Meow

She called her, like she did when she went to feed her and couldn’t find her. Cat! Cat! Where are you? Please show up. It was getting dark; she was able to see thanks to the lights from the tall buildings on the other side of the river. The cars parked outside the parking lot, by where the lumber yard used to be were empty. This feels like a ghost lives here now, she said to no one. She had to calm herself. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit. After all she had come all the way to the cat colony braving the bitter cold of an early spring day. She walked inside the parking lot. Her feet felt gravel and some pieces of metal. Maybe the cat came here to die, she thought. She only saw big trucks and one or 2 school buses. There were a few pieces of garbage by the wire fences near the river. As she walked towards them, she fell. I am so sorry, my kitty, she said out loud. She got up and tears ran down her face. I will miss you. This is most probably goodbye. She walked slowly and took her purse and bag from the bench where she had left them. They bus stop was only 2 blocks away. She waited almost half an hour with the wind threatening her body. It was worth it, she thought again. Coming here to take one last look was good. I needed closure. I love that cat.

The Ghost Colony

Wire fences; gates tied up with locks. An old green wooden park bench. Behind it a couple of storage bins with straw inside. By the curb of the sidewalk there is another storage bin; this one has a food bowl, a water bowl and a water bottle. Across from all this, there is a broken sidewalk. Right next to it, someone put another food bowl and another water bowl in yet another bin. A parking lot is behind this storage bin; there are 2 more storage bins with straw inside.In the parking lot there is more food and water. The cats in the colony are gone; they have either been rescued or migrated. Only one cat remained. She was a 14 year old Calico. She had a twin sister; the sister went missing after a blizzard several years ago. Her body was never recovered. The old Calico meowed when she heard the feeder’s footsteps. She ran to greet the feeder. The feeder stayed with the Calico until she was near done eating. No one has seen the Calico since last Tuesday night. She came out from under a pickup truck when the feeder called her. Something was different about her cat sound. If was faint, not loud and good like other times. I am so glad to see you, little girl, the feeder said. I’ll go get your food. She turned around and walked to get her bag with the cans of wet food.When she came back to the place where she had seen the Calico, she couldn’t find her. She looked inside the parking lot, under the truck and in the bins. Nothing. The cat vanished. The feeder returned to the ghost colony every day hoping to see the Calico. She even looked under the broken sidewalk. No trace of her. What an end if she is no more, to a life spent on the streets with only feeders to care for her. No other family and no other home. The sad life of a stray cat in the huge city.

Patience

She wanted him to understand. Maybe she was not as intelligent as he was. Maybe in spite of what he had gone through, he was still a sharp guy, one who could outsmart almost anybody. As they stood outside the concert hall, she looked at the long line of young people. If only I could have been like them, she thought. I would probably not be here now. They are young. They are laughing; they are impatient to get in and have fun. Once she felt like they did. She had to remember something, think of something so she wouldn’t be in the present, not too much, at least. It wasn’t that she didn’t care for him. She did care for him, the man in her real life now. She cared; patience. She wanted, she wished, that he could have patience. His face got red and his eyes were a little bit too big. His eyes reminded her of Bette Davis’ eyes when she was angry or upset. Learn, she told him. She was grateful that he was back at his building safe and sound. She didn’t have to worry about him tonight. Learn what? He asked. She shook her head. Never mind, she told him touching him on the arm. I’ll see you tomorrow. She rushed to the corner and walked down the stairs to the subway.

Pain Part 2

The noise. It was a noise similar to the one they were used to on the avenue. This time it was more unbearable. She didn’t know how she would stand it. She knew she had to, for his sake and hers. He had insisted on going out. Now they were walking to the end of the block. His body went from here to there; watching him try to act normal scared her. He stopped and rested his head on the lamp post. His arms were stiff and his tongue was hanging out. Are you ok? Do you want to go back, she asked him. She saw the cars, so many cars, on the avenue as they waited for the lights to change. That part of town, the one going towards them bridge was one of the most congested. And on the streets she always saw so many people thinking about their own problems or looking at their cell phones. They would not help. She held on to this arm and in a few minutes he answered her. No. Let’s go. I know I was sick just now. It’s not important. She shook her head. He was saying that not to worry her. Pulling him by the sleeve of his jacket somehow they crossed to the other side. Maybe, but she strongly doubted it, they’d get help there.

Pain

The noise. The noise was unbearable. All the cars on the avenue, all the people walking by them bothered her. The man she was with stopped at the corner; one of his hands held on to a lamp post. His body stiffened; she saw his tongue sticking out of his mouth. Are you ok? Her voice sounded worried. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t move. Let’s go back to your place or call for help. What would she do in the middle of this great big ocean of people with him sick? Suddenly he opened his eyes. She pushed him all the way to the other side of the avenue. Maybe they would get help there.

