She was tired. She felt exhaustion in the marrow of her bones, weighing her down until her limbs were lead. She felt it in the pit of her stomach like a stone. It was only six o’clock and already she could feel her eyes beginning to slide closed, her head veering dangerously towards the window.
The little girl who sat across the bus aisle watched in fascination as the breath from Rachel’s open, slightly snoring mouth began to fog up the window. It was cold outside, that Friday night in November, and the breath formed tiny crystals against the glass. It was still early but the sun was nothing more than a rosy glimmer on the horizon. The sky overhead was a deep, thunder-gray shot through with silver. There was snow in the forecast. The city would be coated in downy whiteness by morning and everyone was rushing home to spend the night tucked into blankets, ready to watch the tiny white flakes melt into darkness.
Rachel didn’t care about any of that. She was just trying to get home. There were another four chapters of biochem to read before the exam next Wednesday and a paper due on Tuesday that she desperately needed to start researching.
And she had to get up early for work tomorrow. She was still in her waitressing uniform and the dark cotton was heavy with the scent of grease. She’d been serving up burgers and fries since class let out at ten, and she could smell the French fries in her hair.
Hopefully she could get some work done before her father got home. Hopefully, she thought, allowing her eyes to slide shut, he wouldn’t come home at all.
The bus jolted to a heavy stop, throwing all of the passengers forwards as the doors squeezed open. Mournfully, she dragged her eyes open, scooped up her things and pulled herself off of the bus, trudging three blocks to their apartment building.
The cold bit her face, turning her cheeks a fierce red and making her eyes water. She was grateful that it woke her up enough to get her home, but a jaw-cracking yawn hit her as soon as the keys were in the door.
She shed her coat as the warmth of the apartment hit her, dropping it on the couch. She wandered through the messy living room to the kitchen. There were clothes everywhere, scattered across the couch and piled on the floor. Empty food containers lined the coffee table and most of the counters in the kitchen, punctuated by empty bottles and water stains where other bottles had been. The dishes in the sink were stacked haphazardly, as though they were abandoned by a careless child.
She would wash the dishes later, she decided, as she slid a lean cuisine out of the freezer and into the microwave.
No other part of the mess belonged to her. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t clean up after him anymore, but she needed the dishes to eat off of, so she would wash them.
Sitting at the sticky dining room table, she picked through the edible parts of the microwaveable meal and drank a glass of water. She left the carton from the food on the table. He wouldn’t notice it anyway.
Shifting back into the living room, she dragged her heavy backpack with her onto the couch and pulled the biochem book onto her lap. It sat there like a stone for several moments before she opened it, trying to force her tired eyes to concentrate on the chemical makeup of the digestive tract, but it was no good. The colors wavered before her eyes, the words blurring and becoming incomprehensible.
Maybe, she thought, as she closed the book and put it back into her bag, if she just closed her eyes for fifteen or twenty minutes, she would be able to concentrate. Maybe, she thought as she yawned and lay back against the pillows of the smelly old couch. Her eyes focused on the clock on the VCR. It was 6:40. If she just slept till 7, she’d still be able to get everything done just fine.
She woke up the sound of breaking glass. Jumping up in the darkness, her bleary eyes could just make out a beer bottle smashed against the far wall of the living room, right next to the kitchen. The clock on the VCR told her it was 10:30, but she didn’t need that to figure out what time it was. The figure bellowing at her in the dark doorway was more than enough.
“You stupid cow!”
She didn’t even cringe at the words. She was used to them by now. Swinging her legs off of the couch, she sat up and glanced over at him.
“Hi, Dad,” she said.
“Why’s this place such a mess?” he growled. “Didn’t I tell you to clean it up?”
She could smell the beer on his breath even from the couch, or perhaps she imagined she could.
“I told you I wasn’t cleaning up after you anymore.”
Her words were quiet. He didn’t say anything for a few moments. Maybe, she thought, he hadn’t heard her.
“I pay the rent in this stinking hellhole. I am YOUR FATHER!!! I deserve RESPECT!!”
The words were slurred, started out belligerently quiet and ending in a roar.
