Lisa
Watching one of her marks get thrown out of a bar and onto the pavement, Lisa was confused, but amused at the same time. Amused was not the type of thing Lisa was used to and it was not the type of thing she took lightly or for granted. She sat and enjoyed the feeling, but wondered if she felt amused only because everyone around her, including her mark, was amused by the whole spectacle.
“Let it sink in and then move along.” She could use it as a learning moment to better understand her mark, not laugh with him about it. But that was so very difficult—the feeling of lighthearted humor was something she would not feel again for a very long time. It was an emotion so very appealing that Lisa wanted to stick it in her mouth and chew it.
The realization that she could not keep calling her marks “marks” also sank in. She needed to learn their names and figure out how to go beyond being noticed. She knew her next step was a conversation with her marks. The way to start a conversation was to ask someone their name, but that to Lisa, was a guess.
In Lisa’s life, everyone had a name tag. Everything had a label. You were taught to read as quickly as possible so you could read name tags and labels. That way, there was no time wasted in asking who someone or what something was. Under each label on each object was a description of the object and instructions if needed. No need to ask someone’s name. No need to ask what something was, it was labeled. No need to ask what it was for, just read what it says. It was the Mother’s way of saying, “Don’t waste our time, read it, and get on with the task at hand.” There was always a task at hand—always something that needed to be done and should be done quickly. A discussion on why an object was what it was and how to use it was ridiculous to a Mother. Childhood seemed ridiculous to the Mothers; it was a time for training and learning not pretending and playing.
“Hi, I’m Lisa… Hello, I’m Lisa… Hola, yo soy Lisa. Greetings, I am Lisa. We are all the same and none different,” She practiced.
Yes, she’d start by learning the marks’ names. Then, maybe figure out their needs. Maybe by The Date they will need her enough to do as she says. The idea of need stuck on Lisa’s brain. She was sure the correct answer was ‘fear her’ and that she was going down the wrong path. The problem was, she didn’t know yet how to place fear in the human’s heart.
With those thoughts skipping along her brain, Lisa began walking down the street. She saw one of her marks dozing by a tree and decided to practice. Tapping him on the shoulder, he opened one eye and she smiled, “Hola, soy Lisa.”
Iggy
“Hola, soy Lisa.” He heard her; he saw her, but his eyes successfully rolled themselves back into his head and he passed back out.
Days without sleep, because the sidewalk had been taunting Iggy, had completely taken its toll and he could stay awake no longer. Even if the sight of her face shook him enough to make the tree behind him tremble, he could not wake. The hot gasoline scented air, the fellow street dwellers on Feline Street, and the occasional stray cat would all walk by Iggy that night, see him sleeping, and hear him snoring; none could bother him.
One little blonde boy quietly walked up to Iggy and stuck five dollars in his pocket, hoping that he’d find it tomorrow and it would make him happy. The little boy ran all the way home before his mother figured out he was gone. He only stopped twice for a quick spin before returning to his yard with his mother none the wiser about her little boy being gone and her five dollars being taken.
Maggie
Maggie was busy staring at the mascaras at the store instead of buying cereal. She needed cereal, but she wanted a new mascara. Money was tight for Maggie; it had been since she moved out on her own, so she knew that her choice would be cereal even though what she wanted was mascara.
The love of makeup just wouldn’t quit with Maggie; she always believed that somewhere there was a product that would miraculously make her look like her sister.
The choices of mascara mesmerized her, but she knew that there was nothing but empty promises in those tubes. The models on the commercials had all sorts of computer magic done to them to make it seem like all these tubes of mascara were angel tears in a bottle—a plastic tube of instant beautiful.
With a heavy heart, Maggie pushed her wagon to the cereal aisle. Name brand cereals weren’t in her budget. Diet cereal, special cereal, and even good tasting cereal wasn’t in her budget. She’d have the most generic, flavorless brand of cereal because that was what mopping the floor at the laundry mat afforded her. It would be the same story in the meat department; she’d want beef, but could only afford ground turkey. The produce aisle was the only place that Maggie could get fancy. She could afford to eat whatever fruit or veggie she desired. That, at least, gave her comfort.
