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	The following story is an entry in Network Twenty's March 2008 Fiction Contest. Author's name will be posted after a winner has been chosen. 64th Ave 2005 Margie stands at the kitchen sink, rinsing out a cobalt blue mug that matches the sky and watching the sun graze over the trees, illuminating the dew in the train tracks. The same tracks the Rooper boys ride over each morning to deliver papers, being careful not to skid over the lush summer grass. Margie looks down at the brown rings in the mug. Rich rings, similar to the root of an oak telling you how many hundreds of years it has lived. She looks out the window and waves to Bill, the neighborhood's seventy-year-old mailman. This was the only job Bill could find after the war and was so proud; she could not help but smile at him each morning no matter what the night before brought to her. She watched her golden tan hands turn bright red under the scalding water, the hangnails rinsed white of blood. She looked at the clock. Seven thirty. She would have to wake them soon. Rick would be nasty to her, for she knows her had only just gotten to bed a few hours ago. He sleeps in his darkened room, head encased in his hood, the crotch of his jeans worn. Better worn than taken off at a girl's house, Margie often thought. Just over the last year the trouble that boy got into was enough to make her rip out her golden hair. Sal was sweeter. He was patient and lovable. He always let "nigger" roll right off him. He had nothing to prove. Margie could not decide whom she worried more for. Sal was darker, sweeter, richer, sugar in his heart and giggly, a little naïve. Rick was quick to yell, to push, to cuss. He was smart always, even in the outskirts of town and it was always harder for him to be happy. Ed is still asleep. He would be till 8:15. She pulls her blue rayon robe closed and ties it with the neon pink sash. She steps outside, her breasts erect in the cool morning air. She picks up the paper and looks down the block. Several neighbors walking their dogs, stopping to gossip on lawns, 64th Avenue is not the place to be alone. Someone is always joining you. What was such a comfort to her twenty-two years ago no longer helped her feel better about where or who she was? She steps back in and puts the newspaper at Ed's place at the table. She goes to the cabinet and finds the instant coffee can, dented. She turns it over to inspect the damage, then opens it and scoops a heaping tablespoon into the mug. She sits at the table, stirring the murky beverage and stares at Ed's chair. She remembers when he bought this kitchen set, orange cushions on curvy brass legs, brand new at Harlem furniture. She thought of the kitchen set she grew up with, dark rich wood with curly cues painted in gold. It only came with four chairs so when Margie outgrew her high chair, her father brought up a folding chair from the basement. It was black aluminum and creaked. She sat in that chair her entire adolescence. Only when she married Ed, did she sit in a brand new chair. She thought of how most of what was in this house was only what she wanted those twenty-two years ago and right now made her want to drown herself. It's strange for one to think of how the one day you choose to tell someone something is the absolute last day things will never be the same. She thinks of how overwhelming Ed has been to her existence and how this was all she ever wanted and never considered the idea of wanting something else, something that made more sense in the long run. 1983 She met Ed at the candy factory she worked at. She started when she was sixteen and quickly was moved up to the office after some trouble had been provoked while she was working in the warehouse. She had a difficult time focusing on the mundane, the work that was going to give her an easier life. She often drifted from room to room, watering what didn't need watering and fluffing what didn't need fluffing. The first time she saw Ed he was signing checks in his office with the door slightly cracked open. It was usually shut, making every department secretary inquire, especially since his pending divorce, what exactly he was up to. He was easily the most attractive member of the company, olive skin, and fair blond hair slightly thinning at the forehead, green eyes. Although he had not played sports since college, he was very lean and very warm during one on one conversation. Margie knew the first time she saw him that she could help him. He was so good, so so good. She didn't know of his age or his past, but this meant very little in the long run. The next day she wore her black denim skirt with the slit that went all the way up to her thigh and a teal sateen collared shirt with a full-length camel-colored coat. She kissed her Papa