“I pay my half of the rent, too,” she told him quietly.
“I said, CLEAN THIS DAMN PLACE UP.”
He moved surprisingly quickly to the couch, grabbing her arm in a grip hard enough to bruise.
“I won’t.”
She looked up into his red-rimmed eyes. The smell rolling off of him was nauseating.
“You lazy little SLUT!”
The slap was audible, openhanded and she felt the entire left side of her face sting. She hadn’t been expecting it yet. She wasn’t ready and the blow hurt more than it would have otherwise. Tears sprang to her eyes and she hoped he was too drunk to see them. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. Not anymore.
“CLEAN IT!”
The shove sent her spinning across the room and she crashed into the wall. The framed photos on the wall shivered and she sank down, coming to rest on the floor. It was easier to stay down, she knew. He mostly left her alone when she stayed down.
His footsteps thundered through the floor as he stalked away into the kitchen to get another beer. She got up quietly, moving quickly across the room to her bedroom. The flimsy lock on the bedroom door wouldn’t keep him out, she knew, but it was better than nothing.
He didn’t bother breaking the lock this time and she was grateful. She moved around the room, grabbing things from the dresser; some clean underwear, some tops and a couple of pairs of jeans went into a spare backpack, along with a few books and her spare waitressing uniform. She rooted through the sock drawer and it took her a minute to find the stash of cash she’d been secreting away for a few months now. It wasn’t much, but hopefully it was enough. She topped it off with a couple of sweaters and the thing barely zipped, but finally she got it closed. She sat by the door to her bedroom and listened, knees pressed against her chest, ear to the door. It felt like hours before she heard it, but it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes.
His snoring was raucous and loud enough to penetrate the wood of the door. She was lucky. He had passed out quickly tonight. Once she made her choice, she didn’t want to have to wait. She had been planning on leaving for weeks now. Ok, years, now that she admitted it to herself. And now that she was ready to go, she didn’t want to look back. She slid her biochem book off of the coffee table and back into her school bag. As quietly as she could, she put on her coat, wearing one backpack and carrying the other. She paused at the door and looked back at her father’s prone body sprawled across the couch, hoping that it was the last time she would have to look at his sorry ass.
She didn’t know where she was going as she closed that door behind her, but she knew that anywhere would be better than here.
Her feet clattered loudly on the stairs as she ran out of the building. For three floors the echo of her sneakers against the metal steps rang in her ears, but finally she was outside with her breath steaming in the air. It wasn’t very late yet, barely past eleven, but the sidewalk was empty. It had begun snowing sometime during the night and now there was a solid inch or two on the frozen ground, softening the sound of her footsteps again the street.
The buses weren’t running anymore and her feet took her down the block to the subway. She rushed down the subway steps. She knew he wouldn’t wake up, knew he couldn’t catch her, but she ran anyway, as if a fire was licking her heels.
She was digging for change in her bag, trying to scrape together enough so that she wouldn’t have to break a dollar when the noise reached her. It wasn’t much, but the shouting from the tunnel below froze her. Men were shouting down there and, while she couldn’t make out the words, she knew it wasn’t good.
It was the scream that got her moving again. It was a woman’s scream, high-pitched, drawn out and full of fear.
Swinging her bag onto her shoulders, she jumped the turnstile, skidding a little on the slick, slush-covered floor before tumbling down the stairs to the subway platform.
She would’ve known they were thugs even if they hadn’t been brutalizing that poor old woman. The three guys just had a certain look about them; crude and vulgar-looking from their stubbled faces and blood-shot eyes to their saggy jeans.
Two of them stood on the edge of the platform, holding the struggling old lady so that the top half of her body hovered in the empty air where the train would be in a minute. Something glittered in the cheap florescent light of the subway. Her breath caught in her chest as she saw that the third one held a knife.
“Just give us your wallet, lady,” he said. “And you won’t get hurt.”
They had their backs to her, unaware of their new audience. She didn’t get a chance to hear the old woman’s reaction. Blood pounded in her ears as she charged the one with the knife.