Maggie left the market and made her way home. Sunday afternoon was when Maggie shopped and then went straight home. There was no use in wandering about; there was nothing to see on Feline Street and she hadn’t a car to wander outside her pathetic neighborhood.
Moping down the street, Maggie felt eyes on her. When she looked to the side, the blonde lady was walking with her and smiling. “Hi, I’m Lisa…” Maggie looked sideways at the lady; she was impossibly skinny and for a second, Maggie thought she might be trying to get food from her. She was carrying a bag of groceries and this lady really looked skinny.
Without thinking Maggie responded, “Skinny… flaca….” With that, her eyes got huge. She didn’t mean to say it out loud, but the blonde lady just laughed, “Okay, you can call me Flaca. I’ve never had a problem with nicknames.”
This skinny lady was clearly crazy as far as Maggie was concerned, and for Maggie, the only possible way to handle the situation was to be polite and get away from her as quickly as possible.
So, Maggie nodded and started walking quickly, but the lady only kept up with her smiling the whole time. This smile Maggie didn’t trust. It was the type of smile white people give to employees before they say something nasty in a sweet voice. The kind of smile a man gives a woman before he smacks her.
“Mmmmm mija, you need something?” Maggie was hoping her answer was no. She was hoping this lady would stop following her and just go.
“I thought maybe I’d help you carry your bag home…” Lisa smiled at Maggie again and put her arms out for her bag. To Maggie, a woman who is used to the shadows and used to hauling her own things, this was too much. Too much interaction and too much smiling.
“No…no…no…go mija go…go away,” Maggie stammered it out, then walked quickly trying her best to ignore the girl. Trying not show how shook up she was that this lady would come so near her, talk to her, and get close enough to smell her.
No one, unless they wanted something at the donut shop, talked to Maggie. She hadn’t had a casual conversation with anyone in years. She couldn’t remember anyone ever trying to help her.
It wasn’t right. It seemed foreign to Maggie…it was upsetting. Why would the lady, a white lady, do that? What was going on? A stranger walking up to her offering to help her… was something going on that she didn’t know about? Did somebody report Maggie to the migra? Maggie was in America legally. She never went against the law. She knew nothing. She saw nothing. How could this happen to her?
By the time Maggie was inside her apartment, she was on the verge of a panic attack—completely certain that some conspiracy was working against her. She was already plotting on how she could move away from Feline Street and start over at her age. She had to leave, something was wrong. Someone was after her. Why else would that woman approach her? Why else would she pretend to be kind to her? This woman wanted information, Maggie was sure of it, but she wanted information Maggie did not have. What else could she do? She’d have to run for it, but Maggie didn’t know how.
She sat on her kitchen floor sobbing in hysterics. Why her? Why now? She clenched her rosary and lay on the floor. Why did God ignore the ugly?
Craig
Craig made it all the way home to his front yard, then de
cided the house was too much for him tonight, so he’d sleep in his truck bed. The truck was uncomfortable and cold, but at least it wasn’t the house. Besides, the hard metal and cold felt good on his back.
Laying on his truck bed, he could feel the night air and see some stars…it made Craig think of camping as a kid with chilly night breezes and a black sky filled with billions of stars. He missed those camping days. The trees didn’t judge you. The night sky didn’t shake its head at you and the squirrels couldn’t care less how much money you had. Those days were simple and dreamy. The childhood imagination was clear and free in the outdoors to invent whatever it wanted.
Then he heard a voice, “Hey there, I’m Lisa…just making sure you’re okay?” Craig looked up and saw the crack head girl who invented the story about knowing his non-existent sister. “I saw you walking down the street a little wobbly and then… well you’re lying in your truck bed. I was thinking maybe you needed some checking up on.”