goodbye and ran down Grand Ave, passed all the cafés and neon signs, laughing when she was honked at. When arriving at work she unbuttoned her two tops buttons and brushed out her massive strawberry blond waves. She found an old memo and walked into Ed's office, unannounced and without knocking. Ed had just gotten off the phone with his sister Franny and was regrouping. Whenever anyone came into his office, even after knocking, it was as if, they hadn't knocked at all. All the men were categorized as "MEN" in his mind, there was no telling any apart. Though easier to discriminate, most of the women looked alike as well. There was an occasional "CURLY" or "CHUBBY", but for the most part, it was clear that everyone was working there day to day, waiting for some grave illness or any other acceptable excuse to work there no longer. However, when Margie stepped inside, she was immediately floating in the space of his mind where no category could be found to slip her into. How long had she been here? Surely he would remember if he had met her. He had not had this reaction since meeting Diane, his ex wife. Even this was different because of the refreshing aura surrounding Margie. So delicate, so clean. He immediately noticed her bare collarbone and understood that one would have to forget to button the top buttons or just ignore to all together, for they could not be undone by accident. Was this for him, or another in the company? Or was it a mistake? She could be in danger and all he can do is salivate like a hyena over a fallen bird covered in flies. He noticed her slit revealing her bare leg, which no matter what, could not be accidental. She hesitantly put the document onto his desk. He asked her to close the door. She did and smiling while turning back around, had a seat across from him. He asked her name. Where she lived? What her job was and what she wanted it to be. She was Margie DiFancolo, she lived over the tracks. She said she wanted to sing and perhaps dance, but not on Broadway. Never Broadway, her Papa would never go that far to see her. He asked her to get him some coffee and watching her leave, had a quick conference with his intuition. Would he ruin her, her everything? Was he doing this because of Diane? Probably. Could she help him, save him even? Yes. But what would Franny say? Bent on hands and knees Franny scrubbed her toilet with a wire brush. The hot steam clouded her glasses as she extended her arms so far up the inside she was afraid of being sucked down into the sewer. This was how you do it though. There were germs everywhere, plus who knows who lived here before? Sicy, her mother, would take a raw piece of chicken for each of her children and throw it on the floor after a Saturday they spent cleaning the ranch house. Whichever child's chicken had dirt on it, would go hungry that night. A house was not something to be taken advantage of. If they wanted to live like pigs, they could go live with the blacks, the spics, but not with her. Franny just got off the phone with Ed, her careless, nearly middle-aged brother. If Franny were to divorce her husband, she would go straight to Hell, but Ed divorcing Diane, was "for the best" according to their family. Diane was a beautiful Polish girl who had no family and refused to have children. Sicy thought she was a demon. Everyone agreed that Ed was better off without her, everyone but Franny. Diane was the only girl who ever befriended Franny outside of moral obligation or the force of a pushy Sicilian mother from the neighborhood. Diane grew up hard in a Polish neighborhood with men who drank all day and fought all night. Her elder sister was a whore who started on the streets when she was sixteen. Her brother was a drug dealer whose left eye had been taken out with a broken bottle. Diane made her way through high school, picking up English slang along the way. She began modeling for a Chernin's shoe catalogue and was soon picked up by other ad agencies for print work. Franny would never forget her laugh. The way she played with Ed's tie, the way she always smelled of cherry blossom perfume and aerosol hairspray. The way she plucked the thick black hair out of a beauty mark on her chin. The way she jumped up at barbeques to do the "Locomotion" while all the old women shook their heads and rolled their eyes. Diane taught Franny how to be a woman, how to put on mascara, what oral sex was. Franny had tried to do everything done and sacrificed her happiness for appearances. She always thought if she sharpened her pencils perfectly the day before school, she would make more friends. If she ironed her eyelet white blouses with more starch, the boys would not make fun of her. She stood up on the harsh tile and wiped the steam from the mirror. Her short black hair, usually in tight pin curls like Sicy's, dropped