by Harlow Hayes
“You staying at my place tonight?” Frankie asked, his intention obvious. Frankie never talked about me and our strange relationship in front of people.
“No, I think I’m going to go home and get some work done.” I looked at Niko. He stood quiet. I was certain that he was trying to figure out how to make his exit.
“Do you need your papers? I think you left some at my apartment,” Frankie added.
“I’ll get them tomorrow afternoon when I’m that way.” I was trying not to make it as big of a deal as he was.
“Well, I might be at work when you stop by so just use your key.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, hoping that he would shut up.
“Well, Mara, I think I should be heading back home. I got a long day tomorrow and I don’t want to keep you from work. I had a great time,” Niko said.
Frankie rested his arm around my shoulder.
“Me, too,” I said, smiling so hard it felt as if the corners of my lips would touch my ears.
“It was nice to see you again, Frank,” Niko said. “You guys enjoy the rest of your night.” Niko waved goodbye and I waved back. I watched him walk away and fade into the crowd. Frankie went on for the next few minutes, mumbling something in one of my ears, but I kept hearing Niko’s voice in the other.
I got home that night and laid across my bed in awe of my night. I had a new word, so I wrote.
July 27
HOPE
I wanted this to not be about a boy, but it’s about a boy. But it’s also about more than a boy. Today was a good day. Well, everything after group was a good day. I asked Niko out again and I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t know what it was, but it felt right to do the uncomfortable thing. I guess I took a risk. RISK. That should be the word but hope was the product of that risk. I cannot easily define hope myself because it never made sense to me until now. If defined properly, hope is the feeling that what is wanted can be had, and for so long I have gotten so much of what I didn’t want that I didn’t know what it was like to not have hope disappoint. Hope takes so long to build but is so easily destroyed, and I never paid any attention to its importance in rebuilding me. I have been begging to be the person that I once was, but the truth is that I will never be that girl again. I don’t know exactly what I will become or if I’ll even like it, but what I do know is that hope has left breadcrumbs for me to follow and I feel that I am getting warmer, that I am getting closer to who I want to be. Hope for friendship first shined through Rosalina when she helped me, and now hope shines through Niko. Each of them is opening up a door within me that I had closed and locked. I hope that I continue to find love in my surroundings and I hope I can be bold enough to go after it and embrace it. That is what I want, and it is within my grasp as long as I don’t fuck up.
Chapter 17
I needed to walk faster, but I knew it would look like I had stolen something if I did. My hair was disheveled and my sweats wine stained. I looked like a hobo who had just rolled out of the bed of a moving train. I was on Oak Street, where the high-end fashion stores were, and I was given the stink eye by everyone I passed. The bridal shop was a block away; I was already late. Nightmares and cold sweats had kept me up the night before, and clinical kept me up all morning and afternoon. I wanted nothing more than to shoot myself, but that would be counterproductive, so I chugged a half a bottle of sweet wine before I left the house just to take the edge off.
Melanie worked at a bridal shop a little farther into the city. That was her main job, but on the side she would do fashion consultations for random people throughout the city, so she was everywhere. When I walked up to the entryway I was almost trampled to death by a preppy girl and her entourage. It should have made me mad but it didn’t, and I stopped to thank the wine. There was a girl with short brown hair standing at the checkout desk when I walked in.
“Excuse me, is Melanie here?” I asked.
Before she could answer, Melanie stormed out of the back room. Her face was washed of all color and her eyes were red, puffed up like a blowfish. She dashed past me and headed towards the door. I didn’t want to ask her what was wrong but I felt it would make me look like an asshole if I didn’t. She walked ahead of me for a moment, but the speed walking required to catch up to her ruined my wine buzz.
“Melanie, stop!” I was too light-headed to be sprinting down the street.
She stopped, turned around, and waited for me to catch up.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked as I tried to catch my breath.
She shrugged her shoulders and looked around in silence.
