Blackbird

by Jessica MacIntyre

  As she turned to walk away he finally saw what everyone else had seen. What they had been pointing and staring at that, until a second ago, had so confused him. There, on her back, were two very large scars, running the length of each shoulder blade. Whatever had happened to her had left the skin on her back looking like it had been shredded, and not just once, but multiple times, as if someone had taken sharp blades and very deliberately cut into her back over and over again.

  Now he understood her protest against the shirt. If he’d had any idea there would have been no way in hell he would have subjected her to that. Robert put his hand over his mouth, disgusted with himself that he’d let Billie talk him into the new uniforms in the first place.

  The shots he’d poured rippled in the small glasses slightly as she placed them in front of the two men, but they didn’t spill. Then as she was placing the beer down one of them said, “Looks like you got in a fight with a chainsaw or something.”

  This gave the two of them the go ahead to begin snickering. The other one said, “Fuck. You must have really pissed somebody off, sweetheart.” Both of them went from snickering under their breath, to openly laughing. Robert had seen Chelle deal with every manner of asshole that can walk into a bar in the three months she had been working for him and usually she took whatever smart remark they had to give and brushed it off. Not this time. From where he was standing he saw her eyes redden and a few tears begin to fall. She stood for a moment not knowing what to do. This seemed to make the two assholes laugh even harder.

  “Must’ve cut out her tongue too, eh?” Suddenly the tray hit the floor with a clatter and Chelle bolted back in the direction of the office, disappearing from everyone’s sight. Every bit of chatter in the bar had stopped and as the song that was playing ended the bar grew deathly silent.

  Robert’s hands were shaking now too and he grabbed an empty tray from another waitress as he walked toward the two. As calmly as he could he removed the drinks and said, “Out. You’re done here.”

  In their drunkenness they became indignant. “What? Us? It’s that fucking gross waitress you should be telling to leave. How are people supposed to eat and drink and look at that mess?”

  “Yeah,” the other said. “It’s disgusting. She looks like someone spilled acid on her.”

  Robert signaled one of the bouncers who came over and stood by the table in silence with his arms crossed. “I said you’re done here. Don’t come back.”

  “Don’t come back? I’ve been coming here for years. It’s you that’s in the wrong. You hired a bitch who was all fucked up.”

  Without even thinking Robert placed the tray on the table, balled his fist up and reared back, punching the man square in the face. “I don’t like having to repeat myself. You’re done! Out! Don’t show your face in here again.”

  Before they could protest the bouncer grabbed the man, blood trickling down his face and neck and threw him outside. His friend decided he didn’t need to be told twice and quickly scurried toward the exit on his own like a frightened mouse. Everyone was staring at him now. He didn’t care. “Nancy, jump behind the bar for a few minutes,” he said to another waitress as he headed back toward the office.

  Quickly he grabbed one of the old uniform tee shirts that all the girls had turned in and began looking around for Chelle. Lisa was coming up the stairs from the cellar. “She’s locked herself in there,” she said, frowning.

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  Robert was standing in the old cellar directly in front of the door to the storage area. He lifted his hand to knock, but then hesitated. A moment passed as he tried to think of what to say. “Chelle?” he said, rapping at the door softly. “I have a shirt for you. I’m going to leave it outside the door ok?”

  No response.

  “I just want you to know that I’m sorry. We’re sorry. I would never have asked you to wear it if...” he didn’t know how to end that sentence without sounding like an awkward jerk. He was the boss and the buck stopped with him. He had been happy with the tee shirts and should have said so instead of letting Billie convince him to fix something that wasn’t broken. Now poor Chelle was in the cellar, probably crying her eyes out behind that door, humiliated, and it was all his fault.

  “I threw those guys out and told them they can’t come back. You can go home if you want, Chelle…ok?” Still nothing. Damn he wished she’d say something.

  “Chelle are you alright?” Still there was silence. “Ok, I understand. Look, I’m very sorry. We’re gonna go back to the shirts starting tomorrow. I’m sorry.” He was repeating himself but didn’t have any idea of how else to say it. He was sorry, but right now he had a feeling she didn’t give a flying fuck how he felt. He decided just to leave her be.

  “I’m going back upstairs. Have someone come get me if you need anything. Truly Chelle, I’m very sorry.”

  Chapter Three

  Stumbling down the stairs Chelle nearly fell halfway down. At the last moment she managed to grab the banister, pulling it partway out of the wall as she did. She shoved it quickly back into place hoping nobody would notice and ran as fast as she could toward the open door. This was the only safe place for this to happen at work. Hopefully nobody was in there. Nobody should be because as far as she knew all of the employees were upstairs dealing with the busy Saturday night hockey crowd.

  She slammed the door, barring it shut with two large kegs. Each weighed about a hundred and sixty five pounds but that was no trouble just now as the pain in her back was beginning make itself known. How she would move them from in front of the door would be a problem she’d have to figure out later, but for now, she needed to make sure nobody could get in. The kegs were placed just in time because as she dropped to her knees she could hear Lisa on the other side of the door, knocking and then giving a push. There was no way Lisa was strong enough to get in and so undoing her belt she fell to her knees in front of the row of C02 tanks, being careful not to get too close.

