ve got the stuff to decorate.”
Eli followed her in carrying more bags. He set them on the table and left without a backward glance. I guess he was afraid I’d harass him some more about…everything.
Lola walked toward the door, her high-heeled sandals clicking on the cement floor. “If you’ll sort the paint and brushes, I’ll get the kids to start on the backdrop.”
Paula and I walked over to the large appliance boxes a furniture store had donated. Our plan was to let the kids paint them bright colors and stack them to use as our backdrop. It was cheap, and with the talent these kids had—if the artwork on their notebooks and the bathroom walls were any indication—we’d have some great scenery.
One kid named Angel had incredible talent. When he painted something, you could walk right into it. He had done a mural of the beach on classroom B’s wall. It was so real, I swore I smelled salt water and heard sea gulls every time I entered the room. The boxes were arranged in their order so that the drawn lines on them created an urban skyline with funky slanted buildings. Angel had written numbers in and around the lines and had assigned colors to the numbers. This way, the rest of the children and youth could help with the painting in a big color by number project.
In an hour the scene was finished except for the shading which Angel would finish up. We cleaned ourselves up, and I took a group of twelve girls to a corner of the room to watch the dance routine they had made up for the talent show. From speakers connecting to the MP3 player in the cabinet, a deep bass and drum boom, boom, boomed. With exact precision, twelve, eight to fourteen year olds began to thrust their pelvises provocatively.
Read my sarcasm here. Oh, joy.
I hit the stop button on the player and sighed.
Twelve pairs of eyes stared at me.
“No, girls.”
There was a collective groan.
“Do you realize we are inviting the community in to see this? The mayor is going to be here. We want you all to shine, show how gifted and talented you are. This bump and grind is demeaning.”
“That’s how we dance.”
“Yes. You can dance that way, but when you do, it doesn’t demonstrate how graceful you can be. This.” I did a few thrusts. “Does not show your talent. Any bonehead can do that.”
“Now let me see here.” I had brought my own MPS player in case the kids wanted something other than rap for dancing to. I scanned through my music on the little screen. Now I remember why I had Enya. The music was perfect for my contemporary dance class I took my senior year in college. I cued it up and hooked the cord into my player. Tranquil music filled the room. I danced my senior exam routine for them. It had earned me an A, so I knew it had some merit. The music floated around me, and I flowed with it. Tension I didn’t realize I held, fell from me in gentle waves. By the end of the piece, I was so serene, I could have been Enya.
The girls had watched the performance. After I posed and held it for the last movement, they continued their attentiveness. I studied their expressions. It wasn’t exactly boredom, but there weren’t tears of deep emotion either.
Hands on my hips, I snapped. “Well?”
After several seconds, Erica spoke. “It was all right, Miss Abigail.”
“All right? All right?” I shook my head. I had taken dance from age two until I turned sixteen. Then in college I took more classes to keep that freshman fifteen at bay. I knew the difference between a plié, a jeté, and a relevé. I loved to dance. These girls could do so much more than vulgar.
Was there any way I could get them to meet me at least half way? Ah, yes. “Okay, girls, I’ll make you a deal. If you’ll learn my routine and perform it in the show, then I’ll let you do yours, too minus any hip grinding.”
They reacted by blinking at me. That was it. I stared at them. Nothing. Geez, these kids were tough.
I picked up my MP3 player, scanned down to track twelve, and cranked up the volume. Thunder crackled through the building. A couple of them jumped. Then melodic harmonies echoed. Lastly, drum beats railed with the thunder. It was a gorgeous piece.
“I think you can do a lot with this. In good taste. You know what it’s called? Do you?”
I looked at each person in my audience. “Storms in Africa.”
Still no response.
Crud. I could lead these fillies to water, but I sure couldn’t make them drink. And let’s face it, I’ve even admitted I have to be in a certain mood to tolerate Enya. Why should I expect them to like that kind of music? And maybe it wasn’t fair for me to want them to. I was repulsed by their music, why shouldn’t they be repulsed by mine?