past her reddened ears. Her peach jersey tee shirt was splashed with hot water and her loose breast hung low. Her eyes had maroon veins around the pupils; she was exhausted. This was the second bathroom she has scrubbed today, the first belonging to her brother-in-law Dennis. For a reason she could not remember, she had been cleaning Dennis's apartment on Sunnyside St. twice a week for the last five years. She hadn't worked since quitting her job as a typist before marrying Sam. Not that she minded, Dennis was more like a son than anything else to her. He was so young in spirit and charming, completely oblivious to life outside the neighborhood. He dated a lot of waitress's from Arancini's, a lounge next to the racetrack. Diane worked there before meeting Ed. Dennis recognized her at a holiday party after Franny married Sam. Their circles were always crossing. All the waitresses at Arancini's had full lips, long hair and large pert breasts that bounced as they hopped around in their royal blue mini dresses and stiletto heels. Franny was talked into meeting Diane one night after work to go out. It was hard to stay up that long, she had been up since dawn that morning, but she was determined. When Sam inquired where she was going, she told him, out with Diane and her friends. He laughed and patted her on the head before leaving for an all night poker game. She sat at the kitchen table with her white wedge heeled shoes and a plastic babushka tied around her freshly set hair. She stared at the clock until ten minutes to eleven. Barely able to keep her eyes open, she walked the slick streets nine blocks to Arancini's. The kitchen was closed but the bar was roaring with music and laughter. Franny stepped on several feet making her way to the bathroom. Diane came in and locked the door. She pulled a large canvas bag out from under the marble cabinet covered with fresh carnations left over from the day's race. She pulled her smoky dress over her head. Franny could not believe she was seeing Diane in her underwear. Her sculpted tan thighs and full tight cleavage was the most beautiful she'd seen so close up. She lit a cigarette and took out her banana clip to shake out her curls. She untied Franny babushkas, her smooth red nails grazing her chin. A sharp heat ran down Franny's neck from Diane's touch. She drifted blindly, her heart burning her chest. Before she could open her eyes, Diane was dusting electric blue shadow onto the lids. She turned her around to look in the mirror. Her quiet beady brown eyes were twice their size and shiny. Diane stood behind her and applied maroon lipstick. "You're a doll Franny, you need to show those tit's more, ya know?" Franny was uncomfortable but could never disagree with Diane. She was a goddess, a resort from her mediocre life. Dianne unbuttoned her shirt. Franny panicked and pulled it closed. "Nah, here." Fishing through her duffel she pulled out a long sleeveless angora sweater and tossed it to her. Franny held it up over her baggy tee shirt. The mocha color really brought out her eyes. Diane applied her own lipstick and mascara. She squinted in the mirror and played with her bangs. Franny leaned against the stall watching her. Knowing from life that nothing is for sure, for certain, forever, but that she would always have Diane and Diane would have her. Ed leaned back in his desk chair while Margie approached, her hands shaky with the piping hot Styrofoam cups brimming with cheap coffee. He looked her up and down. She handed him a cup and stood at the edge of his desk. She said she had to get some files down in the storage room; she would have to use the ladder. He thought of the dank room with the rusted rickety ladder and a stray nail slicing through her milky white calf. It was no place for her. She took the utility keys off his desk and sauntered out swinging her hips. He counted thirty seconds, ignoring a flashing red light on his office phone, then swiftly got up and went down the hall, heading straight for the storage room. He was careful to make sure no one was following him, in front of him, to the sides of him. Even if there were people, all he would have seen was Margie. He turned the frosty aluminum knob and stepped into the storage room. Margie was across the room propping a ladder up against a tall shelf. He hurried over. "You'll fall, I'll hold this." "Oh, thanks." She kicked off her pumps and climbed up. Ed looked away; it was more than he could bear. He gripped the sides, the cold metal digging into his palms. What was he doing, she was clearly too young. She threw a file to the ground and climbed down slowly. Reaching the last rung, she turned to face him, propping up her behind on the narrow slat. She reached out and unbuttoned his top two buttons. She touched the side of his face, her smooth skin