  Hurriedly she folded her belt in half and stuck it in her mouth, baring down with her teeth as hard as she could in anticipation of the agony she knew she was about to endure. Just as the wings began to shred her back she heard another set of footsteps and another knock, a heavier one, followed by her boss’s voice. Shit.

  He was talking to her through the closed door but as the wings ripped their way out the only thing she could focus on was the rushing of blood in her ears and the pain as her body turned against her. She was so focused on that and on the shame that nothing Robert was saying made any sense to her, it was all she could do to keep the belt in her mouth as the wings, now fully out, began to extend, spreading themselves to their full span as if waking up after a long sleep and needing to stretch. They were an entity onto themselves.

  Biting hard and rocking back and forth on her hands and knees, alone in the tiny windowless cellar, its dirty old wooden floorboards digging into her palms, she began to cry. Tears of frustration and anger were silently slipping out. She had let those two men embarrass her, humiliate her, and worst of all make her angry. Now she was paying the price. Plus…everyone had seen. The ugly hideous scars that had made a mess of her back, the ones that seemed to get worse every time this happened had been put on display for everyone at the bar. How could she be so stupid? Whatever possessed her to put that shirt on? Chelle liked this job and decided that a few scars shouldn’t keep her from it. Never again. She should have stood up to Bitch Billie, or quit right there on the spot. In a moment of utter naivety she had convinced herself that maybe it would be alright. Maybe people wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. But deep down of course she knew that people were not that evolved, and those two men had cemented it. She had worked very hard over the years to convince herself that the scars weren’t as bad as she thought they were, that she was seeing them as worse than they really were, but she knew now for certain she was wrong.

  Through her confusion she heard Robert continuing to speak gently to her through the door. Altho
ugh she couldn’t make out any of his words he wasn’t angry she had run off, she could tell. He was a good boss and good bosses were hard to find. It was him she should have gone to in her concern over the stupid shirt, not Billie.

  After a few more words she heard his heavy footsteps on the cellar stairs, walking slowly back up to the bar. He was gone and now finally she was alone. This was going to take about an hour and she hoped everyone would just go on thinking she was too humiliated to come out and leave her be for a respectable amount of time.

  Finally the worst of it passed and she was able to release the belt from her mouth. When she did she spit blood too. She must have bitten her tongue without realizing it. Everything was always a confused fog as she transitioned, but once the wings were fully out and she had stretched them a few times she could begin the process of contracting them. It had taken many years of practice and patience, but she found that with a lot of concentration they would bend to her will after a time. She stood, feeling the hot river of blood make its way down her back as it always did and winced. There was almost no room to turn around in the cellar and so she stood, very still for the better part of an hour, focusing on bending the large black feathers in toward her body.

  Shifting her weight she wished she had something to lean on. There was nothing that would hold her strength in here now however. Finally they began drawing toward her. It took every ounce of strength, every muscle in her body and all the mental concentration she had but she did it, almost knocking the C02 hoses off the tanks a couple of times.

  Now, weakened and sweating the wings were back in place inside her body. She could never understand how they fit in her five foot three frame without causing her to look like Quasimodo, but somehow they did thank god. The only problem now were the kegs. The wings came with an unbelievable strength, but the wings were put away and she was back to her puny one hundred and twenty-five pound self. She had trouble doing the basic lifting they asked her to do, let alone move full beer kegs.

  Taking one by the top she tried to move it and only succeeded in budging it perhaps a centimeter. She slammed her fist against it, a gesture that would have smashed it open had she the strength she’d possessed moments ago still been with her. She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, but she stopped herself short. She had to get out of there and panicking to the point of becoming upset wouldn’t do her any good. In fact it might even cause it to happen again and twice in one night wasn’t something she was willing to chance.

  “Think, Chelle. For Christ sake think,” she berated herself. She glanced around the cellar, it’s only light a 40 watt bulb, for something, anything to help her move them so she could leave this god forsaken place and go home. Not that she really had one, but right now that cold hard basement floor was the most beautiful place she could think of and all she wanted to do was curl up in her sleeping bag and forget.

  Finally she spotted the dolly She took a deep breath in hope that she could use it. She had watched Robert and the other guys use them to move heavy kegs and boxes but had never used one. Hopefully she could do it without injuring herself or damaging the keg. Slipping the flat end under the barrel she slowly and carefully tipped it back. Surprisingly it wasn’t that hard. She moved the first keg out of the way of the door just enough to have it open, leaving it in the middle of the floor and then did the same with the second.

  Chelle sighed with relief wanting to cry a few tears of joy. The end to this night was now in sight and if she could just make it out of there without having to see anyone she’d be home free. The door creaked as she opened it slightly, just enough to look around. She was about to step out when she realized something wet was sticking to her back. Her stupid shirt was backless. She was about to shut the door again in frustration when she noticed something black sitting on a box of glasses just outside the door. A shirt. A clean black tee shirt. The old uniform.