The Mother Look

It is getting bad. I never thought it would be this bad. In my young days, I thought I would die by the age of 46 or 47. I wasn’t sick; I hardly ever had to go to the doctor. But I didn’t want to grow old—or even worse, look old. From 20 something up to my late 30s, people would say that I had a baby-type of face. Today, not so many years later, I have been mistaken for somebody’s mother. This somebody—a man—is over 40. I looked—to be more precise, I stared—at the person saying I was his mom. I don’t like that, I said to myself. I don’t like it at all. To her, I said: I am nowhere near his mother, thank you very much. I am too young to be his mother. The woman apologized, telling me that my face mask led her to believe I was much older. I didn’t believe her. She was just trying to be nice. After the man I had accompanied to his appointment and I left the building, I thought about the sadness, but not the lines on my face. The wrinkles are not too bad—not yet.  I didn’t think about it too much; I knew that some of the events of my past could make a person who never saw me before assume that I have lived a very long life. It’s done. The next time this happens—I believe it will sometime soon—I will just laugh and say something witty, if I can think of something witty.

Mother?

The woman sighed. She looked at the other woman with unkind eyes. Mother? Do I look that old? She finally said. The man she was accompanying to his errands was over 30, a decade or 2 over 30. How could she be his mother or be mistaken for his mother? But it happened all too frequently. She didn’t look that old—or if she did, she didn’t want to know about it. It would upset her too much. She remembered that when she was in her 20s and early 30s, people said she looked much younger; sometimes they told her that her skin was as soft as a baby’s. Baby face, they called her. Since then something in her life must have aged her too much—way too much. She didn’t want to think about that either. All right, the other woman apologized. I am sorry I made that mistake. The first woman grabbed the man by the arm and they went to the elevator.

The Appointment

He was on time for his appointment. He put a lot of effort into it, more effort than he had put into anything in a long time. He wanted it to end—he wanted the madness of wanting and needing what harmed him to be over. He knew it was no life for him. His days now were nowhere near what they had been 7 or 8 years ago. When he walked out of the elevator he went up to the young woman behind the desk and gave her his name. Have a seat, she said. The doctor will see you in a few minutes. He didn’t have to wait long. A young tall woman came up to him and said: come with me please. I am the doctor. He followed her to a small office. As he sat down, the doctor explained that she could not see him that afternoon. He wasn’t sober. He got up. If I come here, it’s because I need help with my drinking. Why would I need your medical services if I am sober? His laugh was not a happy laugh. The woman doctor shook her head. He went to the front desk, with the doctor behind him. Two women came out of nowhere, one had a little too much weight on her and the other was young and on the small side. He told them that he drank because he was in pain. The beefy woman nodded. I understand, she said at the same time that she looked at the elevator. Someone, the person he had come with, pushed the button and they went downstairs. Another attempt to get sober goes nowhere, he said when they got to the street. It will happen next time, the other person said. Let’s get a taxi and go back to your place. He smiled; they waited by the corner of the avenue for an empty cab.

The Call

It woke her up. She looked at her clock.2 A.M. Hello, who is this? She asked just to ask; she knew who it was. Why weren’t you here last night? His voice didn’t sound good. It was the voice of someone having to call 911. Don’t you remember? Her own voice was calm, though she was worried about him. I went to your place and we were talking outside for almost 2 hours. I don’t remember. Honestly, I don’t remember. She knew no more words with which to urge him to take care of himself. All the words, the normal words, had been said a long time ago. They had been spent and she was done with them. Bring me what I need he told her. What? She had a good idea what he meant, what his illness wanted. Maybe she could play dumb and say no.You know what. His voice was now loud. Yes, of course, she said. I’ll do that. All right then. Not a problem. I’ll see you later. See you later. She pressed the red button on her cellphone. She had no intention of giving him something that would allow him to get more of that horrible foamy yellow liquid. No money to buy it. No more.

Like Crap—Escape Part 2

It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel right at all, she thought. This is like crap. The feeling is there. It is unmistakably uncomfortable. I don’t like it. She shook her head and looked up at the ceiling. The crack was getting bigger. And the walls, the walls needed painting. The stains were dark and they made the room look dingy. People, when they walked by the apt., could look inside. Her neighborhood wasn’t good to begin with; she had never been safe there. Too many shady men lived near her. The money to change didn’t exist and she had no idea when it ever would exist. But it wasn’t just her surroundings that bothered her. It was something else, something she couldn’t quite name. The sense of relief when she wasn’t inside her place was great. She didn’t want to go back, but she had to. She always had to open the door again. Too many responsibilities—she had too many responsibilities tied to her life. She had to have something different, somehow, some way.