Without another word, I left the room. Man, I was an idiot thinking I had something worth teaching them. Contemporary dance and music were as out of place here as I was. But wasn’t there an alternative to their suggestive postures? Was I wrong? I didn’t know. I looked at my watch. Two hours to go. Would Mr. Harvey let me go home early? All of the sudden, I was ready to be out of this place.
Two pairs of flip flops holding dainty chocolate brown feet and peachy cream feet stood in front of me. Two girls from the dance troupe. I was reminded again of my first impression of the different races all in one room when I started my work here, the mini U.N. Here were two delegates to set me straight. YoYo’s words echoed in my head. Your music sucks.
Yeah. Maybe it did.
“Hi, ladies.”
“Miss Abigail,” Katrina deadpanned. “Would you come in and do your dance for us again?”
I furrowed my eyebrows not believing them.
The other girl, Wanda, nodded.
“Are you guys kidding?”
They shook their heads.
“Okay.” I didn’t quite believe them, but I liked the dance, so why not?
With as much dignity as I could muster, I walked back in the room. Studying the faces before me, I lifted one arm, arranged my feet in first position, and waited for the music to start.
Erica, who was standing next to the cabinet housing the CD player, pushed the play button, then folded her arms with an intense expression on her face. Maybe they didn’t hate it as much as I thought, although several of them wrote notes while I danced.
Whatever.
I liked the dance and hadn’t done it in years until today. I wasn’t quite as limber as I should be and had been, but I did a pretty awesome job. At the end of the song this time, loud claps came from the doorway. I turned to see all of the staff whooping it up for me. I bowed. Even if those tweens didn’t appreciate me, the adults seemed to.
Enya was discarded and the boom, boom started up. Adult repellent. Mr. Harvey and the rest disappeared from the doorway. I started after them, but Erica grabbed my arm.
“Uh huh, Miss Abigail, if you won’t let us do our thrusts, you have to help us redo the routine.”
I studied the fourteen year old before me. She looked so serious. “Erica, you don’t need my help. You girls know a thousand moves. I’ve seen you.”
“If you don’t want us doing the thrusts, you’ve got to stay and help us.” She was adamant.
“I don’t think my ears can take that long enough to work out a dance,” I grumbled.
Erica turned and nodded to some of the other girls who had stood up and were forming their lines.
I walked over to the other side of the room where Angel was painting, tore off part of a paper towel, and stuffed bits in my ears. Now I was ready.
Chapter Five
Time passed as we worked and danced out a routine we all could agree on. I knew I was going to be sore tonight as I called for a group hug and told the girls how proud I was of what we’d done. I noticed Angel gathering up his supplies. I offered to help him clean up before I left for the day. I carried the brushes in a recycled coffee can through the kitchen to the alley and stuck a wooden block in the jamb to keep from getting locked out. Using the outside faucet, I knelt down and ran my fingers through the brushes as the water poured
through their bristles. Intent on my task, I wasn’t paying attention to what was going on around me.
Not a smart thing to do in Clavania.
A shadow moved, then a sharp pain. The force of the blow knocked me to the ground, and I heard a metallic clank of something falling on the cement near me. I lay there for a few seconds or a few minutes dazed and in pain and realizing my clothes were soaked. Why was I getting wet? I gazed up at the late afternoon sky. There wasn’t a cloud anywhere.
I contemplated that for a while. Touching my scalp, I stared at my red dripping fingers. Had there been that much red paint on the brushes? I hadn’t thought so. My head throbbed. It had been a long time since I had had a headache this bad. I think it was when my best friend Carrie had fixed daiquiris in her blender in celebration of me not going to jail. We had gone through maybe three pitchers, and boy, had I paid for it the next day.
Hmm. A daiquiri sure would taste good right now. I licked my dry lips. What was that sound? Was there a waterfall nearby? I laughed. Here in this cement jungle? Hardly.
