Cosmic Girl Rising Up

by R S J Gregory

  The costume is starting to smell a bit musty. I lock my door and close the curtains. I strip and get into my costume, and then head into the bathroom. I turn on the hot water and take a shower in my costume. I use plenty of rose-scented shower gel, and give the costume a good scrub.

  I use some apple-scented shampoo for my hair, and some conditioner. I strip out of my costume while I leave the conditioner in, and gently ring the water out. I give it a shake and hold it up. Ah, that’s better. Oh, damn, all of the glitter is gone. I look down, and see the last of the blue glitter disappear down the plughole. I hang the costume on a hanger, and hang it on the shower rail. I rinse the conditioner out of my hair, and then turn the water off. I grab a large pink towel from the shelf near the sink, and wrap it around my body.

  I grab a smaller pink towel, and wrap it around my hair. I walk into my room and look for my hair-dryer. I find it on the floor near my bed, and pick it up and switch it on. I spread the books over my bed, and start to dry them out with my hair-dryer. After a few minutes, I remove the towel from my hair, and then give my hair a good blast with the hairdryer. I pick up my large flat hair brush from my side table, and start running it through my hair while I dry it. Once I’m done, I remove the towel from my torso, and switch the hairdryer off. I pick out an outfit for tonight. Nothing too fancy. Some blue jeans, and white t-shirt with navy blue stripes. I pull on some aquamarine ankle socks, and then my white and purple Nike running shoes. The tread is beginning to get thin. I’ll need to get some new shoes soon.

  I lie on my bed and start on my homework. It’s for applied psychology. One of the more interesting classes. We all have to come up with a list of known psychological disorders, and have to include possible causes, and the symptoms. I already knew one of them very well, stress. I resist the urge to use my laptop, just. It’s a close call.

  After I finish my chart, I head downstairs for dinner. Dad has made one of my favorite dishes, spaghetti casserole layer. It’s like lasagna, only he uses spaghetti, instead of pasta sheets. It’s delish.

  It’s almost 5:30 p.m. I begin to feel nervous. I hurry back upstairs, and check my costume. It still feels wet to the touch, so I bring it into the bedroom, and begin trying to dry it with my hairdryer. I set it on high-heat, and let the costume have it full blast. I kept a wary eye on my bedroom door while I dry my costume.

  I check my alarm clock. Damn, 5:56 p.m. I begin to hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. I stop and quickly open my comic book chest, and throw the damp costume inside, and close the lid, just as my bedroom door begins to open.

  “It’s time, Pumpkin. Mitchell’s outside.” Dad says from the doorway.

  “Okay.” I say, and take a deep breath.

  I follow him downstairs, and head down the hall and grab my light denim jacket. As I open the door, Dad grabs me lightly.

  “Be safe.” Dad says, and leans down and kisses me on my forehead.

  “I will.” I say happily. “Bye.” I say, then turn and hop down the steps.

  The car waiting by the sidewalk looks pretty impressive. I stop and take it all in. It looks like an old Chevy. It’s painted black, and shiny, like a new car. I open the passenger door and climb in. It creaks a bit, but nothing like dad’s car.

  “Wow. Good job.” I say to Mitchell.

  He turns and grins at me, then leans forward and waves at Dad.

  “Let’s go, shall we.” Mitchell says, then fiddles with the radio cassette player.

  The sound of a rumbling engine starts blaring out. We start moving forward, and I frown and look around. Mitchell legs are moving quickly, up and down.

  “What the?” I say aloud and then he turns and grins at me.

  “Couldn’t find a working engine.” Mitchell says and then I look down again.

  Beneath Mitchell’s feet, there’s no floor. He has his legs through a large opening, and is running. I burst out laughing as it dawns on me.

  “Hey, I didn’t have enough time, okay.” Mitchell says and begins to laugh with me.

  “Does the steering work?” I ask as the laughter fades.

  “Sure.” Mitchell says and begins to turn the large wheel.

  We make a left and begin to drive/run south. Mitchell begins to run faster as we try to keep up with traffic.

  “How long can you keep this up for?” I ask as I watch his legs pump up and down rhythmically.

  “I don’t know. I guess, we’re gonna find out.” He says and begins to puff slightly.

  “You’re crazy.” I say and stroke his cheek.

  “You must be rubbing off on me.” He replies and grins.

  Traffic is pretty crazy as we head south. It takes us at least forty minutes just to get to the loop. I hand Mitchell the slip of paper with the address on. He takes a peek while he turns the wheel, and we then head on to a bridge. Ten minutes later, and a red faced and puffing Mitchell, stops outside a low-level red-bricked building.

  There’s a sign above the door which reads, ‘Marv’s Gym’. Beside a small open door, a faded poster is pasted to the brickwork. The poster shows a steaming bowl of soup and a crusty bread roll.

  “Good luck.” Mitchell says and takes in big mouthfuls of air.

  “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I say and kiss him, before getting out.