He looked at her and waved one hand, then checked to make sure he still had his wallet with the other. These street ladies always came off sweet while they were going through your wallet. One hand on his dick and the other hand on his wallet is how these street ladies operated.
“It’s cool…no worries…I’m good.” And with that, he gave her another wave. She scowled at him and then smiled, “You sound like the beach…Sorry, you sound like you are from a beach town.” Lisa was reaching out an olive branch to this man. She had introduced herself and then gave him an acknowledgement, what more could he want? She couldn’t feel him. With Maggie, she felt a pounding in her chest. With him, it felt numb… nothing.
“Yeah, I get that every day from somebody,” Craig didn’t mention that that was why he tried his best not to talk to strangers—why he tried his best not to talk to anyone if he could help it. He was cursed in a voice that sounded like a party and a demeanor that was more like afterschool detention.
Lisa shrugged, “So, are you going to give me any insight on the voice? Where you are from, etc., etc.?” How could she say ‘I want information’ without sounding like she wanted information?
Craig didn’t respond. Lisa felt like she had pushed him too far and too fast, “Maybe that’s too personal. How about your name? I told you mine…it’s only fair.” Lisa looked at Craig, studying him from his shoes to his haircut. She just wasn’t used to men.The Grey is women only and men seemed like a rare breed. A different type of human all together. We are all the same and none different, there were no men in The Grey.
Craig felt clumsy and he hated that. He wanted badly to shoo this lady away, but the alcohol and the tired were working against him. There was the factor of his age also, but he wasn’t going to give in to that. Right now, all he wanted was for this lady to go away so he could stumble into his house on his own without any witnesses to his complete lack of dignity.
He looked at her and she was watching him with the same mannerisms as a student dissecting a frog. “Craig, Lisa…I’m Craig.” He sat up and did his best to act as if his head wasn’t spinning. “If you’ll excuse me Miss Lisa, I’m going inside now to find my bed and call it a night. You should go find your bed also.” That sounded stupid, Craig knew that, but all the better if he sounded stupid. If it sounded stupid to him, then it would sound stupid to her and that created an even better chance that she would go away and not come back.
“Need any help?” Lisa stood next to him, watching him. Craig started laughing, “No thanks Nurse Ratched.” Craig knew it…one hand on his dick, the other on his wallet. He’s better off sleeping alone.
He left the lady standing in his yard, went inside and made sure to lock all of his doors. He had a feeling that this wasn’t the last time he’d see her and talk to her. She’d be around whether she was welcomed or not.
Lisa
The ‘Nurse Ratched’ comment completely confused her. She wasn’t raised with media. Only a choice few of the Mothers had access to computers and internet. There was never a cartoon or a movie. Such things were not allowed by Superior Mother. They were a waste of time. Young girls should not waste their time on watching movies about silly princess nonsense when they could be learning to be efficient in everything that needed to be done for the Mothers. Lisa never asked for a movie or a cartoon since she didn’t have any idea what they were in the first place.
Lisa now had a TV and a computer with free reign to explore, and so far she had found nothing but refuse muddled with people handing over their privacy. A Sunday afternoon in The Grey meant learning to take apart and put back together an engine correctly, or learning to clean a weapon correctly. Or, for those that were gentle by nature, learning to grow vegetables correctly. There was much to learn, no time to waste, and all had to be done correctly. Lisa never questioned who decided what the guidelines to ‘correctly’ were.
But, Lisa shook her head and decided that, regardless, her interaction with Craig was a triumph… she had learned his name. Three more names to go. The man, at the very least, gave his name. The lady worried Lisa. She panicked at Lisa just saying hello to her on the street. How would she ever relax enough to give Lisa something as simple as her name? Lisa was certain the little boy wouldn’t be an issue; children were trusting and not guarded enough to wonder why she cared. The homeless man might be a problem, but he was well known on Feline Street and somebody had to know his name.
