A whistle of wind blows the napkin out of Bill's hands as he tries to carry two Polish Sausages wrapped in greasy red and white checked paper across the street. He whips his head to the left, watching the napkin dive and jump with the brisk gusts of air, following it with his eyes to be certain he can retrieve it. He grins when it lodges itself into a hedge, leaning over to grab it with one hand while balancing both sausages in the other.
Success!
Clutching the napkin, he turns toward his destination.
Sandra has her back against the newsstand, bracing herself as she continues to page through the gossip magazine in her hand. Her face blanches and her eyes dart rapidly back and forth, as she reads and rereads the lines on each page.
Bill drifts slowly toward her before picking up his pace as he sees her fall into what he could only describe as a state of despair.
But at what?
Her head starts twitching as though she wants to shake it in rebuke but cannot seem to make it fully move. Her brows draw together, weighed down in disbelief. Like a movie playing in reverse, moments flash by deep within her mind's eye.
What is going on?
Bill is about three feet away, studying her face, when the magazine slips from her hands, landing face up in a melting pile of snow, blackened from the smog of the city.
Her fingers splay across her face as if it were a dam holding back a flood of vomit.
The wind tosses the cover up and down off the rest of the magazine, and Bill's eyes widen when he sees Keanu's printed face flapping upon the cover. He snaps his head back up to see Sandra staring thru him with glassy eyes. Taking one last glance at the magazine, he grabs her hand, ushering her away from the rest of the group without so much as a goodbye.
They walk in silence, wet fire brimming her eyes and threatening to spill over. A quiet snuff escapes her, then she sniffs again, louder this time. The leak is unstoppable, now, stinging the wind-slapped skin of her cheeks as it falls. Bill touches her arm but she turns away, coughing to clear her voice. She snorts one more time, and then nothing. By the time they reach her place, she still hasn't said a single word.
No sooner had they entered her front door than the phone started ringing. It may as well have been silent, though. Sandra is staring out the large picture window, watching a fog hanging close to the Chicago River and hugging herself tightly. He dives for the phone, quickly lifting it, then hanging it up without a word. He then takes it off the receiver before returning to her.
"Sandra," he starts, unsure whether to offer a hug or quietly leave her in peace. "Sandra? Sa-Sandy, would you like me to stay?"
She continues to stare through the glass, offering no sign she could even hear his voice.
He crosses the room and lays a hand on her arm, squeezing gently. "Sandy? Sandy, I can stay if you like..."
She didn't move for four hours after he left. She stood against the wall of her kitchenette, pulling her dark mohair cardigan closed around her, and just continued to stare. The shrieking alarm of the unhooked phone had long since gone silent, and her toes were growing numb pressed against the edge of her boot, but still she stood and stared. As the sun drifts down beneath the horizon, she can no longer ignore the empty darkness of the room, so she forces herself away from the wall. She forces herself down onto a chair where she carefully forces each boot off of her now red, swollen toes. She forces herself to rise again, then she forces herself to put one foot in front of the other, slapping the wall to turn on the amber lighting. Entering the bathroom, she forces herself out of her tight jeans, then pauses as she looks at her reflection in the mirror.
YOU ARE READING
The Beginning
Fanfiction"Come here," his voice is gentle again. She gives in, placing her small hand in his. Lifting the cloth, he sees her blood spill out from her palm. He inhales sharply through his teeth and presses the rag back down. They sit there like that for abo...
