it was JUST a story

Bi

Maria

Bio

Maria

I

i

MONDAY 5:20 PM

“This place stinks.” Brenda, wrinkling her nose as she flipped her hair for the 14th time in the last hour, said, while pinching the fabric of her wet shirt and pulling it away from her skin, “Why, again, do you put yourself through this?’

Good Lord…there is absolutely No chance now that I’ll get anything done. With an audible sigh I dropped my brush on the table next to the paints and arched my back. I could feel the satisfying ‘pops’ as each vertebrae let loose in succession. I reached again for the brush but somehow my hand side-stepped to the sweaty water glass instead. After taking a greedy swallow, and wiping my paint smeared fingers across my lips, I finally deigned to raise my eyes, and with false sympathy that belied the exasperation I felt, I said, “I’m so sorry. I don’t have air conditioning but, if you need to, you can open the door.” I gestured past the open windows of my sweltering flat to the paint-chipped door.

“Nah, I’m cooked.” Taking the band from her wrist, Brenda flipped her head one last time, securing her sweaty locks into a top knot. “You can deduct my time from next week’s session.”

Peeved beyond belief, and not trusting myself to look at her because she would surely see it in my eyes, I said quietly, “That’s fine.” even though I was ready to scream.

“What the fuck am I going to do now?” Cringing as the door slammed hard behind her. I glanced back at the painting, half in progress, knowing it will not be completed for my deadline, Again. I really needed that money. “Damn it!!”

I looked around my studio flat. The only home I’ve had to call my own since leaving the last flea-infested trap they call Foster Care. Not once, since the age of six, and re-homed for the 7th time, did I manage to live with someone who wanted me. Well…that’s fine. I’m done with that now.

I grabbed the paintbrush and plopped it upside-down into the jelly jar of turpentine and reached again for my Rum and Coke; almost dropping it in my haste as my sweaty fingers slipped on the wet surface. Carrying it over to the window where a tepid breeze wafted in, billowing the torn lace curtains, and sat down on the wide window ledge.

The busy street below, a constant reminder that we’re never alone, belied my feeling of loneliness. I didn’t have to turn around to know that my one room haven was in fact a dump. But, damn it, it was mine, I just needed to figure out how to keep it…I unconsciously reached for my mother’s Jade pendant nestled against my collarbone and leaned my head against the sill.

As I sat there watching the shadows lengthen across the ground below, the swirling fire-orange glow striking off the window panes, I let my hand travel along the chipped wood to my tattered Mole Skin journal in the corner. Caressing the smooth leather, I traced my finger over the embossed initials, MEG. The last gift I had from of my beloved dad. I set my glass down, slid the chewed down pencil out of its sleeve, and for the next hour, the only noise I heard was the scratching of the lead along the pages as I devised my plan.

TUESDAY 11:30 AM

Thursday couldn’t come soon enough, I thought, waiting in line at the pawn shop, balancing the box on my hip. Spaghetti arms straining, after traversing four city blocks with my meager haul, I was rehearing the lie in my head, trying to look as nonchalant as I could.

Finally up at the window, I lowered the heavy box down below the counter and looked up at the pock-faced middle-aged man leering at me through the glass. Greasy long hair, greasy skin and nasty watery mean eyes, eyes that seen the worst of the worst. I could feel my resolve slipping and almost turned around.

“WELL??” He slurred as he sucked at a gray tooth and stuck a meaty finger in his left ear.

“I, Ahh, brought some stuff.” Smooth, real smooth…

“Yeah, OK, let’s see it then.” Pock-faced impatiently said.

I reached down and heaved up the one sure thing. “It’s a Vita mix blender.” With regret, I slid it on through the partition. The only nice gift I had left from Robbie. “I need at least $200 for it. I only had it four months. It’s practically new,” I added this hopefully, like it would really make a difference.

“Yeah will I can only give you a hundred. I’ll only get $200 on a re-sell.” He said this as it was a non-negotiable, already reading my desperation, and taking it form the counter to deposit it on the bench behind him, exposing his hairy butt crack in the process.

I winced, I did not need to see that, feeling deflated, I sighed and then looked down into the box. Ok…here we go.

I gingerly picked out the tissue wrapped package and carefully placed it on the counter. With my hand still atop it I took a deep breath and gave him my best spiel.

“What I’m about to show you belonged to world-renowned singer. She was from a royal Hungarian bloodline and was famous throughout Europe. Her name was Countess Kish Lillian-Maria Mate. This dress was worn in her last ever performance at the Historic Hungarian Opera House in 1956 before escaping the communist regime and liberating to America. It was her last performance ever…She died the following year in childbirth, never to sing again, and never to see her daughter, my mother, grow.”

I carefully unwrapped the tissue from the heavily beaded red brocade ball gown, the light caught the gems sewn into the fabric and cast their iridescent prisms of light and pinged it off every available surface.

Glorious as it was, it failed to have the required affect on pock-face. Scratching his left ass check, he said, “I’ll give you $20 bucks,” and then he noisily sucked again on the gray tooth.

