Up With The Crows

by Zoe Parker

  I sit the food bag and envelope down on the counter crossing my arms. I look at the rusted, flat-tired mess, and with a sigh, I say, “Mom, it’s broken and has been since I was fourteen.”

  With a small wrinkle between her eyes, she looks at the bicycle as if it’s the first time she’s seen it. I watch the realization crawl across her face and with a light blush on her face she smiles at me in apology. At that moment I can see the true beauty that once made her the talk of the town. Honestly, she’s still beautiful but the life she’s led hasn’t been kind to her, and her face shows it. Guilt beats me over the head.

  I step forward to take the piece of junk from her, wheeling it to the side of the shed where I lean it up against the wall with the full intention of never moving it again unless it’s going to the scrap yard.

  “I appreciate the thought Mom, but it’s out of commission entirely. I’ll walk there.”

  Her lip curls up in distaste. “Isn’t it several miles?” I shrug, deciding not to clarify. The walking will be good for me; lord knows I don’t do enough of it. “Mel, why are you always so stubborn?” I shrug again.

  “I got it from you,” I mumble. Abruptly she laughs, and the tension between us evaporates. I really need to get over being weird around her because I feel like a loser. It’s not her fault I feel that way. “I’ll be okay Mom. There’s no reason for you to worry. Hopefully, I can keep this one and move out on my own.”

  “Mel, why don’t you move back into the house?” Oh, the dreaded question. A discussion she’s attempted to have with me many times, and one I always—barely—manage to avoid having. Going by the determined look on her face I’m not sure I’ll avoid it this time.

  “Mom, the cats, and my allergies don’t get along.” Which is nothing but the truth, just not all of it.

  “Mel, I know what my house looks like,” sadness fills her pretty brown eyes, “I admit I only see it sometimes, but I know it’s there. I just… I can’t seem to find it in me to change it.” Patting her arm, I try to give her a reassuring smile.

  “As long as you’re happy Mom, that’s all that matters,” I say wanting to get the sadness off her face. There’s no need for me to say anything about it, she knows, and the idea of humiliating her doesn’t please me at all. I might hide from her, but I love my Mom, more than anything. I simply don’t know what to do about her… habits.

  “Mel, you’re such a good girl. Now, enjoy your food and don’t go hungry again.” She pats my arm and steps forward to embrace me. “I’ll call the insurance agent tomorrow to see if they’ll give us the money until the company responsible for this fiasco pays up. God knows I’ve paid them enough money over the years. They can hustle it up a bit. Get a good night’s rest, love you blondie.” With a smile replacing the sadness in her eyes she turns and heads back into the house. I watch the cats greet her when she opens the back door, her lips part in a smile as she shoos them back inside. The love I feel for that woman makes my eyes burn.

  With a full heart and a growling stomach, I shut the door, wipe my wet eyes, and turn to the food on the counter. It’s then that I decide to open the envelope, not truly surprised when I see the three crisp $100 dollar bills. My first instinct is to take it back to her, but we’ve played that game before. We’ll play a game of back and forth, one she always wins. I’ve found money in pretty much every place that she could stash it. This time though I will take it without a fight and my first paycheck I will pay her back. I am surprised when I find the beat-up bus pass as well.

  She knew I wouldn’t use the bike.

  The sick, hungry feeling I’m having for the take-out that I can smell, makes me realize that having pride isn’t the same as having a full stomach. To work I need energy, and for energy I need food. Without this money that’s something I’m most definitely lacking.

  Gah, all this angst is ridiculous.

  Mentally and physically shaking myself, I grab the single plate I own along with some silverware and settle down to eat. The boys, still fascinated with Athena, ignore me and continue to stare at her like they’ve never seen another bird before. Athena however, is not so enthralled with them. With a hoarse whisper of a caw, she hops further into the house and comes to rest next to me on the back of the clothes rack. Turning her head to the side, she studies the food on the fork that’s half-way to my mouth and then looks me dead in the eyes.

