Morgan was frisky today as he walked in front of me on his leash.
I took a bite of my bagel and wished I'd brought a coat or something because it was unusually windy today.
It was Saturday and I didn't have to worry about my day job because Carson usually took a trip to God knows where on Saturdays to come back on Sunday and hole himself up until Monday. I was strangely worried about him but I wouldn't even dare call or text. After last night I was glad that ‘Alex’ didn't have to see him for a while because that'd be all kinds of awkward. On my part at least, he had no freaking clue.
The sun was slowly rising up as Alicia Keys' singing in my ears gave a little pep to my step.
I would've stopped to savor this fine day but Morgan was so hell bent on reaching our destination quickly that he was the one leading me with the leash.
“Alright, alright!” I said to the dog. “I'll walk faster.”
After ten minutes of walking and completing my daily quota of exercise the gates of the shelter loomed ahead.
If Morgan was walking before he broke into a run as soon as he sighted it. I dug my heels in and stopped him just in time otherwise he'd have bumped into a potted plant.
I stopped to catch my breath in front of the gate.
Saint Magdalene's was a women's shelter where I volunteered.
It catered to all kinds of battered and abused women and was my safe haven for a few hours every Saturday.
After everything I'd been through during my childhood I was especially sympathetic to victims of domestic violence. When I found this place I jumped at having a chance to help women who went through the same thing I did. I roped Morgan into helping by making him a therapy dog and together we try to make the world a better place.
After stuffing my bagel wrapper into my black purse, and I smoothed my hair back and pushed open the iron gate.
The was a large lawn in front of the house where children ran about screaming happily and a content smile slid unto my face.
The shelter was a huge Victorian-style house that welcomed anyone just from looking at it. It was surrounded by trees and gave off a cool aura.
Walking up the front steps I entered the Colonial-style lobby with black and white checkered marble floors. There was no one about which was understandable since it was just 7. I was about going to the back of the house when someone emerged with a cardboard box.
“Hi Morgan!” Alice squealed as she dropped the box and bent to greet my dog, her pink hair looking freshly dyed.
“It's funny how it's the dog you first saw,” I teased.
“Sorry,” she sighed and stood up. “Hi, Lex,” she yawned.
“Still not a morning person, are you, Alice?”
She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. It looked uncomfortable considering the chunky rings on the hand she used on her eye. “I still don't know how you do it, Lex.”
“My secret? Lots of coffee and a good song.”
She rolled her blue eyes. “Whatever you say. Now, you've got to help me set up for Gretchen's support group meeting, maybe Morgan would like to join them?” She directed the last part to Morgan who just licked his nose.
“Like? He'd love to!”
Alice picked up her box and after stuffing it under one arm linked the other with mine.
As we were leaving the laughs of the children reached us.
“Isn't it a little too early for them to be playing outside?”
“Who? The Willy triplets? Please. Those three are demons who do whatever they please.”
I laughed.
Alice was the first friend I made when I first started here. Back when she had lime green hair.
She was the caretaker of the house and also a counselor. She was the most astute person I knew and most of the time in certain situations I would ask myself what Alice would do.
The backyard had a gazebo where most of the support group meetings were held.
It was my favorite part of the day. Hearing people voice out their pain somehow helped me deal with mine.
But I never contributed. I hadn't the words yet to describe my pain.
• • •
It was 2.30 when I was finally free.
All the therapy sessions and the support groups had been done in the morning and Morgan had loved being a part of every one.
It was nice to see a disabled dog get his chance to help people.
I was on the porch rolling up his leash to go and find Morgan so I could get around to the errands I had to run when I noticed a sullen boy seated at the base of a tree absentmindedly kicking a soccer ball. His Thomas the Train T-shirt was badly creased and so was his pants.
His brown bangs fluttered in the wind and I knew I just had to help.
I was about walking over there when Alice came out, my dog behind her.
“I guess you're ready to leave then?” She stuck her hand into the pockets of her jean shorts and scratched her short hair.
“Yeah,” I replied and bent to hook the leash to Morgan's black collar. When I straightened I nodded to the boy. “What's up with him?”
Alice squinted in the direction I indicated. “Oh. His mom came in last night. We don't really know much about them and he hasn't talked to anyone,” she shrugged. “I was hoping Dr. Dale would have a better chance of getting something out of him, because God knows I didn't.”