sending chills down the backs of his legs. She leaned forward and kissed him with her plump bud mouth, wedging her tongue in between his lips. She licked the upper part of his mouth then pulled back and kissed his neck. He kept his hands on her shoulders. He was petrified with excitement, gushing with lust; he attempted to push her back, telling her she did not know what she was doing. She said she knew quite well what she was doing and, not to worry, she was eighteen. She did know what she was doing. Even though she was sixteen, she knew she was making a choice, a very permanent choice. She was giving her essence, which no one could take. Anything tangible she could always be forced in some way to give, but this, was hers. And once he had it, he would not want anything else. She was doing one thing that no one would able know or feel except for him. She unbuttoned the rest of her shirt. She raised his hand to her breast, delicate skin, firm nipples, he allowed himself to be taken over. He kissed her earlobes and her chest. She moaned softly and he could not remember whether or not he had locked the door. He surely hadn't since he in no way thought he would be participating in this. She unfastened his pants and his hands clamped over hers. He could not do this. "I want this. Please." She moaned like a wounded animal, pleading for death. She shoved her hand down the front of his pants and he melted. He kissed her neck more aggressively. He moved her skirt up as far is it could go and was had to rip it to cup her bottom. She reached down and moved the crotch of her panties to the side. She was not timid, she was sure of what she would feel. "Do this." she said to him. He moved into her. She gasped and grabbing his back, pulled him closer. She wanted to be gouged and gutted all at once. She did not want to leave a window for pain the next time. She bit her lip as warm sudsy liquid streamed down her legs. He was nervous to look at her face. She pulled harder, she gave him hard kisses. Panting, he tried to silence himself. He would not last very long. She wanted all that came with him, all his matter in her, so she could keep it safe from the cruelty of the world in this place of work and their neighborhoods, something just for them. He could feel himself losing control, more than he ever did with Diane. He was always sure Diane was a better lover than he was. He was always self-conscience she had many lovers before him. He felt free and safe now with Margie because even if he fell over the edge, he would not fall very far. He finished inside her and she held her breath as the sharp painful pressure was ebbed into a dull aching burn between her legs. He kissed her lips, her cheeks and chest wet with his saliva. She shuts her eyes tightly, taking all of him. This was too hard, so fast, her legs ached and were sticky. Ed hugged her body, afraid she would evaporate, knowing he could not undo what he'd done. He asked if she was alright and she said yes and he said to wait there, he'd be right back. He dashed into the hallway, silent except for the buzzing of the fluorescent lamps overhead. His spinning head almost knocked him into a wall as he stumbled into his office. He grabbed his coat from his closet and turned off the lights. He swung around to the main reception desk where Rosalie, a portly pimply woman in her mid-thirties filed her nails while flipping through a celebrity magazine. He said he had a very important meeting in Downers Grove, an emergency with some of the candy wrappers and had to leave immediately. He was bringing that DiFanco girl, what is her name? "Margie sir. But—" "Ah yes, that's right, so please, just hold my calls and I will see you in the morning." Before she could object he was gone again down the hallway where he almost crashed into Ted, the marketing director, who he has know since junior high. He immediately received an update from yesterday game and banter on why he wasn't there, is he turning into a recluse and he's only letting Diane win and— Ed put his hand up and says it has nothing to do with Diane. He can't really talk; he has a meeting in Downers Grove. He stopped at the storage room, Ted looking him up and down. He had to grab a file for the meeting. Ted said okay, but if there are any new tits hanging around, he'd better get a full report. Ed rushed in and locked the door behind him. A single light bulb dangled above where he ripped into her, shadowing then revealing her second by second. She was slouched in a dusty corner, looking dead. Ed held his breath, she may be pregnant. She breathed heavily, her skirt stained with blood, hair tangled, and lip bleeding from biting it. She had not moved, not wanted to lose what was left of him inside her. She felt faintish, her legs shaky from balancing on the ladder. "I am going to take