“But it’s priceless!” I waved my hands and grasped the dress to hold it in front of the glass. “Even without the story; I mean, the history of the piece, it’s surely worth more than $20!” I said convincingly but already I could feel the despair in the pit of my stomach. How will I make rent?? Even with what Georgia owes me (and she better pay up this time), I won’t have enough to make rent this month on just the $120 I’m adding with today. Also, how can I possibly even think of pawning my grandmother’s ball gown? Beside the necklace and Journal, it’s the only thing I have left of the family I’ve never known.

I then realized the $20 wouldn’t help or hurt and quickly pulled the dress back through the window and out of his nasty grasp, his left hand was now scratching behind his neck. Just what the Hell is wrong with is left side anyway???

“I, umm, that’s okay…I’ll just take the money for the blender.” Still holding on tight to the dress, I collected the cash and quickly exited. Standing stock still on the sidewalk, being bumped from the people in all directions, all in a rush to get where they needed to go, I felt my knees go weak. I just wanted to lie down on this filthy ground and give up. No air moves in this city of steal and mortar and I can’t seem to catch my breath as the endless stream of pedestrians bump into me, as if they don’t see me, moving with purpose among the noise of car horns and exhaust smoke.

Dejected, I could feel the tears forming. I quickly wiped my face, raised my chin and headed back while wryly shaking my head…did I actually believe my story would impress that troglodyte Neanderthal? I also felt that I betrayed my father a little by the retelling of his bedtime story.

Thinking of my dad’s last gift to me, the Mole skin notebook he gave to me on his deathbed, I felt ashamed. Whatever possessed me to consider using his stories, as if they were fact, for monetary gain? Desperation. Sheer, stupid desperation.

Finally home, I took the long trek up to my studio flat, easier without the blender, four flights up, collapsed on the futon in a sweaty heap and closed my eyes. About a minute later, I let out an ‘Oomph’ and opened them again. Boomer, standing on my chest, was looking directly into my eyes.

“Yeah, yeah Buddy, I’ll feed you” and scratched under his chin. His bright green eyes looked unconvinced as he swished his tail and leaped off me. He only looked back once as he glided on silent paws to his bowl. Boomer was a stray that found me. One day he just appeared on my open window ledge and took up residence, and he never left.

I chuckled as I slid the dress on to the makeshift coffee table I made out of some discarded milk cartons and went to do his bidding. Thank God I still had cat food left because my cupboards are bare, I thought, and sprinkled some dry kibble in his bowl, all the while he vocally threaded his way between my legs, almost tripping me up.

I also managed to unearth a box of Kraft in the back of my makeshift cupboard. No milk or butter but I did have dried creamer, we’re in business! ‘Necessity is the Mother of invention.’ Whoever came up that one must have lived in the school of Hard Knocks too; I smiled, and grabbed a pot and set off to work.

Later, I grabbed a spoon and took the pot of Mac-n-Cheese to the window. One leg out, the other leg in, the pot in the middle, and I dug in. My eyes strayed numbly as I ate and then lit upon the tattered moleskin. My dad was the Bestest storyteller around. I always told him that and he would joke, “The Bestest??” and I would squeal as he tickled me and then would yell, “YES!! YES!! Bestest EVER!!!”

Comforted by that memory, I reached over and picked up the scuffed notebook. He wrote down five stories in all and gave me it the Christmas before he passed away from cancer. The medical bills ate up whatever savings we had and the bank took our house. Since I had no living relatives, I was remanded to the state and put into the system. I think I cried myself to sleep for the first two years after and it’s probably why the first home gave me back. Oh how I miss my Dad!! I never knew my Mom, she was killed by a hit and run driver shortly after I was born, but dad said she loved me enough for a lifetime.

Stroking the soft leather, remembering again the recent fiasco at the pawn shop, I cringed, of the lie that was not really a lie; it was just one of my dad’s endless stories. Every night, before bed, he would tell me a new one or expound on an old one. Never boring, full of hope and adventure, But, I was SO little, I only remember how they made me feel. Special.

I opened the dried pages that were brittle from my young tears and scrolled through the childish drawings and poems. Some held hopeful dreams or wishes, until later, when I realized I used up half of my precious book left, and then only important renderings were written down. I flipped to the front. There, in neat handwriting, were dad’s stories, drafted with elegance in black fountain ink. With my eyes directing my fingers, I caressed the script and closed my eyes, trying to conjure up the scent of the pipe tobacco he always used. Felling the wetness on my cheeks, I realized I couldn’t recall or detect any…He is gone.

Soft silky fur twined around my calf and I reached down to pet Boomer. “Thank you Buddy.” I glanced over at my grandmother’s dress. My Mom’s mom; never knew her either. She did die giving birth, that wasn’t a lie. But dad’s stories were just that; Stories.

