Iggy
Iggy had spent the night in the shelter. He was never questioned or bothered, just given a meal and a cot. Feeling incredibly grateful, Iggy nestled into his cot. He couldn’t imagine sleeping on the street again. He knew he had slept on the streets for many years, and now he couldn’t imagine how he survived such complete disregard for his own well-being and safety.
How could people have such complete disregard for the well-being of others is really what Iggy couldn’t understand. When Iggy was on the street, people walked by him daily. People saw him daily. Yet, nobody cared and that is what gave Iggy the most pause and brought the deepest of sadness to him: humanity at its core was terrible and heartless.
Maggie
Sitting at home, Maggie decided to skip dinner tonight. The owner of the laundromat had told her that it would be closing down. He was too old to care anymore, and he had given up. The doors would be locked, and the old man planned on checking himself into a living facility for the elderly.
“Go home, no more, go home. No more. No more,” the old man hugged her tightly and, with tears in his eyes, told her the story of having a wife and children. He loved his wife until the day she died. He loved his children until they forgot about him, and then his heart started to crust—a crust that was now so deep and rooted in him that he could not bother to go on anymore. He had found himself a place to wait for death.
A place to wait for death did not sound horrible to Maggie. She liked the idea actually. A quiet hole to bury herself in, away from the eyes of the world, and die in peace is exactly what she wanted. She felt no sadness for the old man, just an understanding that he had made his choice. Her sadness came from losing the job; that job paid for Maggie’s comida, but that old man had just planted a seed in Maggie’s head. He was ready for death and was going to patiently wait it out. Maggie was also ready for death, but did not want to patiently wait it out.
Her entire life Maggie had been about being patient with what life had given her, and now she thought it was ridiculous to wait any more. Why should she wait when she was also ready?
Maggie sat in her chair, struggling with the idea. She was ready, why should she wait? Because the white man at the church tells her she has to wait? It’s unfair, why should she suffer more? Maggie was crying, and she didn’t know it until she touched her face and saw her fingers smudged with mascara. The tears were rolling down her face, onto her blouse, down the chair, and filling up the carpet…soon the tears would spill out of the windows. They were tears of frustration, not despair; it was unfair that she could not choose death when she wanted it.
The frustration that death could not be ordered around filled Maggie’s lungs. She wanted to shriek. Then, out of the corner of her eye, Maggie saw a small figure made of shadow smile and wave her past the curtain. With one blink, the shadow was gone. “Eso es una amenaza o una promesa,” grunted Maggie, getting up to wash the makeup off her face.
Lisa
Lisa watched Craig sleep on her couch as he snored lightly. She wanted to lay on her kitchen floor with the cold, hard linoleum against her back. She could flip over like a fish, then let the dirty floor sink her belly back in, but she didn’t want Craig to see her do that. Best case scenario, he’d join her and they would discuss whatever she was hoping he’d discuss with her. Worse case, he’d think she was drunk.
Before going to her bedroom, Lisa silently grabbed the calendar on her fridge. She needed to hide that somewhere he couldn’t find it when she wasn’t around. Laying on the bathroom floor was not as satisfying as the kitchen, but it helped. She could think a little clearer laying on the floor. The stiffness against her back felt good, almost like a punishment. It was an uncomfortable type of comfort.
In The Grey, all beds had incredible mattresses that were small but cloud-like, sheets that smelled of lavender, and pillows fluffed just right. Beds in The Grey were like a sickly sweet treat when all you wanted was a glass of water. Many times, after a hard day in The Grey, Lisa would wonder why the bed was so luxurious when everything else was so plain and practical. She always wanted to know, but never wanted to ask.
Then, maybe because Lisa was thinking of lavender, she could smell it. She could smell lavender as if she was in her bed in The Grey. “I can smell it…” Lisa told the floor and got up. She walked into the other room and saw her bed. There was a note on in—beige paper, lavender scented, but it was more than that. Lisa threw back her comforter. It was a different comforter and different sheets; they were distinctly from The Grey—soft as ever and scented with lavender.
Just when she was enjoying the cup of water, they handed her a cupcake. Lisa touched the sheets, looked at her bathroom floor, and touched the sheets again. Then, she remembered the note.
Week 1 brought the shift for your marks.
Week 2 brings a rift for your marks.
Week 3 has yet to be seen.
Keep vigilant my dear…
Best wishes,
Superior Mother
Lisa let the note land on the carpet. That’s when she noticed the carpet had been vacuumed. She was hopeless, truly hopeless.
“Her sheets were gross,” said mother 14. “Has she ever washed them?”
“No telling, throw them in the dumpster,” Mother 97 said absent mindedly. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Iggy
Iggy blinked twice, then rubbed one eye, and blinked again. There were two of them in the alley. Two of the blonde women. There was one a long time ago at his high school, and now there was one in his town, and two in the alley. Iggy leaned against a wall, sunk down low, and hoped they did not see him while he tried to do the math. He’d seen four so far—all four look alike, exactly alike, but they are not the same person. No, not the same.