you to my house." Ed told her to meet him around the back, so she could exit through the storage room. He went down the hallway to the break room to the cubbies past the coffee maker. The dingy shelves were labeled with thin strips of masking tape with the employee's names written under each opening. He found her shelf and removed her bag and scarf, then darted out the back door to the parking lot, leaving her camel colored coat hanging on the hook. The blinding sun bleached out his vision as he stepped over several snow banks to get to his Ford. He opened the trunk and threw in her things along with his briefcase. Margie leaned against the freezing cold door. The sun was making her drowsy, her insides falling trying to slip out and dive onto the pavement. Ed pulled up and leapt out of the car, running to the other side to open the passenger door. He helped Margie in, minding her head and made sure the heat was on full force. He turned out of the parking lot onto Harlem, which is normally congested, but not at 1pm. Margie laid back in her seat, looking out the window. All the buildings and houses blurred together make one big cloud of dizzying color and all these places she knew her whole life, she knew no longer. Franny pulled a chicken out of the freezer and tossed it into the sink full of warm water. She rinsed her hands and stood at the sink, staring into the aging mortar surrounding each yellow tile. This morning, the trip she took to the butcher's took less time than expected and she walked to Dennis's apartment earlier than usual in the hazy fog, carrying a large brown bag of mild sausage. She climbed the three flights of steps to his apartment and to her surprise, opened the door by simply pushing the key in the lock. This was never the case in the five years she had been cleaning his apartment. He was always gone early to wherever he spent his days or was not yet back from the night before. Franny nudged the door with her finger slowly, peaking in before entering the parlor. The apartment seemed stuffy from humidity and cigarette smoke. The AC unit hummed in the kitchen window and the radio was on low, vibrating a news anchor's voice softly. Franny put the greasy bag on the counter and looked down the hallway, noticing the bathroom light was on and the door was closed, water running behind it. On the other side of the hall was Dennis's bedroom, the corner lamp on, the bed rumpled and unmade, nothing unusual. Franny caught something in the corner of her eye. She looked again and there in the corner, poorly hidden was someone Franny recognized from the racetrack. Diane used to have a picture on her mantle of her and all the gals who worked at Arancini's. One woman, tall, probably five foot ten with huge breasts and golden skin always stuck out to Franny. She was an Italian but Franny could not remember her name. She had bouncy layered red hair and a wide mouth. She was often at the winner's table at the track with Leo Marci, a fifty-five year old, well-respected gambler who grew up in Franny's neighborhood. Franny could never tell who was connected. If you were to judge by a hairstyle, or a car or a money clip, then every man she ever knew would've been in the mob. This was impossible because most of the men she knew were alive into their nineties and died of natural causes. Franny squinted. The woman was wearing a black lacy brassiere; her pelvis was covered in a sheet. Her eyes were almost closed and her mouth looked plump, swollen. Franny could not tell whether the woman was high or drunk. Her eyes opened a little wider. "Hey." Franny looked around, scared. "Hey, can you help me?" Franny stepped closer and noticed a thin stream of blood running down the woman's leg. "Are you hurt?" "My baby, can you help me? Please." Franny knelt closer. The woman was not intoxicated, just very very tired. "Hey Franny." She spun quickly to see Dennis in the doorway, toothpick in between his teeth, undershirt revealing his Italian flag tattoo on his right shoulder. "Whatcha doin'?" Franny was silent in fear. The woman was silent. "Come on out here Franny." Hesitantly, not wanting to leave this woman's side, she stood and went to Dennis who led her into the kitchen. He turned the metal kitchen chair around and sat on it backwards. His nails were dirty but his hair was clean, explaining the steam coming from the bathroom. "Ah, you got the sausage, beautiful, I hope it's the hot stuff." Franny took a tissue from her windbreaker pocket and squeezed it between her shaking fingers. He went over to the counter and opened up the grease stained bag. He took out a large piece of sausage and bit it raw. He chewed slowly, the muscles in his jaw tightening and releasing. She grew up around men cracking raw eggs into glasses and drinking, eating bloody rare meat, cracking their