She didn’t know what she was doing, had never gotten in a fight before, but when she swung her spare backpack it connected with his face, knocking him backward so that he nearly fell off the platform.
“Leave me alone, you crazy Bitch!”
His voice echoed in the empty station. His words were slurred and his eyes were angry as he ran at her, stumbling slightly. Her knees began to shake as she realized just what she’d gotten herself into, but when she kicked out, her foot landed solidly, hitting the painful spot between his legs. And she scored a punch to the face as he went down, curled into a ball on the subway floor.
She hadn’t noticed the other two, but now that she looked up, she saw they had let the old woman go. They were several feet away now, backing slowly towards the stairs. She smiled at them, took one step in their direction and then another, wielding her spare backpack like a club. That was all it took before she heard their footsteps ringing on the stairs and out onto the street.
Rachel almost laughed, she could feel it warm in the back of her throat, but she pushed it back down as she remembered the old woman standing behind her.
“Are you ok?”
The woman didn’t answer, just stared back at Rachel. She wasn’t wearing a coat and Rachel was surprised that she wasn’t shivering in the damp subway air. All she had was an old sweater pulled over a flimsy house-dress. The stockings that covered her skinny old legs were wrinkled and the nursing shoes on her feet looked distinctly worse for wear. Rachel didn’t know why thugs like that would beat up an old woman for money, much less an old woman who didn’t have any money, but she shrugged it off. They were just a bunch of stupid druggies. They weren’t thinking at all.
But it didn’t look like they had done any serious damage.
The old woman had long white hair and piercing blue eyes in a wrinkled face. And she still hadn’t said anything.
“Did they hurt you?” Rachel asked. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
The old woman continued to stare, her gaze fierce and appraising. It was making Rachel a little uncomfortable. Maybe this old woman was crazy?
Rachel’s train pulled up before the woman could answer, if she was ever going to answer. She looked from the doors to the old lady standing in front of her and she made a choice. Briskly, she put her arm around the woman’s shoulders and steered her into the train car, putting her gently into the opposite seat.
“Can I take you anywhere?” she asked, looking into that intense blue gaze. Rachel stared back at the old woman, trying to figure out what to do. This had certainly not been her plan for the day. This morning when she woke up, she had a nice warm bed and an apartment to come home to. Now, she might as well consider herself homeless. Was the situation any different for the woman sitting in front of her? Surely she didn’t relish wandering around the cold streets late at night. And it didn’t seem like she had anyplace to go either. Pursing her lips, Rachel decided to bring the old woman with her, at least to the diner, which was going to be her first stop.
Rachel scrutinized the woman in front of her, wondering what her story was, when she noticed that the woman was shivering. Grudgingly, she pressed her lips tightly together and began rooting through one of her backpacks. She pulled a sweater out of her bag and handed it over.
The old woman shrugged it on and the shivering stopped. Rachel smiled. The old woman was so tiny it looked like she was drowning in the sweater, but at least she was warm.
There were a few stops to go and she divided her gaze between the unappealing black subway wall behind the dirty windows and the close-mouthed old woman sitting in front of her. She shifted herself at the stop before hers, arranging one backpack more comfortably on her shoulders and hugging the second one to her chest. She smiled at the old woman in what she hoped was an encouraging way. She glanced out the window once more before rising.
“Thank you.”
The words were whispered, but they were clearly audible. And when she looked again, the old woman was gone.
The doors slid open and she couldn’t get into the open air fast enough. She leaned against a light pole, catching her breath in the cold, damp street and trying to explain what had happened. Had she imagined the old lady? Had she imagined the thugs? Had she fallen asleep on the train and dreamed the entire thing? She didn’t know. Finally, she pushed the thing out of her mind and tried to think up a winning argument as she walked down the street towards the diner.
Most of the places in the area had closed down by this time of night. It was almost midnight, but the diner was still running a booming business. Mike kept the place open till one most nights, but if it was slow he’d close at midnight. The bright light was like a beacon in the dingy darkness of the surrounding street. And the bell rang as she shoved the door open and plopped down at the counter that ran most of the way through the restaurant.
“You looking to pick up extra hours?”