But, how could he tell. How could Iggy tell that they look perfectly alike, but were not the same person? They had to be twins. But, he was in high school many, many years ago… do they not age? In a second all memories rushed back to him and flooded his brain, making his heart shake—the apples, the groveling at her feet, and the completely shameless way he was on the street for so long. Iggy sat looking at nothing. His awareness was vivid now, everything he once was. A shadow of a human being haunted by sidewalks and infected with lice. Iggy sat feeling every feeling he’d been missing for all of these years. It was as if he had just woken up from being reverted to a feral creature that roamed the streets with no purpose. Being tame again gave him the feeling of deep shame over what he was; he had no control of it. He had no way of telling why it happened, and then un-happened. Iggy pulled his legs towards him and wrapped himself up as tightly as he could, with his back against the brick wall. The pressure of the understanding he now had of himself on the street pushed his back into the brick and made his legs quake.
He didn’t choose to do that; it had to be done to him. It was done to him, he knew this. He knew this and then it was undone. But why? To teach him some bullshit life lesson? To give him the wisdom of what goes on in the universe, or his universe.
“It’s the ladies,” Iggy told the rocks in the alley. “Those ladies did this.” At that second, Iggy knew he’d have to find out if he was the only one that saw the ladies, and not just the one. If he was the only one who has seen 4 ladies so far, then it means something.
That’s when Iggy noticed the little blonde boy at the end of the alley watching him. Iggy knew this boy, he remembered flashes of this boy being an almost constant shadow, skipping around the bits and pieces he could remember. Iggy waved at the boy and the boy looked right back at him, eye to eye contact without flinching or waving back, and it hit Iggy that the boy was lost deeply within himself. That boy was buried somewhere inside of himself where nobody has been able to reach him and pull him out. Iggy extended his hand out to the boy, but he ran off. Even if Iggy could reach him, the boy wouldn’t grab his hand and allow himself to be pulled out, but why?
“Why do I care?” is all Iggy could repeat to himself. Why would
he care about the odd little boy who kept tabs on him like a mindful grandparent? Iggy got up. He had to make some choices about his day soon. There were too many questions roaming around his head—the questions, mixed with the theories, that roamed his brain only added to the feelings that were caught up in his chest. So for now, in the alley he would stay.
Rafael
Rafael walked up to the school gates, then turned himself around and walked away. Somewhere between getting up, eating cereal, and putting on shoes, he decided that he was done with school. His body would never let him learn. His tongue would never get the answer out. He understood this about himself, why couldn’t anybody else? Rafael, in his little boy body and his little boy brain, knew that it wasn’t ever going to work for him; it was hopeless and he wasn’t going to do it anymore. He’d hide all day every day until he didn’t have to hide anymore. Determination kept his feet moving away from the school when suddenly every hair on his head told him that it was a scary idea.
Superior Mother
Superior Mother watched the monitor displaying Rafael with interest. This little boy interested her in the most basic of ways. To Superior Mother, there was no difference in watching Rafael than in watching an animal go about its day on a nature channel. Superior Mother had long ago been a girl of The Grey and had become one of many Mothers in The Grey. Her interest in the human male was for procreation purposes only. She found no favor in their smiles, muscles, or laughter.
Superior Mother sliced a peach open, cutting its skin with ease and handling all the juices cleanly and effortlessly. Rafael did not attend school that day, he walked away from it as if he was in charge. Human children were allowed too much freedom as far as she was concerned. A girl of The Grey would never disobey and if she did, well… Superior Mother sliced another peach chunk and popped it into her mouth, they were dealt with. “That boy…” Mother 33, Tammy, squinted at the monitor, “The boy looks like us…”
Superior Mother chuckled, “Dear, we don’t birth males. It’s beneath us.” With that she flicked off the monitor and bit into what was left of her peach.
Rafael
Rafael’s mother watched her boy walk down the street from her office window with little interest. He wasn’t in school, and he was headed home. Let him be home. It’s the only place either of us can find some quiet, she thought. Yet, a tiny spark lit in her belly as she remembered the demons. They could come at any time; so she ran down the block, grabbed Rafael, and took him back to her work. She said nothing to him, just sat him at a table, gave him a drink, and pointed to the TV—no questions, no anger, and as always, no laughter.
Then she looked outside, the street was quiet—not a car in site, all was empty. There was no noise, just a dead silence that seemed to slap her. She walked up to the office door and locked it. She was right, the demons could come at any minute. They were following Rafael down the street. She turned off the office lights, went to the back room, crawled under the table with Rafael, and held him. They would stay there until this passed. The demons would grow bored and this would pass. She was sure of it and kept telling herself, “This will pass. Esto pasara.” She whispered it to Rafael.
Rafael tightened his grip on his mom’s arm, then loosened it, and tightened it again. It was a distraction from her Spanish words and the darkness of her office.
Superior Mother called for her assistant, washed her hands, and smiled as she walked into her office. “Tammy needs to be tucked in.” With that, Superior Mother worried no more and had a peaceful night’s sleep.
Craig
At work, Craig tossed his cell phone in the ocean. He thought he should probably go buy himself a burner in case of an emergency, then thought, fuck that. Craig was done with society, houses, cell phones, all that gilded cage crap. He’d show up to work because he needed money to eat, and that was it.