A bearded man with unkempt hair filled my vision. I detected caramel over the strong copper aroma around me.
“Abigail!” Eli’s fingers pressed against the side of my neck, checking for a pulse. I grasped his wrist.
“I’m alive, you know.” I tried to sit up, but as soon as I raised my head, my stomach rolled.
Hands roved up and down my body. A pitiful moan filled my ears. Geez, somebody was in bad shape.
Oh.
That was me.
“Can you move your legs.”
Was that a statement or a question? Eli was taking liberties with my body. If a guy is going to cop a feel, I expect him to at least buy me dinner first.
Teeth appeared through all the facial hair. Good grief. A smile? I must have said the cop-a-feel comment out loud.
“I’d buy you dinner if I had more than lint in my pocket. Can you move your legs?”
I raised my knees up and did a few awkward chorus line kicks. Gosh, my head hurt.
Eli stood up and left. Hinges screeched. I turned my head. Eli stood at the now open kitchen door.
“Hey, somebody get out here!”
He was back at my side within seconds with paper towels. Pulling off about half the roll, he folded them into a tight square, and pressed it to my head.
“Oww.”
“What happened?” Lola hurried out the door, and knelt next to me, her dark, troubled eyes peering at me. Turning her head toward the building, she straightened, walked to the faucet still pouring water and shut it off.
Eli shook his head. “Don’t know. I heard something, walked over here, and she was lying on the ground…like this.”
I pushed Eli’s hand away, and he pushed my hand away.
“Stop.”
“You stop.” Eli held the towel to the throbbing spot on my head.
“You’re hurting me.” I realized then what I thought was paint was actually my blood. I sat up, closing my eyes against the waves of nausea and pain.
I gazed at my scarlet hands. “Lola, where’s the super glue?”
Lola’s concerned eyes met mine. “Sorry, poquita. I think you’re going to need a professional for this.”
“I agree. Lola, go call 911.”
“No. I can’t afford an ambulance or a hospital. Are you nuts?” I slapped Eli’s hand away and held the compress to my head. Pushing myself to my feet, I gripped Lola when my knees buckled. “I’m fine. Fine.” I looked down at the pool of blood, and speckles appeared before my eyes. Inhaling deeply, I took a step toward the parking lot. The ground shifted under me, but I put the other foot forward. I could do this. I put one hand on the wall because my feet didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Another step. I was almost to the corner now.
Then I was in the air and being carried by Eli. I grabbed his shoulder to keep from falling. Lola hurried next to us. My stomach threatened to send back up the peanut butter crackers we had had for snack. I swallowed a few times. Throwing up would add to this already humiliating moment. At my car, Eli set me down on the ground like I was a delicate glass object. I didn’t let go of him. My legs were about as useful as boiled spaghetti at this point. How much blood had I lost? I resisted the urge to take the compress off my head to see.
Eli ran his hands around my pants. Holding my hip with one hand, he stuck his fingers in my pocket with the other. Oh, yeah, baby, but this was not really the time. A few pets and his fingers withdrew.
“Lola, can you get her keys out of her pocket? My hand’s too big.”
Oh, right. Keys.
“I’ll try.” Lola’s dainty hand reached in and had no problem digging my keys out.
“Can you drive her?”
“I don’t have a license, Eli.”
“Neither does he,” I informed her.
Lola unlocked the door, and Eli helped me into the passenger seat. What I wouldn’t give for some Tylenol right now. I leaned my head forward into my hands.
The door opened as mine shut. The car shifted.
The engine started, and Eli drove us out of the parking lot. Once again, an unlicensed driver was operating my car.
“You’re taking me home, right?”
“No, I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No way. Take me home.”
“You need stitches, probably a tetanus shot, too.”
