| 3 I wake up with another surge of anxiety. I must have had the same dream. I�m taken back to the day of Sol�s death, only minutes before I found his body on the balcony. I had been at the grocery store, buying a large roast for our dinner that evening. As I stood outside of our front door, fumbling with the keys, I heard a gunshot. My hands started to shake violently as I realized that the shot came from my apartment. I rattled the doorknob and opened the door quickly. �Sol!� I cried into the dim apartment. There was silence. �Sol, where are you?� I knew he was in the apartment, because his shoes were at the door. Sol was a strange soul. He only had one pair of shoes. Not because he couldn�t afford them, but because he didn�t find more than one pair practical. �It�s just permitting more child labour, honey,� Sol explained to me once. �I don�t want to condone that kind of activity, especially if I�m only going to wear the second pair to the corner store.� I threw my purse on to the floor, and took a few more paces into the front hall. I called for Sol again, but there was no answer. I knew that something was wrong. My heart started to beat frantically in my chest, and fear seized my soul. I didn�t even know, or care, if there were any intruders in the apartment. I just wanted to find my beloved Sol and make sure that he was all right. I ran from room to room, and found no trace of Sol. I tried to call out to Sol again, but his name caught in my throat. The balcony door was open, and several leaves had blown into the apartment. They scattered across the floor in a seemingly random pattern, but as I stepped closer to the balcony door, the leaves withered and seemed to move further away. In my dreams, I sometimes hear the leaves crying. Before I even reached the balcony, I began to cry. I knew what was awaiting me out there in the sun and wind. Sol�s body was laying on the cold cement ground. Sol�s blood red robe flowed in the breeze beside his naked body, free of specs of blood. His face was tilted upwards, and he stared into my eyes. Sol�s eyes had changed. They weren�t full of hope and love like they had always been. Instead, they were empty and dark. He looked like a doll, with eyes of glass and skin of porcelain. I could feel his warmth escaping with my touch. bullet hole in his chest. The sound of rustling leaves continue to pour out of the dream as I wake up. I feel like I am going to spontaneously combust. My ears sting, and my throat is dry. I must have been screaming again. Mrs. Sylvia Walker slipped a note under my door yesterday, telling me to stop my horrid screeching late at night. She must think I�m trying out for Cats. That blind old bat doesn�t even know that Sol is gone. She has called several times, asking if he could fix her sink, or change the lightbulb in her hall. I don�t have the heart to tell her that he was buried last month. �He�s gone out again, Sylvia,� I have to say, �he won�t be back for several weeks.� My stomach tosses and turns, and I barely make it to the toilet in time. Instead of ripping the days off of Sol�s calendar, my vomiting was my new morning ritual. Alone, with my head bent over the glassy toilet bowl, I came to hate waking up. Oftentimes, I considered overdosing on sleeping pills to prevent me from waking. I take three more sleeping pills, even though I was told to only take two. Sol�s small black clock radio reads 6:59, and I wonder if it is am or pm. I can tell that it is dark outside, and there are no birds singing. But how many birds would be heard on the 7th floor of an apartment building in downtown New York? It sounds like a riddle. I fall asleep with a smile on my face, whispering, �How much wood could a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood?� I am lying in my bed, still trying to get back to sleep. The clock moves so slowly. A second seems like a century, and a whole minute feels like an eternity. My eyes feel heavy, yet they refuse to close. Suddenly, there is a knock on the apartment door. �Sol!� I cry, and I sit up in bed. �You�re back!� I stumble in my sleepy state, and wrap a bathrobe around my body. I step into Sol�s slippers. I turn on the hall light, and stub my toe on the couch. I swear under my breath. The stiff soles on the slippers smack against tile. My eyes open halfway. The knocking has stopped, and a door slams. There is something out here, I can feel it. The air in the apartment feels slightly less fragile, like it has been disturbed by a seething force. I am a blind dog who has its belly exposed, only to be ripped to shreds by street rats. �Who�s there?� I call into the still room. �Sol? Is that you, honey?� I hear someone snicker. �Oh God, I didn�t know you were this pathetic,� a familiar voice says to my left. I turn haphazardly, knocking over a statue on a white pedestal. The voice is a towering army of mice squeaks. �Look at you. How truly pitiful.� Only one person could be so cruel. �How did you get in here, Blythe?� I shout, and my eyes try to open wider. �The door was open. You could be the victim of a rape, my friend. Or worse, a robbery. Look at all of these...� she pauses as she searches for a word, �nice?... paintings.� What a friend. Only she would think that being raped was far less of a crime than having several objects being stolen. Her perfectly formed face is starting to distort. Her pink lips gradually turn downward, and her pencil thin eyebrows turn inward. I find a chair, and slump into its cushions. There is a long awkward silence in the room. Blythe sighs. �He left me,� she states finally. Like a dumb fool, I reply, �Who?� �Who do you think?! Brett. He left me for Chelsie. That little bitch from his health club. Do you believe that? He�s been having an affair for over two fucking years, Lucia! How could I not tell?!� she was crying now. Her voice exudes a sheepish whine. �Oh, really?� I reply. I don�t bother to try to sound sympathetic. I knew all along that he would leave her. I actually was looking forward to it. �Did you know anything about it, Lucia? Do you know where she lives? If you know, I�ll make her pay,� Blythe is shaking me. Her big hands are wrapped around my wrists. I can hear her grinding her teeth. �No, I don�t know,� I say finally. I could have told her the truth. I could have shattered her perfect life. I could have jumped for hours on her delicate little ego. �Can I stay over here for a few nights?� Blythe begs, and lets go of my wrists. �Please?� I rest my head on the arm of the chair. I wish she could just stop talking. Her fake plea doesn�t belong in my home. It belongs on the street. �Sir, can you spare some change?� I can hear her beg. �Sure, Blythe. You can stay for a few days,� I hear myself saying. �Oh, Lucia. You�re such a good friend,� Blythe gushes, and hugs me tightly. I do not fight her. I don�t know why, but I felt slightly calmed by the fact that Blythe has started to realize that she isn�t above loss. Page 4 More Stories Lair Homepage |