  Once on the sidewalk, I watch in amusement, as Mitchell drive/runs down the road and disappears around a corner. I turn and take a deep breath, and then walk towards the door. There’s a sound of raised voices as I enter a large gymnasium. The large hall is bare, and folding tables and chairs are stacked neatly by one wall. A large black woman in a bright green sweater is talking to a small group of people. I hurry over and join them. The large black lady sees me, and stops talking. She looks me up and down briefly.

  “You the troublemaker?” She asks roughly.

  “I’m not a troublemaker.” I reply quickly.

  “Yeah, right. Just don’t cause any trouble here, got it?”

  “Got it.” I reply sullenly.

  “You’ll be teamed up with Bernice here.” She says and points to a surly looking middle-aged black woman.

  I nod in understanding, and walk over to where Bernice is waiting.

  “Hi.” I greet her, and try to smile.

  “Hi, kid.” Bernice answers in a deep raspy voice. “You can start with the tables and chairs.” She says and points to the wall behind me.

  I hurry with the task, moving quickly, fast for a human, but not freaky. In ten minutes, the hall is filled with tables and chairs.

  “Geez, child. What are they feeding you these days.” She looks down at me, and frowns. “You ain’t taking no drugs, are you?”

  “No, ma’am.” I reply and smile. “Anything else?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I’ve got just the thing for you.” Bernice says and wags her bony finger at me, and walks towards a door opposite the entrance.

  She leads me through, and then down a corridor. She turns right and enters another large room. I follow her, and find myself inside a large kitchen area. Steel counters, and pots and pans gleam under the fluorescent lights.

  “I’ve got a helper for you, Charlie.” Bernice croaks to a thin man wearing a white beret.

  He stops chopping an onion, and looks down at me.

  “She’s tiny. How is she going to help?” Charlie laughs, and wipes some vapor from his eyes with his white sleeve.

  “She’s as quick as slick.” Bernice responds, and then coughs.

  Geez, her cough sounds bad. Sounds like she’s trying to cough up a fur ball.

  “Really? Okay.” Charlie says and then waves Bernice to the door. “Take your phlegm elsewhere. I’m trying to cook here.”

  “See you, kid.” Bernice croaks, and then turns and walks out.

  I see Charlie sizing me up.

  “Can I trust you with a knife?” He asks warily.

  “Yes, sir.” I reply.

  “How are you at dicing vegetables?” He asks.

  “I’m okay.�
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  “There’s a workstation over there by the sink. Grab a bucket of veg, and start dicing.”

  “How big do you want them?” I ask.

  “Sugar cube sized. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I say and reach down and grab a large bucket of carrots.

  “Hey, do you want a hand with..” Charlie says, and then stops when I pick it up easily and carry it over to my workstation.

  I take a large wooden butcher’s block chopping board from a counter behind me, and set it down underneath a flat cloth. I search the drawers around me until I find a potato peeler, then get to work peeling the carrots into the sink. It only takes me a few minutes to work through the bucket. I then pull a large chef’s knife from a block next to me, and begin to slice the carrots first before dicing them.

  “Hey. You are fast.” Charlie says as he comes over to inspect my work.

  He sweeps the diced carrots into a large steel pot with his hand.

  “Now the potatoes.” He says and then takes the pot back to his workstation.

  In thirty minutes, I’ve chopped the potatoes, onions, celery, eggplant, and of course the carrots. Charlie divided them all into four large steel pots. I sit on the steel counter and swing my legs playfully, while I watch Charlie make the soup. He dices some chicken, and puts that in two of the pots. Then he dices some beef, and adds that to a separate pot. He has two large pots already on the burner, which are bubbling away.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Chicken stock.” Charlie replies and then points to the other pot. “Beef stock.” Charlie adds and gives the gurgling liquid a good stir.

  He ladles the steaming stock into all of the pots until they are all full, and then lights all of the burners. Charlie then chops some rosemary and thyme, and puts the herbs in to all of the pots along with some bay leaves. He rinses his hands under the tap, and then dries his hands on his apron.

  “Now we wait.” Charlie says, as he leans against the steel counter next to me.

  “Who pays for all of this?” I ask.

  “Ordinary folks, like you and me. Without support from the community, this place wouldn’t exist.”

  “How long have you worked here?” I ask.

  “Oh, I don’t work here. I’m a volunteer.” Charlie says and folds his arms.

  “They don’t pay you?” I ask, incredulous.

  “Of course not, kid. We barely have enough funds for the food and the hall.” Charlie chuckles.

  “Sounds unfair.” I say, almost to myself.

  “Ha. Welcome to the real world, kid.” Charlie says and then walks over to his pots and begins to stir them.

  I like Charlie.

  He makes all of the bread rolls by hand. Carefully weighing the ingredients, and then rolling up his white sleeves and kneading the dough. I wash some of the utensils used in the large sink, and then stand on my toes to try and peek inside the steaming pots. They smell delicious, especially the chicken soup.

  It’s 9 p.m. when I help Charlie carry the pots of soup into the main hall. He’s amazed by my strength. The pot I’m carrying is half my size, so I must look strange. When we enter the main hall, and put the pots down on some sturdy looking tables, the gymnasium is already half full. The amount of people waiting for a free meal is staggering. There are whole families, moms and dads, and lots of frail looking children, as well as the elderly and the homeless. A small boy, no older than eight, runs forward to the table where I’m serving. He wears a white t-shirt, that has a small girl, hand-painted in purple, on the front.