I got up and walked back over to the ‘coffee table’. I bent down and pulled the tissue paper aside to stare at the luscious confection of deep red silk and sparkling stones. I tried to imagine what she looked like in this dress. Did she look like me? I’ve never been able to find a picture of her but dad told me that mom said she looked like her, and based on the couple of pictures I have, I look like mom.

I carefully raised the dress to the light, admiring again the care and craftsmanship it took to create this stunning gown. I carried it over to the window so that the sunlight could cast its rays upon the stones.

“Oh NO!” One stone from a cluster of smaller stones was missing! Maybe it happened when I snatched it away from the window…I wonder if it’s still there. Right then I decided I MUST call and find out and then I gently laid the dress down on the futon as I rushed out the door.

Mrs. MaGillicutty, down the hall, is always home. I knocked urgently at her door, prancing from foot to foot, until she slowly began unlatching each bolt on her door.

Peering out, at first suspicious, her steely resolve immediately gave way to a toothy grin. Mrs. M has the largest dentures I’ve EVER seen on a woman. Sixty plus years of age, and widowed, she welcomes all divergence and ushered me quickly inside. I could smell the cabbage and potatoes cooking and my stomach rebelled, forgetting completely that I fed it.

“Sit, Sit!” Gesturing to the table, she grabbed another bowl from the cabinet and ladled in some stew.

“No, really Mrs.M, I just need to use your phone please. I ate already” Apparently she didn’t hear me and soon the soup spoon was making its way to my mouth and I could hear ‘Mmmm, Mmmm’ and realized, without provocation, it was ME. Damn this was good!

We sat eating in communal murmurings until satisfied and sitting back I thanked her and asked after her health and family. We conversed for a bit and afterwards she handed me the phone.

I dug out the pawn shop’s card from my back pocket and called. It rang about twenty times before I hung up. Confused, I looked at the card again. Huh! They were supposed to be open until six pm. I tried again with the same outcome and finally gave up. Thanking Mrs. MaGillicutty again, I walked back to my depressing flat. Going on two-thirty, it was too late to make a trip to the shop; I had an appointment to give a lesson at three. As a matter of fact, I could hear him and his mother coming up the steps now. Early again…sigh.

THURSDAY 3PM

“How can you not have it?? I need it for rent on Friday Georgia. You promised!” Oh Lord, what am I going to do? “I did that painting for your parents three weeks ago. You said they loved it, and it looked exactly like their Shih Tzu. You said they cried when you gave it to them…” I leaned against her door in defeat. I could feel the flop sweat beginning and I started to hyperventilate.

“I know! I’m really sorry Meg! I didn’t know money was going to be so tight this month…for both of us. I’m really, really, sorry.” Georgia did look crestfallen and seeing this undid me. I know what it feels like paying Peter to pay Paul.

“That’s okay. I’ll figure something out…” I said as convincingly as I could, for her as much as for myself. Maybe I could pay in installments? Oh…Who was I kidding??

“Hey, did you see the News?? Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a diamond too!” Georgia said hopefully.

I looked at her blankly. I don’t own a TV, computer or I phone. If I did I would have probably pawned them by now. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t hear? It’s been all over the news and the morning shows have been running the segment all morning.” Georgia started pacing in her excitement and I followed her into the kitchen. Her son Anthony was teething a biscuit in his highchair, totally unrecognizable with the brown gunk all over his face. How can she possibly get all of it off him? It’s even in his eyelashes.

I came out of my mesmerized daze to hear Georgia still yammering on. It was something about ‘rare lost jewels’, ‘royal family’ and ‘persecuted and fled’.

“I’m sorry…Can you repeat it again, from the beginning?” My heart started beating fast, feeling light-headed; I pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down.

“…and that’s when he realized it wasn’t just a glass bead from the dress. It was actually a ten karat diamond!!” Georgia finished dramatically and collapsed in the chair next to me. After a couple beats of silence she continued. “Now they are trying to locate the young woman who owns that dress. Can you imagine?? Being so poor that you would pawn your own blender and not even realize you were carting around a fortune in diamonds???”

I sprang up. “I think I’m going to be sick!” and took off running to the open door of her bathroom.

Later, I felt a cool washcloth being draped across my neck. “There, there…I had morning sickness too with Anthony. It’ll fade honey.” Georgia, still crooning, patted at my back comfortingly.

Peeling my head off the cool seat, I glanced up at Georgia, “I’m not pregnant. You would actually have to have sex to get pregnant and there is simply no chance of that happening.” Thank God, I thought, as I looked through the door at Anthony. He was now trying to shove what remained of his biscuit up his nose. “I gotta go!” I quickly splashed water on my face and hugged Georgia and the said, “Don’t worry about paying me. I’ll be fine and I think you may need it more than me,” indicating Anthony with my chin.

“Thank you So Much Meg!! I’ll figure out some way to repay you!”

“Really…no need. As a matter of fact, I think it will be you I’ll be helping in the future. I’ll keep in touch!” Giving Georgia one last grateful hug, I slowly, and with new found hope, walked back down the steps and out of her apartment building.

The End