After burning down his house, Craig felt a huge lump of something lift off his shoulders. A 100-pound tick had been surviving off him for years and suddenly it was gone. The freeing feeling was so addictive that Craig wanted more. A huge separation between himself and society would be Heaven. Drinking his coffee and listening to the gulls in the early morning was his favorite time of day. It was the pier at its best, nothing but sparkling sunlight, soft waves, and noisy seals. Craig felt like sitting around barking with the seals. If only he could bark away the bullshit.
Then, Craig did something he never did, he sat at a bench on the pier to think. He had never done this before because it seemed like such a bullshit old man thing to do—sit on a fucking bench, drink coffee, and go over life. But, fuck today was the day for it and when he sat down, Craig started laughing—laughing to the point that even the gulls listened.
Grabbing his side and then spilling his coffee, it dawned on Craig that he had burned his house down. This made him laugh even harder. Sighing, Craig stretched out on the bench; it was such a release to stop giving a fuck. He needed more of this freedom, it was like a drug. Something he had never tasted and something he wanted more of. He could picture a cartoon in his head of him and the rest of the human race. There was a crack between them, a giant rift of sorts that could not be mended with duct tape or plaster.
Enjoying his imaginary cartoon, Craig was startled to see Lisa standing on his side of the crack. Not next to him, or behind him, just slightly off to the right, but within arm’s reach. Sitting up and shaking his head, Craig knew it meant nothing—just a glitch in his groove. He needed another cup of coffee.
Maggie
The church smelled like holy water. Maggie had known the smell of holy water ever since she was a child. There was a smell to it, but she could never understand why. All the priest did was bless it; he waved his hand over it, but that smell was always there. Maggie didn’t want to be there. She kept cursing under her breath and giving the priest the evil eye. “Chingado…” she muttered when the priest called for communion.
She had come to church today for her sister. Her sister would want her to come to church and tell the priest her desire to end her life. So, Maggie sat in church full of contempt. She wouldn’t tell the priest anything; he would only tell her it was a sin. Maggie had one foot already headed to the inferno that was behind the curtain.
Looking around, Maggie felt eyes on her. She noticed Lisa sitting next to her, “Chingado, de donde salestes.” Lisa shrugged at Maggie and gave her a small nod. “You called me… llamarme,” Lisa whispered. Maggie grunted at Lisa and went back to pretending to listen to the priest. Sneaking peeks at Lisa, Maggie came to one conclusion: if she had spent most of her night watching novellas and calling death, then Lisa was death.
Maggie scooted as close as she could to Lisa, then whispered “eres la muerte?” Lisa leaned in to Maggie, wasting not a second. “Posible,” responded Lisa.
With that answer, Maggie smiled, it was the first honest answer anybody had ever given her. Maggie was thankful for the truth and for the hope that Lisa was here to give Maggie her wish.
Lisa walked down the street with Maggie. She wasn’t sure why she said that to Maggie. It just slipped out, and in all honesty, it wasn’t a lie. Lisa didn’t know what her final orders from Superior Mother would be. She might be death; she wasn’t sure and that gave Lisa a wicked little thrill.
Maggie walked quietly wondering to herself, when the time came, would she fight Lisa? Would she be a coward and shame her family? Maybe she would thank Lisa and go with dignity. How could this huesos of a white girl be death?
Lisa
Giving Maggie a pat on the back and a nod, Lisa walked away from her. She needed time to process why she walked over to the church, not knowing Maggie was there and not knowing there was mass going on. Lisa felt raped in a sense. Somehow she had done three things without really consciously doing them: walking to the church, sitting with Maggie at church, and saying those words in Spanish to Maggie.
“Posible…” Lisa let it sit in her mouth. “Possible.” Lisa didn’t consent to be at church, to leave,
to act like she did, it was robotic. It was scary. Getting to her apartment, Craig was sitting on the couch watching a baseball game. She liked seeing him there. It was nice having a roommate, someone else there. It was only the fact that there was someone else there.
Craig got up and handed Lisa a beer. They sat together watching the game. Lisa had thought it through from start to finish, dragged it through her head while sipping the beer, and allowed the alcohol to either cloud or clear her thoughts before she told Craig that she went to the church, told Maggie those things, and left without ever really thinking about doing it.
“I felt like a robot,” was the last thing Lisa could think to say to Craig in an effort to explain herself. She didn’t want Craig to think she was doing drugs or crazy. She was sane and she had never tried drugs, and probably never would.
“For every robot there’s somebody pulling the handles and calling the shots,” Craig took another sip of his beer and zoned back out to the game, leaving Lisa with that idea stuck in her throat.
It was then that Lisa thought she heard someone yawn—not her, not Craig… but someone else. This made her skin crawl and made her fingers ball up into a fist. Someone was pulling the handle, someone was calling the shots, and someone had just yawned.
Superior Mother yawned, realized she’d been heard, then shook her head to focus. It was her fault she had been heard. She needed to focus more. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she got up. She needed to walk this one out.
Starburst book 1 Page 16