Mike grinned at her from the grill behind the bar as he handed off a cheeseburger and fries to one of the waitresses.
“Nope,” she said, trying to grin back, although she could barely find the energy to sit up straight. The adrenaline rush she’d felt in the subway was gone now and exhaustion had hit her like a brick. “I’m here as a paying customer. Can I get a plate of fries and some ranch?”
Mike looked at her warily. She never came in if she didn’t have to work and he knew it. She knew it too and tried for a cheerful smile as he set the plate in front of her. She didn’t meet his gaze, shoving the fries around the plate as he went back to work.
“Is Lisa here tonight?” she asked, looking at him for a moment.
“I knew there was a reason you were here,” he said, nodding at her as he flipped another burger. “She’s over there. Got tables 15 to 20 tonight.”
Wearily, she pushed herself off of the stool and made her feet walk over to the opposite side of the restaurant. Lisa had just taken somebody’s order and was sticking the pencil back in her long blonde pony tail as she headed back to the kitchen. But she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Rachel.
“It happened again, didn’t it?” she asked.
Rachel nodded.
“And you left him?”
More nodding.
“Oh, my God!”
The ear-shattering squeal that followed was accompanied by a bone-crushing hug, surprising in someone as petite as Lisa.
“Lees, let me go. I can’t breathe.”
From a safe distance, Rachel smiled at her friend, genuinely this time.
“I need a place to stay,” she said, watching in dismay as her friend behind to fidget, no longer meeting her eyes.
“Tonight?”
“Yes, tonight,” she answered. “Of course tonight. Where else am I going to stay?”
Lisa still wouldn’t quite meet Rachel’s eyes, but when she did look up, there were tears in them.
“I can’t tonight,” she said, swiping at her eyes. “Max has a fever. My mom won’t let anybody stay tonight.”
The clattering of plates and silverware filled the silence between them.
“You told me,” Rachel said, tears forming in her own eyes. “You said that any time I needed someplace to stay, I could come to you. You told me I should leave. You said, whenever I needed, your door was open.”
“Anytime,” Lisa said. “But not tonight.” She looked up again. “Tomorrow. You can stay for a while. I promise.”
She brushed a blonde strand back behind her ear and edged around her friend on her way to the kitchen.
Rachel stood there for a moment, trying to keep the tears in, before she forced her legs to move, to carry her back to the counter and pull herself back in front of the greasy plate of fries. And she pushed them around again as she contemplated her dilemma. Really, she didn’t have anyone else to go to. Nobody else knew about her dad or the way he treated her. And she didn’t want anybody else to know.
She was trying to remember where the nearest homeless shelter was, staring down at her fries, which were swiftly growing cold, when a hand crossed into her field of vision, picking up a fry. She looked up just in time to see Mike pop the fry into his mouth.
“I heard about your little problem,” he told her, chewing thoughtfully.
“Yeah?”
Her eyebrow quirked up. Mike had always been nice to her, but it had never been anything personal.
“Yeah,” he said, his bushy caterpillar eyebrows looked as though they were trying to touch each other. “And I think I might have a solution.”
“I am NOT staying at your place.” Her eyes flared a little in alarm. “I barely even know you.”
“You’re not staying at my place,” he said. “As though I would let you. But you can stay here.”
“Here?” she asked, looking around at the grungy diner. “Thanks for the offer, but booths don’t exactly make good mattresses.”
“I’ve got a cot set up in the back,” he told her. When both of her eyes brows rose into her dark hairline, he continued. “Sometimes the food vendors make really early deliveries and it’s easier to just spend the night here than to hike back from my apartment at three in the morning. The sheets are clean and everything.”
“Ok,” she nodded. “Thank you.”
She blushed a little, looking back down at her plate. Of all the sources that help could have come from, she hadn’t been expecting this one.
“I’m not just going to let you stay for free,” he said.
She cast a disgruntled look in his direction as he threw an apron at her.
“Dishwasher duty for the rest of the night,” he said, grinning.
Shoving her bags behind the counter, she rolled up her sleeves and prepared to plunge her arms in the soapy water. It was a small price to pay.