I was hungry and ready to get to the bar; I didn’t have time for this cryptic bullshit.
“Melanie, what is the problem?” It came out harsher than I meant it to.
Melanie looked at me and the puffs under her eyes exploded with tears.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to smooth over things.
“My life sucks. Everything sucks. This fucking job, my shitty life, I’m twenty-seven and I haven’t accomplished anything, I don’t have a boyfriend, and I’m going to die alone…”
Really? Was this what the chick was so upset about? What about my shitty life? What about all of the other shitty lives in the world? At that moment, I regretted leaving the house, and my bottle of wine. This had everything to do with that asshole Matt. He fucked her up and in turn he’d fucked up my evening. She disappointed me.
“What is wrong with you?” I demanded. “And you’re not going to die alone. What happened? Where is this coming from?”
“It’s nothing, let’s go.” She walked down the sidewalk and the sound of her heels hitting the pavement was like hearing a hammer hitting nails.
“Damn it, Melanie, I don’t have time for your shit! You act like you’re the only person in the world that’s ever been heartbroken. It’s over! Get over it! Flush it already! Move on! I got my own problems and you don’t see me wobbling and crying every two seconds over some asshole that had no intention of making me a priority, so will you please shut up.”
She stopped in her tracks and turned back to me. Her face was painted with shock. I turned around and walked in the direction of the bar. At first she didn’t follow but after a few seconds I heard her heels clicking behind. I just wanted one night, one night of peace. I was tired of hearing whining, and from her that was all I got. Group took a toll, and my clients did too, but they were dealing with real problems, not pining over a boyfriend of three months who was nothing more than a piece of shit anyway. I wanted to hurt her feelings enough so she would go home and not come out with us tonight because I knew Kate and Rosalina would expect me to fix her sour attitude. Melanie had started these roommate outings and now she was messing them up. The thought of going home became attractive but lost its appeal when I realized that there was nothing there. No friends, no family, just me and my thoughts, and if I had to think about one more serious thing, I’d fall over the edge.
It was my turn to pick the bar this outing, so I chose Shiloh’s. It was a chill spot that I liked going to every now and then, but like everything else in my life, that changed after the attack. Frankie would come with me on occasion but most times I would go alone. I had become super friendly with two of the bartenders and sometimes it was nice to have someone past Frankie to talk trash and have a good time with. We walked in, Melanie lagging behind me, and Kate and Rosalina were already at the bar, drinks in hand. The place was unusually crowded but it eased my spirits when I saw the reserved signs on the seats next to Kate. Melanie stormed ahead and took a seat on the far end of the bar while I wedged myself between her and Kate.
“What’s her problem?” Kate asked.
Rosalina leaned in so she could listen.
I shrugged my shoulders as if I didn’t know. I was over it. So what? I was mean to her and all she could do was pout and act even more like a baby, but I didn’t tell them that. I wanted food, I wanted cocktails, and to be left alone. I didn’t recognize the new guy behind the bar. T
hen I heard Neale call my name as she walked out from the back of the bar. “Mara!”
I liked Neale. She was one of the only black friends I had made in this town, which was pathetic if you considered that Chicago was one of the most diverse places in the country. Neale was an art gal and I had met her at some art exhibit when I first moved, and we instantly connected. She was cool, and it made me feel like a badass to be associated with her. She had arms full of tattoos and locks that cascaded down her back. She gave zero fucks, which was her most attractive quality. She just wanted to work, pay her bills, and do art and wasn’t concerned with much else. I wanted to be like her when I grew up.
“Where you been, my friend?” She leaned against the counter and reached out for my hand.
“Working is where I’ve been. Who’s the new dude?” I asked, nodding my head over toward the newbie struggling to keep up with the pace.
“Oh, that’s Trip, he’s training. But shit, it’s good to see you. Charlie is going to flip out when he gets back in here.”
“Where is he?” I asked.
“He just went on break but he’ll be back soon.” She went farther down the bar to take some orders and make drinks, and we all sat, trying to figure out what we were going to do about Melanie.