  Amused, I hold out the fork and let her have some. She delicately pulls the piece of sesame beef off the fork and gobbles it down. For the next few minutes, I feed her several more pieces and some rice until she settles down on her feet to watch me. Slowly, I eat my share and find myself full before I want to be. The temptation to stuff myself is there, but I’m pretty sure I’ll puke all over the place if I do. After finishing the last bite on the fork, I pack it up and place it in the center of the empty shelf in the fridge. At least I have breakfast now.

  Tucking the boys in for the night I take care of my before bed ritual.

  Grabbing the pack of papers and the uniform I was given out of my purse I make a face when I see the awful thing; solid black with a red pocket and red trim around the bottom of the pants. Well, it’s better than white. White makes me look like a walking corpse. Wiggling out of my pajamas I try it on and am at least relatively happy to discover it fits, damn near perfectly. That lady has a good eye for sizes. Shaking my head ruefully, I take it off, neatly fold it up, then put it and a pair of clean socks on the counter. Fortunately, I have a pair of sneakers that don’t look too beat-up, and with the pants being relatively long they’ll cover the fraying on the tongue of the shoes.

  Opening the papers, I grab a pen and sit down on the bed to fill them out.

  Several minutes later after filling out the typical financial stuff, I read the rules for the fourth time. What the shit? Seriously, what the shit? I’ve never in my life read such bizarre and somewhat ridiculous rules for a job in my life.

  1. No removal of any objects or people from the building. Okay, that one is relatively normal and makes sense.

  2. Do not let patients bite you. Okay, that one is a bit odd and concerning.

  3. Do not have sexual relations with anyone in the facility. That is an expected and completely normal one.

  4. Do not leave your DNA in any room in the facility. Okay, that one isn’t normal at all. Is this going along with the sex one maybe?

  5. Do not bring any guests or speak of patients to friends or family. That one makes sense too.

  6. Never, ever trust patients. That one sounds ominous as hell but still makes sense.

  7. Do not eat ANY of the patient’s food. Who would steal food from the patients? That’s just crass.

  8. Never turn your back on patients. A chill skitters down my spine and I set the paper down. That particular rule gives me a straight-up sense of foreboding. That rule I won’t forget.

  I guess the question to ask myself, is do I really want this job? Obviously, there’s some danger involved in it, but the weight of whether that matters or not against the fact that without money I’ll slowly starve to death is significantly in favor of the job. With a sigh of resignation, I pick the papers up again and flip to the last page.

  If you agree to remain silent about your duties and responsibilities, please place your thumb on the spot indicated.

  An ink fingerprint thing maybe? I put my thumb on the paper in the spot marked “thumb.” Rolling my eyes at my asinine thought that something awesome would happen I start to pull away and find it being held down by an unseen force. A sharp sting makes the digit throb right before I’m released from whatever is holding my thumb prisoner. I cry out in surprise and damn near fall off the side of the bed. Tripping and staggering I manage to gain my feet and glare at the offensive piece of paper.

  What the hell just happened?

  I stare at the smudge of blood on my thumb and then look at the dark smear of blood I can see on the document. Did a piece of paper just hold me down and cut my thumb? That’s impossib
le! My heartbeat starts pounding in my head, and my chest feels like someone is bear hugging me. The harsh call of Athena pulls me out of the path of panic that I was steadily going down. Hand on my chest I take deep even breaths and force common sense to rear its head again.

  Skittering around the possibility of something that casts a dark light on my family’s mental health history, I latch onto something more comfortable to think about in this specific situation. I read somewhere that going without food and solid sleep can make you hallucinate. Food isn’t something I’ve had a lot of so that must be what happened. It’s impossible that a piece of paper could hold an adult down. The cut, well—its paper, paper is the devil for cuts, and I’ve managed to cut myself on it hundreds of times.

  Athena hops over to the bed and adds to the surrealistic feel of the entire situation by plucking at her skin and then gently pecking the spot where my blood is. Leaning over to see what she’s doing I’m floored when I see that she’s cut herself and is wiping her blood on the spot. The bizarre, almost glowing light behind it fades, and my blood turns a dark brown. With a cry at me, that I take as her unhappy with my actions, she hops back up onto the top of the drying rack and tucks her head under her wing.