I looked back at the boy. I could feel his misery all the way from here. It felt wrong and — if I didn't think something was wrong with me before, I thought it now — familiar. I shivered at that last one. Whether from fear or self-pity I didn't know.
“Let me try,” I told Alice.
“What makes you think you'll do any better?”
“I've got a secret weapon,” I winked.
Walking up to the little boy I braced myself for rejection.
“Hey there!” I bent to his level.
He didn't reply, only looked the other way and continued with the twig he was working in his hands.
I persisted. “What's your name buddy?” I used the most friendliest voice I could muster but I didn't get anything out of him.
Seeing that I was getting nowhere I brought out the big guns.
I set Morgan in front of him and as if knowing something was wrong with the child my dog was all over him, his wagging tail flickering about.
Soon the little boy was laughing and I knew Morgan had worked his magic.
“His he yours?” The boy asked me as he petted Morgan.
“He is. His name is Morgan.”
The child sighed and looked up at me with brown eyes. He couldn't have been more than seven.
“My name's Ulric. I'm sorry I was rude before.”
I smiled. “Well that's ok, Ulric. I'm Alex.”
“That's a boy's name,” he scrunched his nose.
“And it's also a girl's name too.”
He eyed me and tossed the stick he was holding. I released Morgan and he bounded after it.
“So Ulric, what are you doing alone out here? I know a set of triplets who'd be happy to play with you inside.”
He scrunched his nose again. “I don't want to go inside. I want to go home.”
Morgan returned with the stick and set it at Ulric's feet.
“How do you know you won't like inside better than your home?”
“It's not my house. I want my house,” he pouted.
Just then his stomach growled and I chuckled.
“Tell you what,” I started. “You go inside with that woman over there,” I pointed to Alice who still stood on the porch. “She'll get you something to eat and then you both can talk about taking you home, how about that?”
Ulric studied Alice a moment before nodding.
He bolted up and halfway through his journey to the house he stopped and turned back to me. “Thanks Alex.”
I nodded and straightened up, happy to get back feeling to my legs.
Alice welcomed the boy and mouthed ‘what did you say?’ happily back to me. I just winked and watched as they both reentered.
Getting my dog who was doing his business in one of the bushes I started leisurely on the other place I visited on Saturdays.
Mom knew I volunteered at Saint Magdalene's, during holidays she'd even bake her special sweet potato pie for the occupants but she didn't know about the place I was heading to at the moment.
The apartment building sat among four other sick looking buildings and as usual I felt the life drain out of me the moment I stepped into the lobby.
Sheldon, the doorman had his feet propped up on the desk as he enjoyed what looked like a granola bar. The entire lobby rank of stale urine and despair, the non-functional elevator stood at the corner, its doors open like a toothless shark ready to send whoever dared enter into a dark oblivion.
Sheldon paused mid-swallow as he sighted me. His tired hazel eyes filled with something close to pity.
“Hi Alex,” he greeted and stood up. “Morgan, my man, what's up?”
Morgan barked and put a paw in Sheldon's hand.
“Hi Shel, has he . . .”
I didn't even need to finish my sentence before Sheldon replied. “Other than to go get an entire case of vodka from Casey's and receive his pizza orders, nope. Not a peep from him.”
I sighed. Sometimes I didn't know why I bothered.
“Thanks, Shel, really.”
“You know, Alex, when you asked me to keep an eye on him I thought you were tripping but now,” he lowered his voice. “I think there's something wrong with him.”
Ha. You don't need to tell me.
Out loud I said, “Thanks for your help, Sheldon. I'll go up now, have a nice day,” I shot him a sweet smile and started climbing up the stairs, leaving Sheldon in his oversized brown coat and pee-infested kingdom.
Getting up the stairs I trudged through dark hallway and stepped over a sleeping man to get to the upper floor.
I got to door 419 and plucked my key ring from my purse. Inserting the key I turned it and heard it click.
I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Stepping into the apartment it was stuffy, airless and dark.
I let Morgan off his leash and went over to window and drew the dark, heavy curtains back. Bright light flooded the room illuminating the dust flecks doing crazy pirouettes in the air.
