Killing Me Softly (#Wattys2016)

FIFTEEN

FIFTEEN

She had to get away. She had to get away before they realized what she'd done. The sky above and the ground below were white, but she had to try... had to try and fight her way through the swirl of whiteness around her.

She looked down. Thick, syrupy blood was oozing into the stark white snow. She screamed.

She had to get away.

Paula jumped and shot straight up off the couch where she had been dozing.

"Oh, my goodness," she said aloud as she tried to catch her breath. Paula swung her legs around until both feet were planted on her white carpet. She shook her head and jammed her hands over her eyes. The white carpet was too much like the white snow in her dream. She looked at her watch. It was noon, and after her morning chores, which included her weekly mop and sweep of the front walk, Paula had collapsed onto the couch and fallen into an unexpected nap. As she did so many nights, she'd lain awake the night before, staring at the ceiling, trying to stave off sleep. She was confused though. The dreams usually only came at night; she'd never had one during the daytime.

She never told Phillip about the torment sleep brought to her. He would put her back in the hospital and she didn't want that. Anything but that. The constant wails and moans echoing from some far-off room. The medications. The cold that trickled into your bones and stayed, no matter how much you drew that threadbare gray blanket around your shoulders. Shaking her head to wipe away that awful possibility, Paula went to the kitchen for a glass of water. She was still somewhat disoriented from her dream, and as she pulled a glass down from the cabinet, it slipped clean through her trembling fingers and tiny pieces of glass went skating across the floor.

"Oh, dear." She scurried to the laundry room where she kept her mop and broom. She swept up the shards and deposited them into the trash. Her doorbell rang; it would be Carlene coming to color her hair. Distraught, Paula crossed the room to open the front door and found Carlene standing there in a gold tank dress that hugged the rolls of fat jiggling across her hulking frame.

"Hey, girl, how you doin'?" Carlene said in her booming contralto. Her bright red lipstick punctuated the slippery yellow of her teeth and rich mahogany of her skin.

"I'm fine, Carlene, how are you?" Paula asked as she ran her hands down the length of her head to the bun at the nape of her neck.

Carlene cracked her gum and walked toward the kitchen to unpack her supplies. "Girrrl, I had me a date last night with a fine brother. We goin' out again tomorrow. This could be the one," she said as she set up on the table, her ruby lips curling into a smile.

Paula gave a disinterested smile as she leaned against the counter. Carlene always thought she'd found the one, so it was hard to get excited.

"So," Carlene said, her numerous gold bracelets rattling against each other as she sat Paula down into a kitchen chair and draped a smock over her tan cotton housedress. "Are we doing the usual today?" she asked, tapping one long, red airbrushed nail Against the wood trim on the chair

Paula nodded. "Yes, the usual," she said as Carlene began to undo Paula's knot and rake her fingers through the long black strands.

"Why don't we try something different? I could cut it into a really cute flip? Or we could bob it?" Carlene said holding up Paula's silky tresses.

"No. Just the regular touch-up."

"Girl, you got the perfect face for all the really cute styles right now. I don't know why you don't try something different. I'll bet your husband would like it. You know, spice things up a little?"

Paula gave Carlene a feeble smile. "Phillip doesn't like spice."

Carlene took one fingernail and scratched the scalp underneath her own black and blonde flip. "All right girl, we'll do what we always do. But I'ma keep on working on you. One of these days, we're gonna get you a new 'do."

Every six weeks Carlene came to the house on Red Rose Lane to color Paula's gray roots black. Phillip had discovered some strands of gray around her temples and commented he didn't like it. He found Carlene in the phone book and paid her double to come to the house and color Paula's hair every six weeks.

"You know I don't think you've ever told me about your husband. What does he do?"

Paula sighed to herself. She always hated people asking her a lot of questions about her personal life. "He's a pharmacist."

"Oh, that's nice," Carlene said as she began to section off Paula's hair. "How did you all meet?"

"We were high school sweethearts."

Carlene nodded her head as she soaked up that bit of information. "How sweet. You been married all that time?"

Paula squirmed in her chair. "No, he was married before, but she died. We reconnected after that."

Carlene's fingers separated the wet black locks of Paula's hair as she worked the color into it. "That's a shame. But I guess if she hadn't a died, you all wouldn't have hooked back up." She placed a plastic cap over Paula's head and leaned against the sink. "I guess it's like they say-everything happens for a reason."