“What’s wrong with you?” Kate asked Melanie. She was more direct than even I was. “You’re being a sourpuss. You could have stayed home for that.”
“Was that necessary?” Rosalina asked.
“Well, she’s sitting over there all sullen, drawing attention to herself; it’s obvious she wants some attention.” Kate took a sip of her drink. “Right, Mara?”
I was about to let them know that I wasn’t in this when Melanie snapped.
“You know, Kate, yes, there is something wrong, but I’m not asking for your attention or your fucking pity.”
“Well, you’re the one who came in here all grumpy, Melanie the Fucking Grouch,” Kate said.
“I fucked Matt,” Melanie said.
“Who?” Rosalina asked.
“You know who. Matt, my ex. Don’t play dumb,” she said. “She came in the store today and I had to wait on her. This gorgeous blonde—“ She exhaled and laid herself out onto the bar.
“Are you talking about the woman who was leaving when I walked in?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“That bitch,” I said. “That tramp and her posse of old crones about trampled me.”
“She is, isn’t she? A bitch,” Melanie said.
Kate interrupted, “Wait, who is the blonde?”
“It’s Matt's fiancé,” Melanie said.
“And why are you fucking Matt if he has a fiancé?” Kate asked.
“He told me they had split up.”
“Well, how do you know it’s his fiancé?” Rosalina asked.
“Facebook.” Melanie’s head sunk down into her body, but after only a brief moment of shame she perked up again. “And she came to my shop on purpose. She knew that I worked there. She came in all smug, waving her ring in my face and talking about how Matt is this and Matt is that.”
“Fuck Matt,” I said. “Matt is ruining my night, our night, and my night was already semi-fucked, so fuck Matt and the bitch he rode in on.” I swear it was the alcohol that made me say it.
“Hear, hear, but that would be Melanie,” Kate said, holding up her drink. “But whatever. Fuck Matt!”
“I concur,” Rosalina said.
Melanie had just started to talk again when Charlie came through the side door. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.” He put his hand out for me to grab. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked me.
“Don’t worry about that, I’m here now, right?”
“I would say so. And who’s the crew?” he said, staring at the girls, Melanie especially.
“Everybody, this is Charlie.” Charlie was Asian—Korean, I do believe—second generation, and he was my guru. He had had some decent life experiences and was someone that I could talk to about stuff I felt most wouldn’t understand, even Frankie. Like the meaning of life. He was a veteran and had been in Iraq, but after his tour was over he settled here, to be an artist like Neale. Although the bar was his primary job, art was his first love.
“Are you not drinking?” he looked at me and Melanie.
“No, we’re drinking. Neale just got busy,” I said.
“Well, do you want the usual?” he asked, looking at me. “And what about you?” he asked Melanie.
“No, wait, I think you should create us a drink,” I said.
“Create one?”
“Yes, something that says ‘Fuck Matt.’ Or at least that’s what I’m going to call it.”
Charlie laughed.
“Awesome, two Fuck Matts coming up.” Melanie smiled at me. It was nice to see her almost back to normal.
Frankie was running late, which was beginning to become a habit with him. The place was filling up with more people and I could feel the sweat beading on my back. I mulled over in my head whether or not I was going to say something about Niko, and of course I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut.
“I think I might have met someone,” I said.
They all turned their attention towards me, eager to listen and eager to ask questions.
“Ooooh,” Kate said, “do tell.”
“Well, it’s nothing right now but we are—”
Frankie stormed in mid-sentence, grabbed my face, and planted a kiss directly on my lips. He pulled away and I could taste the whiskey.
“Mara, I am so happy to see you. I have some great news,” he said.
“Oh yeah, what’s that?” I asked. “I smell you’ve already started celebrating.”
“Ha ha, how witty you are, but you are looking at the new assistant supervisor over finance.”