The homeless man presented an even bigger problem with Lisa; he was frightened of her. She couldn’t understand why. The idea that he might know of The Grey kept circling in her head. He looked at her with such a panic that she felt he recognized something about her. His panic bounced off him and almost made Lisa squat down on her knees. Instead, she followed the example of the Mothers and gave him one of their dubious smiles.
The Grey doesn’t operate that way though. Since they are all the same, they are careful that there is only one within hundreds of miles of another. Once they have been in one town, they make sure that another doesn’t go to that area for ten plus years. Superior Mother is very specific about keeping them private, keeping everything about their way of life in secrecy. So, why does that one crazed man look at Lisa like she was once his jailer?
Lisa was confused by Iggy’s reaction to her and, being cut off from the Mothers until The Date, she didn’t know what to conclude about it all. The Date it would all end, or begin, she was never told. Lisa was sent out into the world with four marks to handle, a time, and a date with specific directions on what to do… no explanation why. No explanation of what would happen. If she followed her duty as she was told, then there was no need for details. She sat on the curb and watched a stray cat lazily swat a fly.
“We are all the same and none different…”
Rafael
Rafael liked the stinky man who walked the streets. He walked all the time and talked all the time. Sometimes he yelled at the sidewalk and that was interesting to Rafael. He liked the idea that somebody was different like he was different. He didn’t even mind the man being stinky. If Rafael could be free to openly be as weird as he felt, then being stinky was okay.
Rafael’s mother knew he took money sometimes from her purse and it didn’t bother her because she also knew that he gave it to Ignacio—the homeless man that wandered the streets. Her child felt something for the man he thought was a stranger. Rafael wanted to feed him and help him. So, his mother looked the other way when he did it, because Ignacio was her brother.
Her brother who, at one time was kind, at one time was funny, and a long time ago was handsome. He was once her big brother; the kind of brother you look to when you need a laugh or when you need to cry. They were once so close. Then, they both started to fade. She faded into her own thoughts. Her thoughts covered her like an electric blanket. Ignacio started talking to walls, then trees, then sidewalks. One day, he wandered outside and never came back in. She was too absorbed in her reality to chase him.
Rafael’s mother spent her time either working or watchi
ng. She watched her son spin in her front yard while her brother walked by her house—not even noticing her child in it. Rafael spinning and Ignacio walking, while she watched from her kitchen window stirring whatever she cooked that day. Something deep within her told her she should feel something. There should be a feeling of anything when she watched the boy endlessly spin or when her brother walked right in front of her, but was too wrapped up in his crazy to notice. She imagined a shovel digging into her gut, into the very center of her, searching for some feeling of empathy or sadness, but she constantly got shovel full after shovel full of nothing—gravel, dirt, worms… anything was better than nothing. But, nothing is all that came up.
So, she sat at her kitchen table and watched the boy sneak into the house and crawl to his room. She did nothing but watch him go while she ate her noodles. Sooner or later she’d get up and call him to dinner, pretending he never left the yard and pretending she never noticed him not leaving.
Rafael lay on his bedroom floor, staring at the ceiling. It was solid white like all the walls and ceilings in his house. The white was okay; it never bothered him. If he stared at it long enough, he could disappear in it. He could sink himself in it like water. Deeper and deeper into the white felt like deeper into the water to Rafael and the water felt tight all around him, surrounding him and keeping him from spinning. A break from the whirling and twirling sometimes was all the little boy needed.
Craig
The barber shop was one of his favorite places and one of those chores he didn’t mind accomplishing. His barber was a friendly guy who cut his hair quickly and kept the conversation to sports or news. Craig appreciated that he didn’t have to keep the conversation flowing or pretend to want to chit-chat. He could answer with a quick whatever and the barber would keep working. Before Craig had to stress about thinking of something interesting to say, the haircut was over with.
Starburst book 1 Page 5
