Flicker

“I believe in miracles. I believe in miracles because I met him; out of millions of people, we met. He took my hand and there were blasts, explosions.

“I remember the blast of the gun as he screamed I would never leave him. The explosions as he pounded my head until the world went black. I recall the bitter taste of copper blood as it filled my mouth.

“I believe in miracles. Not all miracles are a good thing.”

I paused to take a breath, looking around at the frightened and hopeful eyes that surrounded me. I’d been attending the Women’s Domestic Violence Support Group for a few months now, but this was the first time I was really telling my story. I had sat in unease through all the meetings up until this moment, listening and nodding mechanically, with all the predictability of a clock. Had it not been for Sara’s, the leader of the group meetings, encouragement, I would likely have never endeavored to share my story; I would have been content to wait for someone to come and give me the answers to my deepest questions for the rest of my life. There was a reason she had earned the nickname The Doctor among the group.

I licked my lips and swallowed. My throat had gone dry somewhere between my first breath and first word. I gave a humorless laugh as the women began to shift around me in the silence that pervaded the room.

“Go on, Aislynn. You’re doing wonderfully,” Sara encouraged. Her brown eyes, usually wide as a doe’s, were soft as they looked at me, reassuring. Her full cheeks were graced with a tender smile, so soft her dimples were nearly imperceptible. I gave a shaky nod, my hands gripping one another tightly.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m just having some difficulty figuring out where to start.” Sara smiled with understanding. She was a necessity of these group meetings.

I nodded once more. Best to take your medicine quickly, the better to not regret the taste. “Alright. I suppose I should start at the beginning. Before it all started. At all the things that led up to the big disaster.”

I stood on the corner of Sedgwick and West 197. The rain that was pouring from the sky was doing its damnedest to extinguish the flame of my match. With a shout of triumph, I managed to light my cigarette and took a well-deserved drag.

“Wow, did I need this. I’ve been working twenty hours straight. I imagine you’ve been staying busy yourself, huh, Drew?” I asked the man to my left as I lazily blew out. He was a good guy down on his luck. He was out of a job and, with it, his wife. He had owned a mansion on twenty acres with yachts and jets of his own. Now, thanks to a string of bad luck in the stock markets and his wife banging his lawyer, he lived in Motel 8 and scavenged the streets for any job he could find. Despite his tainted luck, he still carried himself with an air of pride, his backbone straight and his head held high. Green eyes peered out with an urgent awareness from beneath stern brows. He would have been austere, were it not for the constant playful quirk of his lips.

I blew out again, trying to mask the scent of unwashed pit that hung over this section of the city like a cloud. Ironically, I had first started smoking to survive. The scent of piss, beer, and body odor drifted in such a thick fog over this section of the city, where drugs and sex are the presiding currency, that I have this fancy one can’t breathe too much of it without eventually asphyxiating.

“It would vastly improve if you would give me a puff of that cigarette.”

I dug around in my purse and fished out a cigarette and a match for him, trying to contain my amusement. He always talked like that. I think it was to remind himself and others he had once been something, though I can’t imagine that it did him any favors out here on the streets. I liked him because of that lack of fear and consistent forbearance. He was like a fire that, when tampered, would suddenly spring to life with a ferocity beyond anything it had shown before.

I saw the spark from the match once, twice, three times. Then the light, the puff of smoke, and the content sigh that always seems to follow.

“Improved?”

“Significantly.

We sat in silence in the pouring rain, content to share in each other’s company. The wind picked up, tossing chilled drops of rain into my face. I hunkered further down into the safe confines of my second-hand hoody before glancing at Drewick. He was shivering in the wet cold of the night, the threadbare sweater he wore doing nothing to protect him from the driving force of the elements. Moving in front of him, I took the force of the rain on my back.

“We’re supposed to be having an eclipse in a few days.”

He smiled gratefully at me, the significance of what I’d done not escaping his notice.

“A visible one?”

“Yeah. My boss, Jensen, is in a rave. Business is booming. People are flooding in from all over in anticipation of the event.”

“An eclipse. What a thing to see,” Drew mused as he gazed at the sky, momentarily forgoing another drag on his cigarette.

“Technically, it is what we don’t see during an eclipse that makes the event so remarkable.”

“That’s true enough,” a pause, then, “You know, a year ago I would have taken my yacht out on the ocean, found a nice viewing spot, and enjoyed the whole day screwing my wife while drinking a ridiculously expensive bottle of champagne. Likely Pol Roger.”

“There’s nothing wrong with not having all of that. You still have all that you need- your life, your health, your wit. You’ll find your own happiness. You’ll build yourself back up eventually; until that moment a yacht doesn’t matter, and you’re better off without a wife who was only your wife so long as you paid her. If that’s your style, I could recommend a few street corners. They come with less drama.”

I heard the loud rumble of an overworked motor and knew my bus was coming. Bruce was driving, then. He always went a bit fast. The lights of the speeding bus were cast across Drewick’s face, revealing the smile that was there before it faded away.

“Just remember- when you marry, get a prenup.”

With those parting words of romance, the bus came to a reverberating, screeching halt. I took a final puff before tossing my cig; the rain quickly extinguished the last of the clinging embers. I waved goodbye to Drewick before boarding the bus.

I announced my arrival to my empty one-room apartment with a slam of the door. I threw the switch; the living room light came on with a flicker. Basil walls recently scrubbed reflected the light like leaves in spring. A painting of a curling fern leaf hung in between draping wall lights, and plants dotted the whole apartment, suffusing the air with the calming smells of summer. Everything was tidy and bright, just the way I liked it to be. Stomping over to my couch, I sank into the dotted orange cotton. It wrapped around me like a marshmallow. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief as it settled in that I was finally home.

Tidy, and bright, and quiet…

The couch shifted as a familiar weight settled beside me.

“Seer, hey!” I yawned as I gave my cat an affectionate pat, scratching my nails down her rough, black fur. She signaled her pleasure at my arrival with a resounding purr, arching her back into my hand.

“Let’s get you a treat,” I said. Getting up, I plodded into the kitchen. No matter what mood I’m in, being in the comfort of my somewhat-dilapidated apartment and being around Seer, a twelve year old relic from my teenage years, always put me right. Tonight especially, I needed to be perked up.

I hadn’t let Drew see it, the gloom that had taken over me. After all, what right had I to complain? Considering the ordeal he’d been through- his sudden plummet to the lowest caste of society, and the crushing absence of the one who had sworn to share his burdens- my band-aid complaints, such as they were, seemed inconsequential.

I had acted as though the things which he so desired, his lost wealth and his ex wife, were not determinate of his happiness in life. But the truth is, I understood his longing. It is the human condition to want more; the more one has, the more secure they are (so long as they come prepared to marriages with prenups). Even beyond that, though, I most understood the empty longing that stems from the absence of a partner in life. I wanted the security and comfort being settled promised.

Most of all, being married meant never having to come home to an empty apartment.

I gave Seer her treat and pulled my mattress out of the wall. I curled up on it, one of my pillows clutched tightly to my chest. I closed my eyes and imagined it was a flesh and blood person. I could almost believe it.

At least I had Seer. When she was done eating she would curl up beside me, as was her habit.

Good, dependable Seer.