He grabbed my Fuck Matt from the counter and downed it, then he leaned in and kissed Kate on the cheek. “And who are you? You are not my black friend.”
“No, I am not,” Kate said with a scowl on her face.
“I’m sorry. After a few drinks, everyone starts to look the same. Where’s Charlie?”
Charlie turned around and the electricity between the two was the stuff that movies were made of—the bromance was strong.
“Charles, my friend, the drinks are on me tonight, rounds for everybody. Ladies, what are we drinking?” Frankie was an asshole most times, but he was a fun drunk so I didn’t mind being around him in his current state.
“Mara, so what about the guy, Mara?” Melanie asked.
“Oh yeah,” I said.
I was a little reluctant to talk about it around Frankie. He had acted so strange at the pier, but he was bound to find out sooner or later.
“His name is Niko and he is the nice—”
“No, Mara, no,” Frankie blurted out.
I looked at him, wondering what gave him the right to interrupt my story.
“Don’t tell me you like that dude?”
“Why do you care? What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s gay.”
“What do you mean he’s gay?”
“It’s obvious he’s gay. He has a fucking ponytail.”
The girls laughed.
“So now having long hair makes a person gay, huh? Deep analysis, Frankie. You should write a book on that one.”
“Well, is he gay?” Rosalina asked.
“No, he’s not gay. He was married to a woman named Ashley and she passed away. So he’s a widower and Frankie is an idiot.”
Frankie stood next to Melanie at the end of the bar, chuckling.
The girls sighed.
“That’s so sad,” Rosalina said.
“Absolutely, that poor man,” Melanie said.
“I know, but we’ve just been hanging out. I don’t know if it will actually go anywhere but hey, you never know.”
But I knew I wanted it to go somewhere. Niko had been consuming my thoughts, and I loved every moment that he did. He was a wonderful distraction. Things were begi
nning to fall back into place. Frankie was Frankie and school was back on schedule. And I could leave the rape in the past and move forward to a bright future. Group would slowly disappear and I was doing fine with my journaling. The future was finally moving forward in many varied ways.
* * *
I sat on the steps of our porch that night, looking out into the darkness. The streets were quiet and a June breeze felt soft against my skin. The fear of the night was letting up and I was happy to be spending quality time with it. I could see everything around me as the light of the moon shined down on the cars that were parked on the street. Light glowed from the other houses on the block and I wondered about the people that lived in them. Here I was surrounded by people and I didn’t even know their names. What kind of life was I living? Isolation kept me safe, but I knew it was time for something else. I ran my fingers across the pages of my journal, thinking about what I had just written. The assignment that I hated so much had been everything that I needed. It wasn’t every day that I wrote, but when my heart was full of ache and bitterness, it was my purging. I looked at the words on the page and believed in what I had written. Believed that my story meant something and that I could heal.
August 8
CHANGE
I have experienced the most drastic change of my life this year. I know that change is constant but why does it always seem to blindside me? I’ve been knocked over and I have refused to get back up. Afraid to disturb anything else, to tip the scales again. I have let my pain and my problems drag me through dirt, gravel, and shit, but it is time to let go. I have been stagnant but in my stagnation, the world continued, and through its movement I have found possibilities in the people placed before me. I know that I shouldn’t get my hopes up or get caught up in my emotions but it is nice to be excited about something again.
Though the change around me has been amazing, I’m looking forward to the change that I slowly see developing in myself. Not all my days are good. I don’t feel safe all the time and I don’t feel happy all of the time, and I am certainly not nice all of the time, but I have moments. For four straight months after my attack there was nothing but sad, mean, scared me every hour of the day, and now I have moments where that isn’t the case. Moments where I laugh, and moments where I don’t feel afraid, scared, or lonely. I want those moments and I want to continue making moments like that as I long as I am able to. Small sparks. That is what they are. Sparks that can facilitate great change. All I have to do is use them, build on them, and see what happens. Again, I might not like what I change into, but at this point it is either change or die.