knuckles, showing how tough they were. They were the type to get heads bashed in at a bar or wrap their cars around telephone poles after a night of heavy drinking and Dennis was the same. "You met Rita?" She shook her head no. "Whadda ya mean? She's friends with that whore, uh, that Diane. They live in Franklin Park, that old apartment building. You know which one." Franny shook her head. She looked around the kitchen; many of the knick-knacks and photographs belonged to Sam and Dennis' mother. She died ten years ago in a bus accident on Diversey and 74th the day before Thanksgiving. Everyone said after that Dennis lost his mind and would end up alone. Sam always told her not to worry, he was a smart kid, knew a lot of people, but Franny knew he never let go. He lives in the same place, sleeps in her old room and everything is as it was when she was alive except everything in the formerly pristine apartment is covered in a thin layer of grime from the filth Dennis brought into the house. "Franny, I'm talkin' to you." "I'm sorry." "Whatsa matter wid you?" "Nothing, I'm okay. I didn't think you'd be home." "Well, this is where I live." "I know, I just—" Dennis comes back tot he table and sits next to Franny. He takes the side of her face in his hands and licks her cheek. "Look doll, I don't need your concern. I need you to come over, clean my toilet and leave. You understand?" Franny nodded. "Why don't you just go in the parlor and put your feet up, we'll be out of your way soon." Ed drove cautiously, restraining his glances from Margie. He feared she hated him, that she regretted it all. She was so quiet and reserved. He turned onto 64th Ave and passed several ranch houses distinct only by the ornaments placed on the lawn. He pulls into his driveway. The cream-colored brick building was one of the newer on the block, the steps framed in a teal iron fence featuring prominent geometric shapes. The bushes were well tended and rounded slightly at the bottoms. Margie stepped out and took it all in. It was about the same size as the house her family lived in, but this was only for two people, her family had five people in it. Ed approached the front door and fumbled with his keys. Margie wrapped her arms around him and kissed the back of his neck, starling him, he turned around and looked at her. The light was back in her eyes; he kissed her mouth, suddenly unconcerned with who was on the street. He opened the front door and led her inside. She removed her shoes and stepped into the plush peach carpeting. The parlor had a lot of ivory and gold sofas and armchairs along with white aluminum coffee tables. There were some kind of Oriental fans spread on the wall and several large holes where pictures used to hang. Ed put his hands on her shoulders. He said she should get cleaned up. She nodded and followed as he walked toward the back of the house. He opened his bedroom door and turned on the lamp, exuding a soft pale light. The bedroom was painted peach as well. He opened the door to the master bathroom. It smelled of lilacs and cinnamon. He pointed to the large fluffy towels stacked in the caddy and left. Margie peeled off her clothes that felt that they a second skin by now and they fell stiff with blood and perspiration to the floor. She let the scorching water run for a few minutes then switched to tepid. She looked at her naked body in the mirror. Her breasts were fuller because they were swollen and her neck had a few red spots. Her body did look the same but there was a sheen around her and basking in it, afraid it would wash off, hesitantly stepped into the tub. There was instant relief. She still felt some pent up pressure but was sure that someday, she would orgasm and it would be released. She lifted her foot out of the steamy water. It was pink from the heat and she remembered her father finding her toe by pressing down on her shoe to make sure they fit properly. She looked in a large wicker basket by the edge of the tub. There were several pastel candles and soaps still wrapped. She selected one called "Cloved Honey" and opened it. She slid it over her body making bubbles, the luxurious fragrance wafting. She submerged up to her face in the opaque water. This house was nice for sure, not her taste of course, but something to fix. His wife probably just made everything peach to keep things easy. He probably didn't have any say in anything. "But I'm here now." She thought. It was so strange to have a secret all her own. Ordinarily, her sister would insist she share it or her mother would get involved. This was hers. His essence was now hers. She was going to save him. Ed started the fireplace, and noticed the wood basket was empty. He walked out the backyard to get some from the shed. There was a small sparrow on a lower branch of his oak tree. He looked