  She snatched it up not knowing how it got there, but grateful that it had and closed the door again to change. Chelle undid the clasp of the backless shirt from around her neck and threw it in the corner like the garbage it was. Come hell or high water she’d never wear it again. She resolved right there to never let anyone see her back again, and right now she didn’t want anyone to see the rest of her either.

  With business slowing down for the night she knew she had to move fast. It was around one a.m. now and soon a few of the girls who were not closing would scurry into the locker room to grab their things and head out. She had about ten minutes while Robert counted out their tips to get in and get out. Why was he even at work anyway? He should have been gone right after she ran into him in the hallway.

  With success she made it into the employee room and grabbed the key from her pocket, noting how loose her jeans were. Shit! Her belt was down in the cellar, but she wasn’t going to get it now. Grabbing her coat and backpack out of her locker she closed it and looked back into the hallway. Nobody was there. She made the dash to the door leading to the alleyway outside behind the bar and felt the cold blast of winter air hit her in the face. Instinctually she dropped her backpack and swung her coat around, landing her arms in the sleeves, and then picked up the backpack, swinging it over her shoulder.

  She regretted it immediately as the torn skin protested the weight of the straps. Shifting the backpack to be carried in front of her she began walking. It was after hours for the bus and usually she would take a cab with her tips, but she hadn’t had a chance to collect them tonight, and cursedly she had left her bankcard tucked into her sleeping bag at home.

  Home…

  There was no going home. She didn’t have a home, didn’t deserve a home. She deserved a life as far away from the rest of humanity as possible. The pain subsided and she walked around the ally, getting onto the main street and pulling the large hood up over her head to begin the long cold walk for the house. Perhaps, she thought, she would stay inside for a few days. The occupants didn’t have anyone coming around to tend to the place and so she would probably be safe. She could be alone where she wouldn’t have to see anyone and they wouldn’t have to see her. Nobody should have to look at her anyway, and she was sure now that everyone at work had seen her exposed they wouldn’t want anything to do with her. It would be best to quit as opposed to face the embarrassment of being fired. Robert would probably have Billie do it and Chelle wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

  Chapter Four

  Robert yawned as he unlocked the door to Cole’s and slipped inside. Most days he loved being alone here before anyone else showed up. Sometimes he’d even come an hour or so before he had to be there and just sit in the quiet. It reminded him of his childhood. Sometimes on early mornings before school his father would take him to work and they would eat a breakfast of coffee and donuts from the coffee shop down the street. It was time for just the two of them. Robert had three older brothers but none had ever shown an interest in the family business. Robert on the other hand knew right away that the bar would be his life. He loved this place even before he was old enough to work it. Somehow his father had seen that and had taken him to work every chance he got.

  Robert was not a doctor like Paul or a research scientist like Michael and Greg. He was a bar owner and even though that was not nearly as prestigious as his brothers he was proud. Throwing his keys on the bar he began taking the chairs down off the tables. When he was finished he put on a pot of coffee, hoping to wake himself up. It was so quiet and peaceful in the old place that he knew if he sat down at all he’d be asleep, and there was too much to be done.

  While he was waiting for the coffee to brew he decided to check the kegs to see if any of them needed to be changed. As he neared the bottom of the stairs to the cellar he noticed that the banister looked slightly uneven. Stopping in his tracks he pulled on it to make sure it was secure. To his surprise the bolt holding it in had come straight out of the wall. The wall was concrete and the bolts had been cemented there for extra security, but it looked like someone had simply pulled it
out of the concrete like a push pin. No doubt it was odd but he simply shoved it back in, chalked it up to wear and tear, and made a mental note to have it fixed.

  Robert then spotted the boxes he had left the tee shirt on the night before and his thoughts immediately turned to Chelle. The thought of her hiding all alone down here, too humiliated to show her face made him grit his teeth in anger. When he stepped inside the room he spotted the new uniform shirt crumpled on the floor. He picked it up and stared at it for a moment, closing his eyes in frustration. If he could have just talked to her. It had been busy and she had slipped right out without anyone noticing. Perhaps giving her the privacy to do that was the smart thing to do, but he at least wanted to know she was ok. He had apologized last night but felt like he needed to do it again. Although he suspected there was no amount of apologies that would take away the hurt and humiliation she’d experienced at the hands of those two arrogant patrons.

  Robert sighed and turned to make his inspection but was impeded by two large kegs directly in his path. Yesterday they had been against the wall, but today they were sitting in the middle of the room. He racked his brain trying to think if he had told anyone to move them but was sure he hadn’t. And even if he did, he would never have told them to put them in the middle of the damn floor. The room was small enough as it was without something taking up space. Robert got the dolly and carefully placed the kegs back where they should be, wondering the whole time who had moved them. Certainly it could not have been Chelle. She was the size of a minute and couldn’t even lift the one beer case yesterday.

  When he was finished looking around he headed for the door and almost tripped over something on the floor. Jesus! How did we get so disorganized all of a sudden?