Falter (3 page)

Twin marble staircases extended up to the second floor, which was gated off to visitors. Wide strips of purple satin draped in pleated half circles from the banisters as they curved down into the center of the grand room.
 

The place was buzzing with preparation for an event. Busy employees worked diligently at polishing an extensive set of silver plates. Another worker set the glistening dinnerware in meticulous positions atop mahogany buffets as long as the walls they lined.
 

Memories of eating off of grandma’s special china surfaced. She told me stories about the three generations that had passed the gorgeous porcelain along. Pastel pinks and lavenders portrayed a bouquet of blooming roses at the center of each plate, accenting every flowery teacup, bowl, and vessel that went along with the collection.
 

“Nevaeh, never save the beautiful things in life for special occasions. Every day needs a little beauty in it,” she’d chime. We’d dine on fluffy buttermilk pancakes from hand painted dishes and drench them in syrup poured from expensive gravy boats before going outside to work in the garden, just as we always did.

“Are you daydreamin’ again, girl?” George whispered, interrupting my thoughts. “We don’t have time to be thinkin’, we need to be doin’.” I turned to see the plump man put his hands on his hips and tap his foot impatiently, waiting for me to follow him.
 

I rushed past him, half shouting, half whispering, “You know, I
am
a woman. I was born with the ability to walk and think at the same time. Besides we’re here.” I knocked on the women’s bathroom door and paused for a response to make sure it wasn’t occupied.
 

“Meet you back here in fifteen,” he replied, ruffling the hair on the top of my head. He pushed the men’s bathroom door open on the other side of the corridor and disappeared inside.
 

My rough, callused hand turned the smooth doorknob and pushed it open. I stepped inside, activating the motion sensor, and the lights flickered on, illuminating the room with a soft glow. Greeted by the sweet, soothing fragrance of lilac, I inhaled and pulled the familiar scent deep into my lungs. I smiled, noticing the crystal vase standing elegantly on the gray, marble vanity, and admired its fresh display of flowers. The varying muted purples decorated the bathroom like a painting in an art gallery.

I shut the door behind me and locked it, studying the treasures hidden within the cozy room. I wondered if the people who used this restroom appreciated it as much as I did. Doubtful. It’s easy to take things like this for granted. I saw this as a place of luxury, where most would see it as just a place to pee.
 

My fingers traced along the gold ribbon that edged the bottom of a fluffy, beige towel hanging next to the shower. Its softness tickled my fingertips. My skin tingled with excitement, knowing I was about to get an actual shower.
 

No sink bath today!
 

I unbuttoned my jeans and pulled off my shirt, letting my soiled clothes fall to the floor. I examined myself in the mirror. The image staring back at me reflected a grown woman, though strangely, I still thought of myself as a young girl with so much to learn.
 

I angled body parts this way and that to see better in the mirror as I took stock of the ill-effects caused by my living in the streets. A clear outline of my ribcage slid under the thin skin on my torso, and individual ribs flared and relaxed with my slow breathing. The subtle olive hue in my skin successfully hid some of the bruises and smudges of dirt I had acquired from sleeping on the ground the last few nights. They were the little...gifts...I never really wanted.

I raked my fingers through the long, dark hair spilling between my shoulder blades. Stubborn knots fought against me as I struggled to release them.
 

What I wouldn’t give for a brush right now
.

A disappointed huff escaped my mouth as my eyes lowered, grazing over the ample breasts and full hips accentuating the femininity of my shape. I frowned. Most women would be happy to have such a curvy figure. For me, it signified that I would need to be more cautious of where I lay my head at night.
 

Being a woman was not a good thing in my lifestyle. George looked after me, but he couldn’t save me from everything. Or everyone. Unfortunately, we already verified that.

Ignoring the haunting thoughts of a bad experience, I moved toward the tub and reached for the gold faucet in the shower, turning it to scalding. Water rumbled out in a cascade of warmth. I climbed into the tub and let the water rush over me. Every hair on my body raised with anticipation as the wet heat pelted my cool skin. The stall quickly filled with steam, and I became surrounded in a wonderful cloud of mist—the hot moisture clearing my lungs of the city smog.
 

I grabbed the lush, white washcloth draped on the shower door and wet it.
 

Thank you,
I thought to whoever left my favorite soap nestled in the wire toiletry rack.
 

I picked up the bottle and turned it upside down over my other hand. Foamy, lavender bubbles formed as I poured a generous amount onto the rag. I scrubbed the cloth over my body like I couldn’t get myself clean enough. The rich lather spread over me, dousing my skin in the heavenly scent.
 

It felt so good to stand under the waterfall while it beat away the impurities. Today I would look—and smell—normal.
 

I wanted to savor the luxurious shower I rarely had the opportunity to enjoy, but my allotted time was close to an end. Soon, George would be irritated with my “need to primp”, as he called it. To me, I wasn’t really primping. It’s not like I was putting makeup on or experimenting with some new hair style. How did he expect a girl to get ready in fifteen minutes, anyway?

When I stepped out of the stall, little eddies of steam swirled around my movements. I reached for my bag of clothes and pulled out a freshly laundered pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I stuffed the worn set back into the bag.
 

The soap I washed them with at the gas station the other day left the new clothes stiff, but clean. I was never one that succumbed to staying in my own filth just because I lived on the streets. George taught me how to use public restrooms to my advantage. They’re not always as good as a washing machine, but it was a lot better than reeking of body odor.
 

I threw the well-worn clothes on in a rush and ran my fingers through the mess of soppy curls on my head.
 

That’ll have to do
.
 

