Very Wicked Things
Page 3But then he laughed, even though he’d said nothing funny. I forced myself to meet his eyes him, trying to hide my fear. I sensed he liked it when I was scared.
He’d strolled unhurriedly to the door, paused and called back softly, “I won’t forget you, dotchka.” His words had sounded like a promise.
But, I had never been his daughter.
And that incident had been months ago.
I wondered if he’d bring me food again. This time, I think, I was hungry enough to eat whatever he brought, right in front of him.
The soft music from the studio below started back up, snapping me back to the present.
I shook off those memories of my father and opened every drawer, cabinet, and hidey-hole, looking for something to eat or some change for the vending machines. I’d made the same search the day before with no luck, but I couldn’t just do nothing.
Survival drove me.
Having no luck in the kitchen, I went to mama’s bedroom again.
Jackpot. Behind a bag of pills, I discovered a roll of quarters, tucked into the very back of her make-up drawer. She might get mad and yell at me if I took it, but my hunger didn’t worry about the consequences.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the way out the door, doing a double take at how my jeans sagged. Just needed a belt, that’s all. I peered in closer, seeing my skinny face, touching the dark circles under my eyes. “You need a make-over,” I said aloud, thinking of the mindless shows I watched on television.
And so what if I wasn’t beautiful like mama? My movements were graceful, and my eyes were a pretty blue with hints of green around the iris. The hue wasn’t a pale color like the sky but deeper and more mysterious. Like indigo.
I twisted my hair up on top of my head. Heather-Lynn, one of the renters, called my hair color mink-brown which sounded pretty. Maybe later I’d find some pins and play with fixing it up into a bun like a ballerina. Maybe she’d be home and show me how. Maybe she’d offer to make me some of her tomato soup. It came from a can, but it was good, especially with a grilled cheese sandwich. My belly growled again.
With the roll of quarters in my hand, I walked out the door. If I thought our apartment was cold, the hallway outside was freezing. Someone had cracked a window at the end of the hall, probably to smoke. I tip-toed down the hallway and stopped in front of Heather-Lynn’s apartment and pressed my ear to her door. Eavesdropping, I’d decided, was a beneficial skill and surprisingly easy. Lately Heather-Lynn and her live-in boyfriend were fighting. Mostly about money—he didn’t have any—and men—Heather-Lynn flirted too much. I suspected he’d be moving out soon. Couldn’t say I’d miss him, but I loved Heather-Lynn.
But today, all I heard was silence.
All was clear, so I took off at a dead run and then leaped high in the air like a gazelle, spreading my legs apart mid-leap, landing with a triumphant grin. Yep, it may not have been a true grand jeté—one of my favorite ballet jumps—but in my head, it was spot-on.
Once on the first floor, I eased around the corner, my eyes automatically landing on the glass wall where I could see into the studio. Sarah stood at the barre, leading the dancers into their final cool down before they left to go home.
I got some cookies and chips from the vending machine and sat on one of the old wooden chairs that faced the dancers. Front row seats, baby. I devoured the chips in less than a minute, dragging a sleeve across my face to wipe the crumbs. Breakfast.
What school did those pretty girls go to?
Feeling guilty for my disloyal thoughts, I opened the Oreos, took out two and crammed them in, chewing nosily. At least I had a mama because some kids didn’t. I should be grateful for what I had.
Sarah caught my eyes and waved, her face bright like the radiance of a thousand suns. She reminded me of an Emily Dickinson poem, the one about how hope is like a bird and perches in your soul. We’d read it in class—before I quit—and I’d immediately thought of her, mostly because the bird is joyful and never stops singing, even through the coldest land.
I wanted to be that bird that never gives up, that endures; I wanted to be like Sarah.
But at this rate, I wouldn’t make it.
Because my future loomed, where, like my mama, I’d be alone and bitter and angry.
Perhaps I’d end up with a man like my father.
Perhaps I’d sell my body for money.
Perhaps I’d end up in a gutter or a dumpster or an alley.
Yet…
Forgetting my hunger, I dropped my cookies to the floor and stood.
It’s corny, but I believe only a few moments in your life possess special magic, and I believe each person is given only a handful. Not sure I’d seen any yet. Until now.
And as the life I yearned for literally danced in front of my eyes, the dreams I’d let go came roaring back to the surface. I suddenly knew that if I didn’t plunge headfirst into this moment, this opportunity, I’d regret it forever.
In that cold hallway, my lost hope came back.
It was time to make my own someday.
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