“I’ve already had all my shots, and I don’t need stitches.” At least, I hoped I didn’t need stitches. I didn’t have medical insurance. There was no way I was walking into the emergency room. They’d charge me five hundred dollars just for looking at me. I’d rather spend five hundred bucks on rent and food, thank you very much.
Silence.
I hoped that meant he agreed with me. But across the bridge we went, and I saw the hospital sign. When he pulled up to the door, I refused to get out, so man that he was, he picked me up, and carried me as far as the wheelchair at the entrance. I decided I’d just refuse treatment when I got inside, and he and I could fight about it some more, but I was cold, wet, and in pain. A woman laid a heated blanket over me, and the warmth comforted my chilled flesh and soul. My determination to leave vaporized, and I acquiesced. Oh, well. I’m sure they’d set up a payment plan for me. At my present salary, I should be able to pay off one emergency room visit by the year 2100. But, I’d have to give up my lipstick.
Eli did not follow me in. I concluded he was parking my car. Later, I sent the nurse to go get him, but he wasn’t in the waiting room. The nurse did bring my keys and purse to me however. I checked my wallet. Nothing missing, of course.
****
My stitches and I went home, and I grabbed an hour nap before I had to be at work at Waffle Mania. At two a.m. I had just finished my break in the back room and stumbled to the counter to see if I had any customers. Neely, the other waitress, or server, as we are supposed to call ourselves, had been covering for me while I was gulping down pain killers and coffee, trying not to fall asleep on my fifteen minute break. I peeked over the divider which shielded the patrons from the horrors of the kitchen, and I couldn’t believe what I saw. Eli sat with two men in pressed button downs and ties. I stared hard trying to figure out why Eli would be here and who those men were with him.
As they ate, one of the men said something to Eli, and Eli threw his fork down in anger. He said something back jabbing his finger in the air at the man and pounding his open hand on the table, the motion jingling the dishes and silverware.
I picked up the carafe and made my way to the table watching him the entire time, almost afraid he would turn out to be a figment of my imagination. I was, after all, still recovering from the gash on my head. I knew the instant he spotted me because his whole demeanor changed. His shoulders hunched, his chin dropped, and the hazy look was back. Gone was the intense stranger making threats to his eating buddies. Here was Eli the Homeless.
“Hi folks,” I said, “I’m Abigail, your server. Everything all right?”
“Just fine,” one tie said.
“Hi, Eli, what you doing out in this part of town?”
“What are you doing out of the hospital?” He didn’t even bother to look at me.
“Are you kidding? They kept me long enough to sew me up, then they sent me home. You know how they treat people without insurance. This universal healthcare coverage has a lot of bugs to be worked out, I suppose. But I guess it’s not good to talk about politics.” If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn he blushed. Embarrassed? Angry? I doubted his reaction had much to do with my comment about the shortcomings of government healthcare. “I appreciate you driving me there.”
Eli muttered something, but I didn’t catch it. He grabbed a napkin, shoved what was left on his plate into it, pushed his way out of the booth, and walked out sticking his wrapped food in his jacket pocket as he went. I stood and watched him go and turned to the two men. “I hope you weren’t expecting him to get the bill.”
One man laughed. “No. I’ll take care of it.”
“Are you friends with Eli?” I poured more coffee.
“No. We picked him up on the road. He looked hungry, so we thought we’d buy him dinner or breakfast or whatever it is you eat at two in the morning.”
“That’s mighty nice of you. What are you, Jehovah’s witnesses?”
The non-laughing man choked on the coffee he had just sipped. He coughed while the other guy answered my question. “No, we’re salesmen.”
“Oh, yeah? What do you sell?
“Insurance.”
“What kind? Health? I bet you guys have an opinion or two about government healthcare.” Not like I cared at this point, but I didn’t quite buy the lines they were feeding me. Eli knew these men, and they knew him. Of that, I had no doubt.
“Life insurance, but right now we’re off duty.”
****
The phone rang. I groped for the receiver as I was still in the bed. Do people have no respect for those of us who work nights?
Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set Page 64