I scanned around for something to tie my hair back. My eyes fell on the shiny ribbon wrapped around the flowers next to me. I hesitated for a moment, questioning my morals and confirming that stealing wasn’t my thing. Usually, it wasn’t, but I also understood you had to improvise when you had little to work with.
 

I wove the wet strands of my hair into a simple braid, held it tightly with one hand, and then untied the blue ribbon that bound the lilacs with the other. After looping the ribbon in a perfect bow, I glared at it in the mirror, feeling a little guilty.

No one would notice. They replaced the flowers daily, anyway. Besides, it was important to make a good impression at a potential job, right? I shrugged and tossed the braid behind my back, discouraging any more thoughts of self-persecution for my crime.

As I gathered my things, there was a knock on the door. “Ain’t you done yet, girl?” the familiar voice asked from the other side.
 

“I’m coming,” I growled, rolling my eyes at George’s pushiness.

I yanked the door open, ready to blast him a new one for rushing me, but stopped, my mouth full of curses that never made it out. The brush of someone’s lips and the breath of a whisper tickled my earlobe as if someone was right next to me. I gasped. A sudden eerie sensation prickled the hairs on the back of my neck.
 

I turned around, leaning back against the door to open it wider, and scanned the empty room, carefully considering each object’s ability to make noise or change air flow. I’d left everything in its place, just as I found it when I arrived—except for the ribbon.
 

The damp towel was looped around its bar, properly folded and drying. My favorite soap was tucked back inside the wire basket, and the lilacs rested—slightly more scattered than before—in their crystal vase. There was nothing that could’ve caused any sound even close to a whisper, or make me feel so unsettled.

“Get your bony butt movin’,” the old man commanded, dispelling my uneasy feeling.

I sidestepped George out of the doorway, giving him the evil-eye for his pushy comment, and headed toward the exit.
 

As we passed the hallway to the main lobby, I noticed Dan standing at the base of one of the curved staircases. He vigilantly skimmed over the lobby, watching visitors linger at the display cases. I cleared my throat to catch his attention. When he turned his head and smiled, I nodded with gratitude, then followed George down the hall and out the back door.

 
The musty dampness of the rear parking lot assaulted my nose as soon as I exited the building. City smog, rotting trash, and gas fumes stifled the hint of lavender saturating my skin. It was disappointing that I would never get away from the street stink.
 

George lovingly cradled my arm with his hand and ushered me toward the road.
 

I paused halfway across the lot as a strange rush of adrenaline flushed through me, piquing my senses. That eerie, unsettled feeling from the bathroom returned, souring my stomach. I felt the creepy sensation of being watched, being the center of a stalker’s attention.
 

A rustling wind rolled over the parking lot like a wave and crashed into my body, flapping the loose hairs around my face. For a moment, I thought I heard my name called from the other end of the parking lot, but no one was there when I turned to look.

I glanced around at the random pieces of weathered trash and dead leaves lying unaffected on the concrete. Something—besides my hair—would have moved in a gust that forceful.
 

Did I just imagine it?
 

No, I couldn’t have.

“What did you say?” I asked George, searching for an explanation to what I heard. I hoped it was him saying my name, but I was certain it wasn’t.

He gawked at me, a puzzled expression on his face. “Nuthin’.”

CHAPTER TWO

In The Eyes of Strangers

George and I shouldered into the rushing flow of pedestrians racing through their day. Occasionally, an elbow or knee would bump me off my path, and I’d have to catch back up with George. Four blocks down, we stopped before a tall, red door.
 

I studied the two-story building surrounding the eye-catching door. The bright red popped against its sizable brown and charcoal colored bricks. The same colored bricks extended onto the sidewalk, edging the windows and entryway in decorative alternating patterns. A vintage sign squeaked as it swung from wires just above the door. Swirly letters spelled out Joe’s Café in red, black, and cream. Three cobble stone steps graduated in half circles beneath the entrance, inviting us in.
 

I climbed onto the top step and peeked in through the warped-glass windows to spy on the diners eating breakfast and chatting about their lives. What I could see of the inside appeared warm and cozy, just like the air wafting out of the door as customers came and went.

“I’m gonna go in and ask for the manager, see what he’s got open. You wait here. I’ll get you if it looks promising.”
 

I held both hands up and crossed my fingers. “Good luck.”

As George disappeared through the door, I hopped down to the bottom step and leaned back against the brick. I observed the people chasing taxis and running to the bus stop at the end of the block, wondering where they were headed in such a hurry.
 

An abundance of beautiful women in skirt suits passed me by without acknowledgement. I giggled at how awkward their professional attire, bare legs, and running shoes looked together. Where did they work that tennis shoes and business skirts were the outfit of choice?

Once in a while, a handsome man mingled in and out of the crowd. Two of them made eye contact with me as they shuffled by, talking on their cell phones, and another glanced at me from behind an open newspaper in his hand. They all smiled and nodded in my direction, but never stopped to speak to me.
 

My imagination ran wild as I watched the world buzz around me. I pictured what it would be like for such a man to hold me in his arms and engulf me in his love. Though I didn’t mind it too much, this was a lonely way of life. Not too many guys pined after a dirty street girl, and the ones that did weren’t looking for anything long term. Most of the time, they assumed I was the type that gladly accepted their money after a quick roll in the sack.
 

A clatter from inside the café broke my people-watching trance. I twisted and searched for George through the warped glass above me. Years of weathering had clouded and melted the old window, making it hard for me to see more than five feet or so into the building. From what I gathered, George wasn’t within that five foot range. Maybe that was a good thing.