I heard a groan from the couch and turned, placing my hand on my hip and preparing to bite out my words in reply.
The man on the couch only groaned again and raised his hand to shield his eyes.
Crossing over to the other side of the room I opened the curtain there and walked into the adjoined kitchen. Dumping my bag on the table I opened the fridge and peered inside. I wasn't surprised that the only thing inside was a pack of beers and leftovers in various degrees of rot.
Trying to contain my anger I dug out my wallet and proceeded to get some groceries.
Throughout the walk to the nearby grocery store and back I realized just how much I was taken for granted and how I was the one stopping myself from moving on by doing shit like this.
Sheldon tried to help me with my bags but I just shot him a smile and trudged up the stairs with my arms full and barely seeing in front on me.
When I got back I ignored the red rimmed eyes following my every move and proceeded to stack the groceries into the fridge. I threw out the leftovers, scrunching my nose at their almost unholy smell.
After I arranged the milk cartons I got around to making lunch. I decided to go for a Caesar salad with fresh strawberry juice.
I loved cooking, it was the only talent I had. It was almost sublime the feeling of combining different ingredients to create something that smelt and tasted divine, which was why I now had a culinary degree that I did nothing with.
My phone dinged and as I checked it I was a little disappointed it wasn't from Carson.
You did tell him not to text before 8.
It was a text from Bill. It was the address for tonight's party with a winky face.
After typing out an ‘I'll be there’ I looked up and locked eyes with the man leaning on the wall. He was dressed in nothing but black boxer briefs, his chin was filled with hair that looked like it hadn't been cut in ages and compared to the last time I saw him his stomach was beginning to look more convex. His blonde hair was stringy and looked like it housed a rat.
“What ya making, Lexa?” He raised his hand and took a long gulp from the bottle he was holding and I winced at the nickname that had symbolized happier times.
Schooling my features into one of the unapproachable, I-don't-give-two-fucks looks I usually sported at work, I put my phone down and went back to cutting the lettuce. “You've decided to join the land of the living, daddy. Shame, it was so much better without you.”
He brushed off my snide comment. “I though you said you wouldn't be back last week?”
After everything my father put me through I should've forgotten him when mom kicked him out and moved both of us, I should've been happy that I wouldn't see his disgusting face again, I should've let go of him. But I didn't. My conscience didn't let me, it wouldn't let me live with the thought that somewhere out there my father was dying.
So after he moved in here I came every Saturday to make sure he made it through the week because that was who I was. I took care of everybody else often to my own detriment.
That thought made me chop the vegetables harder as if they were the cause of my problems. In my peripheral vision I saw my dad drop his bottle of alcohol — which surprised me because that had been a rare sight since I was 6 and the beating started — and come over to me.
I immediately tensed and turned bringing the knife I was using up to his throat. He gulped at the sight and stepped back. I was enjoying the fear that sprung into his eyes knowing fully well that soon those eyes would be dead and glossed over by drink.
“Don't you dare!” I said to him. “I don't want to hear whatever it is that you think you have to say,” I lowered my voice. “I am not that scared little girl you used to push around, ok? If you put your hands on me, I will cut them off.”
Staring into his eyes and being so close to his reeking body, the hatred washed over me in colossal waves.
“I might come here every weekend to make sure you're ok, but don't you get it into your head that I care about you, do you understand me?”
He nodded fast and I was happy that I'd gotten to him.
I should've wielded a weapon ages ago.
Dropping the knife on the table I scooped up my purse. I was no longer in the mood to make lunch.
“Enjoy,” I gestured to the half finished salad and went out to the living room to find my dog. He was napping in a corner and after I put back his leash we left the house.
It was a pensive walk back home with me wondering if I should finally get my head checked.
When I got home I dodged my mom and seeing as how it was 5 I started to get ready for the party.
After a shower I decided on a rainbow turtleneck and pink jeans from the other side of my closet I liked to call ‘The Butterfly Zone’ because it was filled with bright clothing.
As I was slipping on the rainbow stilettos I gave in to an impulse and sent the address to Carson.
If he came, good. If not, also good. But I didn't feel like being alone tonight.
When I completed my ensemble I stood in front of my mirror. With my rainbow hair and red mask it was like all traces of Alex was gone.
Just how I liked it.