  “Hello.” I greet him as he skids to a stop near me. “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Bobby.” He grins.

  “Hello, Bobby. Would you like some soup?” I say and offer him a white polystyrene cup of hot chicken soup.

  “Please.” He reaches up for the cup, and I hand him a crusty brown roll too.

  “That’s a nice t-shirt.” I say and point to his tiny chest. “Who’s that?” I ask.

  “It’s Cosmic Girl.” He says proudly and grins. “I drawed it.”

  “It’s very good.” I tell him. “Do you like Cosmic Girl?”

  He nods bashfully.

  “Do you want to be able to fly, like Cosmic Girl?” I ask.

  He nods enthusiastically, almost spilling his chicken soup.

  “She’ll help you, if you’re in trouble. Remember that.” I say and wink at him conspiratorially

  “Thanks, miss.” Bobby says and then dashes back to his mom, who is sitting with her head in her hands.

  “You can go home now.” A gentle voice says next to me.

  I turn, and look up at Marsha, the large black woman with the bright green sweater.

  “I can stay if you need me. I don’t mind.” I reply as I stir the chicken soup in the pot in front of me.

  “It’s almost eleven O’clock, child. Go home.” She says gently. “I can take over here for you.”

  “Okay. Well, goodnight.” I say, and then turn and head towards the entrance.

  Before I leave, I turn and look at the sea of people. I smile as I see the little boy, Bobby, running around with his arms outstretched. I leave, and head towards the sidewalk. I walk along towards an intersection and then cross. I notice three men standing on the corner. I walk by and head down the street past closed storefronts. I hear their heavy footsteps, as they begin to follow me. Oh, great.

  “Hey, sweetheart, not so fast.” A man’s voice calls out from behind me.

  “Not tonight fellas, I have a headache.” I call back, and continue walking.

  They begin to chortle, and then a deep voice calls back in response.

  “I’ve got the cure right here, baby.” He sounds drunk.

  I stop and turn. I size them up and down.

  “I doubt you could even get it up.” I laugh, and then turn and carry on walking.

  “Ooh, we got a little minx here, fellas.” Another voice calls out from behind me.

  “I’m flattered boys, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.” I answer back.

  “Who says we were asking?” The deep voice calls back, and then I feel a hand on my neck from behind.

  “Don’t you dare touch me!” I say and grab his hand.

  I turn and pull his hand from my neck. The large man’s expression is a mixture of surprise and anger.

  “Boys who play with fire, get burned.” I warn them.

  “We’re not playing.” One of the men says, and then I feel another hand try and grab me.

  Several things happen at once. I break the guys wrist who had grabbed me first, then grab the other guys arm who’s about to make a grab for me now, and crush his forearm.

  Then I tap the last guy on the head and knock him out. All in a matter of seconds.

  “You broke my arm!” One of the guys screams at me.

  “Serves you right.” I snort back. “Smell you later.” I say and wave goodbye as I walk away.

  I make the corner and then walk quicker. I take another step, and then kick off from the ground, and take to the skies. I rush up towards the clouds, and then take a wide turn, and head north. I accelerate until I hear the sonic boom, and then slow down as I approach my neighborhood. I pitch forward, and swoop down to my street. I land in the middle of the street, and then walk up to my gate. I close the gate behind me and then hop up the steps. I use my key and unlock the door and go in.

  I hang up my denim jacket and then head upstairs. I brush my teeth, and then check on my costume. It’s still a bit damp, so I take it and hang it up in my closet. I get into my pink Minnie Mouse pajamas, and then climb under the covers.

  Twenty Four

  Saturday, and I’m still grounded. Major bummer.

  What’s worse, is that it’s the St Patrick’s Day parade today. They dye the river bright green, and have floats and a band and stuff. I always look forward to it, but now all I’ve got to look forward to today, is daytime television while Dad sleeps. He’s been covering for Phil at work, and has be
en doing a 12 hour night shift at the fire station. Phil injured himself last week, so Dad’s covering for him. I heard Dad climb the stairs this morning just after 5:30 a.m. I make sure the volume isn’t too high on the television, and flop down into one of the beige leather couches. I get comfy, and begin watching reruns of The Big Bang Theory.

  I get a call from Mitchell just after ten O’clock.

  “Hi, baby.” I say as I answer.

  “How was last night?” Mitchell asks.

  “It was okay. Just sad to see all those people in need.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Thanks for getting a car ready. How are you feeling?” I ask.

  “I’m okay. I don’t get tired like I used to.”

  “I know what you mean. I always feel keyed up, like an energizer bunny.”

  “It’s hard to know what to do with all of this energy.”

  “What are you doing now?” I ask.

  “I’m sitting by a large pine tree.”

  “Where?”

  “Near Canada.”

  “It’s not fair. I want to go with you too.” I grumble as I watch Joey do something stupid again on an episode of Friends.

  “You will, soon. You’re not grounded forever.” Mitchell chuckles.