It was almost two in the morning before all of the dishes were washed and all of the tables had been wiped down. Mike waved at her through the glass of the door as he locked up and walked away. She had the place to herself, sitting on the cot in the back. It was eerily quiet, compared to what she was used to.
With a sigh, she remembered that she still had work to do. She pulled on an old t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts to sleep in and sat on the bed, focusing a tiny book light on her old enemy, the biochem book.
She must have fallen asleep. The battery from her book light had burned out and her book was sprawled across her chest. The air was murky-dark. Some light penetrated the windows of the glass-fronted diner, but even that was mottled by the still-falling snow. But it wasn’t light that had woken her. It was noise. And she heard it again.
Someone was banging on the door to the diner.
The floor was cold as she forced herself off of the cot and walked across the floor to the main dining area. The light danced across the tile floor, mesmerizing and shifting in the half-darkness, and, as she stepped in front of the bar, she didn’t want to look up. But she did.
He stood there, a black silhouette against the light. He seemed so much bigger than she had ever imagined him; taller, stronger, more threatening than she had ever known. She didn’t know how he had found her, but he stood there as though he had stepped out of her nightmares.
Looking at him, she could see none of the familiar man she had known. This was not the man who had pushed her on the swings as a little girl, who had taught her how to ride a bike or driven her to school on rainy days. This man was not her father anymore. For the first time, she looked at him and felt no connection to him at all.
In fact, all she felt was fear.
He hammered on the door again, shaking it as though he would shiver the glass to bits and her knees went weak with fear. She had to clutch at the counter to keep herself upright.
She had no keys to let him in, but that made no difference. He would, she knew, find a way in, and soon. And it would be different this time. This would not be a shove against a wall or a black eye. She shuddered at the idea of her blood splattered against the clean white tile floor, but knew she could not stop it. No amount of shouting or fighting back would stop him, she knew. This would not end well.
She cringed at the sound of breaking glass as his fist finally broke through the glass of the door and cowered downward, curling into a ball and trying to make herself as small of a target as possible. His hand was slick with blood and she felt it slide a little as he seized her by the hair and began to pull her back up. Another hand found its way to her throat and she felt it begin to squeeze.
“How dare you?” he whispered into her face and she tried to pull away from the smell of liquor on his breath, knowing full well it wouldn’t do any good. He didn’t let go of her hair, but, suddenly, he froze.
Her eyes were drawn to the street outside as the light seemed to grow brighter. And her eyes widened as she saw that the glow centered around the old woman she had met in the subway. She was still wearing Rachel’s sweater, which looked a little odd hanging loose and baggy on top of the cotton dress. The bright blue gaze was now centered, searingly, on the situation at hand. She spoke quietly, but Rachel heard every word.
“Let her go,” she said.
The pressure on Rachel’s throat disappeared and he disentangled his hand from her hair, stepping back. The look on his face was dazed, almost trancelike, but she didn’t care as long as she could breathe again. The old woman’s voice continued.
“She is not yours anymore,” she said firmly. “You will leave her alone. You will never seek her out again. You will let her live her own life.”
As though he had not intended to do anything else that night, he turned simply around and walked back out of the broken glass doorway. He didn’t look back and Rachel was grateful.
“Th-thank you,” she said, hands gingerly rubbing her neck. “How did you do that?”
“Just a little bit of magic,” the old woman said. Rachel could’ve sworn that she winked.
“Magic.” After all what had just happened, she was prepared to accept magic. After all, it had just saved her life. “But why?”
The old woman smiled, showing off surprisingly white teeth.
“Because one good turn certainly deserves another.”
“Oh.” Her head still felt groggy and the swirling snow outside was making it spin. “What do I do now?”
“Whatever you want, really. I, however, would recommend going back to sleep.”
That seemed like a good idea, as an enormous yawn escaped her mouth, nearly cracking her jaw.
She smiled at the old woman and padded slowly into the back room. She turned around for a moment, hoping to say something, although she could never quite figure out what that was and found the old woman gone. The door, however, was completely intact.
It was as if the recent events had never happened. But as she closed her eyes and slept peacefully for the first time in a long time.