  Shaking my head, I grab the papers, careful to only touch the edge of the stack just in case the others want to take their pound of flesh. I tuck them back in the paper bag and set them on the uniform out of reach. Odd or not I need this job, and I can’t beat the pay. I need it too much to worry about someone bashing me with their food tray. I can dodge rather well. I used to be good at the ducking and weaving. That ability is how I managed to avoid the bullies in high-school—mostly.

  It helps that I have a bit of a temper too.

  Crawling back into bed I work on getting rid of the sinking feeling that my life is about to change dramatically. As I drift off to sleep, I manage a small smile of anticipation. The pay is so worth a smack in the head with a food tray, or a possessed piece of paper.

  Chapter Five

  Hear how the birds, on every blooming spray, with joyous music wake the dawning day.

  Alexander Pope

  The next morning finds me surprisingly rested. Rolling over, I let the small shaft of sunlight rest on my closed eye lids. I’ve always been a vivid dreamer, and there have been many times that I’ve gone to sleep just to dream, but last night I can’t say I remember having any dreams at all. Different and noticeable, but not that concerning. I was tired. I probably slept super deep.

  Stretching, I smile at the nervous flutter in my stomach. There’s a bit of excitement there too. I’m one of those people that like working, even shitty jobs. Idle hands are bad for me because I get myself into too much trouble having nothing to do. Opening my eyes, I find myself looking into the black eyes of Athena.

  She’s on the edge of the bed, her head cocked slightly to the side, and her beak is open in what I take as a smile. This bird has a shit ton of personality.

  “Good morning, Athena.” I swear to God her eyes sparkle before she hops off and flaps out the cracked window. The oddness of that makes me sit up; I don’t remember shutting it most of the way. In fact, I left it wide open because I was distracted. Hmm. Glancing at the red numbers on the clock next to the bed spurs me into action. I have fifteen minutes to get ready and catch the only bus that stops out here to go into town.

  Running around, I brush my teeth while feeding the boys and giving Athena some food as well. My hair goes into a tight bun at the base of my neck and then comes the ugly uniform. Standing in front of the waist length mirror hanging on the wall I make a face at my reflection. Definitely not a flattering outfit, I look like a rectangular piece of licorice. My already pale skin is more so, but this color is still better than white or even worse, yellow.

  I smooth a hand down the top that feels rough and scratchy like a flour sack. At least the inside of it isn’t as bad. My eyes are drawn to the flatness of my stomach. I’m so thin now that the only thing holding my top up is the one thing gifted to me by the boob fairies themselves. D cups. The rest of me is all lean muscle. My hips barely curve out, and the feeling of lacking I had as a teenager tries to wiggle its way back into my brain.

  I shove it behind the Wall of Nope. I’m too old to let that bring me down.

  With a wave at the boys, I slip on my shoes and grab everything I need for the day then duck out the door. At a full out run, I head towards the bus stop at the end of the housing development. Thankfully, it’s pulling up as I get to the sidewalk. With a wan smile at the driver, I swipe the bus pass at the sensor and climb onto the smelly bus. Most of the seats are taken, so I end up standing in the center to hang onto the pole that decorates the middle of the bus.

  Which for a split second reminds me of my employment alternatives if I get fired again.

  Those thoughts make me grip the pole tighter and be thankful I’m relatively alone. Not that I mind too much, I’m too nervous to be sitting anyhow. I’d end up fidgeting the entire time or nervous chattering.

  No one likes people doing either of those things, especially the ones doing it.

  The bus ride is blissfully short, and I’m dropped off at the corner before the asylum. Frowning, I walk towards it. I can’t say that I know the name of the place. I don’t recall seeing it on any of the papers either. I dig them out of the wrinkled paper bag in my purse to look, discovering I’m right. Not one piece of paper has the name of the company I’ll be working for.

