do remember getting one off and that’s worth mentioning. Men like that tend to be of the selfish sort. He was kind enough to get me into a cab too.
On a normal night of drowning my sorrows, I would have quieted my entry, tip-toed to my room and curled into a ball without changing my clothes. Tonight was not that kind of night. First of all, I fell through the door. Yup. The door escaped my grasped and thundered into the wall. I think the knob may have left a hole. I would have checked, but that was Casey’s problem, not mine. Shuffling to bed, my keys clanked against the glass table in the living room. Then I entered, drunk enough to know that light should be avoided and not sober enough to avoid the person sniffing on my bed.
“Whafu?” I murmured.
I was lucky, having lamps that clicked on versus twisted on. Casey was sitting in the center of my bed, dabbing her mascara covered eyes. I was unlucky that I could not form words.
“I’m so sorry.” She whimpered, between sniffles.
“Get out.” Good job! Those words were clear.
“You were my best friend V. I never meant to hurt you. I promise it meant nothing. It was a one-time thing. You know it was a one-time thing. I can’t believe I did it either. It won’t happen again. Please don’t leave me. Don’t go.”
I’m not sure who she was trying to convince, herself or me but I wasn’t buying whatever she was selling. I had made up my mind. New York was calling.
“I need water.”
She moved quicker than my drunken eyes could process. She came back with water and Advil. Bless her whore hands.
“Thank you,” I said, sitting up, weighing the bed corner down with our combined weights. “Now get out.”
Her gasp of surprise was entertaining. She definitely had a career in acting if her job as a photographer didn’t work out.
“But, but, but” she protested. To my tired and drunk ears, it sounded like obstacles to sleep.
“If you say it one more time you’re going to find my foot there. Get. Out.”
The door being shut was my cue to sleep and my brain didn’t hesitate. I was asleep before my head reached the pillow. I had strange dreams that I mostly can’t remember, except for the haunting brown eyes of the stranger I slept with. His eyes were as pained as mine. Maybe that’s why we were destined to sleep together. Maybe his spirit saw a kindred spirit.
Chapter 4
The morning sun shined down on bad decisions and disheveled hair. I should have closed the curtains last night and I should have remembered to put on my scarf. Now a bird’s nest sat atop my head. It would take the shower and deep conditioning to restore my beautiful curls. Still, I felt less burdened. I felt like smiling, though, with a pounding headache I could not. With my mind made up, I took out the two suitcases I owned. Would you believe I had less than I thought? With a few garbage bags to house all the shoe boxes I had, shoes were kept longer and better maintained when housed in their original boxes. Most of the outfits fit into my suitcase with a few exceptions laid across the back seat of my truck. I’m a big girl, needed a bigger car. I know it doesn’t quite fit in with the Prius and Toyota drivers, but neither does a big black girl. Hopefully, New York would be more welcoming. I heard it said, if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. Let’s hope that was true.
It was not as hard as one would think to pack up and leave. I just made up my mind. I had nothing tying me to San Francisco. So, I turned in my “I quit” letter. Bye, bye promotion. I drove across country and asked Siri where the nearest for rent apartments were in the city. God bless Siri. After the fifth one, I found what I thought was a reasonable place to stay. I figured, after being stuck in a sea of yellow cabs that selling my car would be more of a benefit than having it. Signing the lease, was a cake walk. Then it was me, silence and stacks of my things in a barren one bedroom
Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch
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