  God, I hope it’s not the mob or some other nefarious organization. I’m not sure that a place where they’re hiding Jimmy Hoffa’s body would be a fun place to work at, but it would be an interesting thing to add to the resume. ‘Caretaker for the mob prison-house.’ Lots of jobs will hire me based on that alone, right? I only need to dig my job references up out of the backyard. The absurdity of that thought makes me laugh, so when I walk into the long eye-watering hallway, I’m still wearing a smile.

  Which fades as soon as I see the dirty look the secretary is giving me.

  “You can still see me, then?” she asks.

  I nod unsure of how else to answer. Is she a former patient?

  “Here are the papers you needed me to fill out.” I hand the crumpled bag to her, and she gives its condition a look of disgust. Immediately, she pulls the papers out and turns to the page that has my blood on it. Scowling at it she tucks it away in a drawer then sits back down.

  “You get paid once a week, and you can pick your pay up here. We pay in cash only and your first payment will be given out in 4 days.” She’s still scowling at me as she speaks. “The gentleman on the other side of the door will give you a list of your duties. Good luck.” She waves her hand, and the only other door in the room opens. Nodding while holding my purse to my chest like a shield, I walk towards the dark doorway and step through.

  It swings shut and the thunk of it closing echoes in the hallway, I startle like a ninny but quickly shake it off. This place looks flat-out creepy; I can’t jump every time there’s a noise or a door shuts. It’ll give me a complex. I already have enough of those.

  At the end of the short dark hallway sits an older metal desk with a heavy man in a too-tight solid black uniform leaning his elbows against it, looking at his phone. He looks up and spots me. The look of amusement on his face fades to be swiftly replaced with one that looks like he smelled bad milk.

  I give him the same look, Mister-Jello-in-a-baggy has no room to think ill of me. None at all. Raising my chin a notch, I walk towards him determined to make the best of this. The hourly rate is spurning me on and giving me quite a bit of courage on my first day.

  “So, you’re the new one, eh?” The distaste is so thick in his voice I’m surprised it’s not dripping off his lips.

  Narrowing my eyes, I decided not to point out the giant glob of mustard he has on the front of his shirt. Instead, I say, “Yes, and I was told you’d give me a list of duties.” I look down at my purse then back up at him, “Is there a locker room as wel
l?” With a thoroughness that makes me want to throw up a little in my mouth, he looks me over from head to toe. When his eyes get back to my face, I know he’s cast judgment and found me lacking—something that in this case, makes me happy. If he doesn’t think I’m attractive, he’ll most likely leave me alone. Pretty women garner more attention than wallflowers like me.

  I can hope.

  “This way.” He motions for me to follow him and we start a winding trip through the white maze of several unmarked hallways. He walks quickly forcing me to damn near jog to keep up, no sightseeing for me. The end of our journey brings us to a room that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years. A half dozen beat up lockers line the wall along with a kitchenette that looks like a left-over from the nineteen fifties. The microwave doesn’t have buttons on it; instead it has dials and possibly something growing on it. Every counter space, cabinet and the fridge all have that matching moldy looking spots growing on them.

  It’s a bit shocking after seeing the cleanliness of the area around the secretary lady.

  “There are locks on the lockers, take the key when you choose one. Luckily for you, there’s a rule about stealing from the lockers.” His face wrinkles up in what I assume is his trying-to-be-intimidating-face. “Food can go in the fridge, but I make no promises that it won’t get eaten. Not that you’ll need to bring food. You have access to the cafeteria which means you get to eat for free while the rest of us have to pay.”

  Don’t sound so pissy about it, asshole.

  “What will I be doing, exactly?” I ask instead of giving into the inner bitch.

  “All the shit jobs are yours. Guards don’t clean up the messes, not even our own.” He smiles like it’s a super important job and it makes me want to put his head in the microwave. “You’ll be cleaning their crap up too, taking food to them and doing their laundry.” The smugness of his voice demonstrates precisely how awful he views the tasks I’ve been hired to do.