closely at it. Silence. He had been so afraid of it, of its stillness. The last year had been so chaotic and he became accustomed to the uncertainty that filled his life. The court proceedings were very volatile, his lawyer attempted to drag Diane through every man she was with while married to Ed, all the money she spent, all the inappropriate association at the track. Ed could barely stomach it. He had known all the along that he could never keep her contained, he only wanted to enjoy her while it lasted. The things she did never felt personal, until she snapped in court. Screaming, swearing, talking about how boring he was, being detained and still snickering, spitting. It was a spectacle that everyone in town heard about. And Franny blamed him for pushing her over the edge. She never hurt anyone and knows he's trying to take what little their marriage brought to her life. He watched the bird still on the branch, eyes darting back and forth at him. He looked to the window and saw Margie's silhouette against the thin vinyl shades in his bedroom. She was naked and putting on the fluffy robe he laid out for her. His groin ached from the pulsing, he wanted her. He mustn't push it though. He was lucky she wasn't damaged after today. She still could be. She could need emergency surgery later after her mother finds her hemorrhaging on her paisley sheets, or she could die. There was no need to rush to his desire. There would be plenty of time soon enough. He wanted to reach out for the sparrow, to take it inside where it was warm, but he knew the only way it could be so peaceful was by knowing that all was how it should be. Franny dipped a large bleached rag into the warm water. She wrung it out with her reddened hands, stepping onto the chair and lifting the rag to the wall, wiping and wiping until the whole area was shiny. Since returning from Dennis's she had not stopped moving. She could not sit still. She had fallen asleep on his couch and when she awoke everyone was gone, the bloodstained sheet was gone, the sausage was gone. She went about her morning mopping his floor, cleaning his fixtures, thinking maybe she had dreamt the scene. She'd had quite the imagination growing up, thinking everyone was following her, trying to find her, hurt her. And no one ever listened. Sicy would tell her to stop bellyaching because she had stories that would turn Franny's hair white if she told her. Dennis' jeans lay wrinkled on the floor. Franny picked them up and shook them, causing something to fall out of the back pocket. She picked it up. It was a match book frayed at the edges with Arancini's printed in blue cursive. She checked the rest of the pockets, finding nothing. She made the bed and arranged the floral throw pillows. She stopped; there was something in the corner glittering in the shadow where Rita had been. Frannie picked it up. It was a large cocktail earring she had seen on Diane many times, all the waitresses at Arancini's wore them, a blinding synthetic sapphire with crystal rhinestones surrounding it. Franny put it in her pocket. Now, scrubbing the walls back at home, she took the earring out. She clipped it on her ear; she had never gotten her ears pierced. She was so dazed she did hear Sam's car pull into the driveway or the front door opening with his heavy steps taking him into the living room. He placed his hand on her and she turned quickly. "Sammy, you scared me." "Sorry, what are you doin'?" "Just trying to get some cleaning done, it'll be warming up soon and there's so much dust in this house." Sammy leaned back in a plush armchair and lit a cigarette. He inhaled slowly, letting the smoke stream out of his nostrils. You just washed these last week he says, why again? Franny keeps her eyes on the wall. A cool sweat springs up on her back. Her baggy shirt clings to it, her breasts shaking along with the rhythm of her arm. "Franny?" "Yeah?" Her breath heavy, she continues to scrub. "What's wrong?" "I uh, went to Dennis' and I saw something." "What?" "You know that Rita from the track?" "Yeah." "She was at your brother's and something happened to her, someone hurt her maybe." "What are you talkin' about?" "She was bleeding." Sam stood from his chair and went to her. Salt and pepper hair, olive skin, aging well, had always been far too good looking for Franny. No one could understand why he was with her when they first got together, but he didn't care. She was a good woman, always took care of him. When he met her, it was as if she was not from this earth and no one but him understood that, because no one bothered to find out. So now he had her all to himself, this angel that could save him. He put his huge smooth hand on her cheek. "Baby shhhhh, don't be sayin' that." He said almost whispering. "But Sam, she was, there was blood on the sheets." He caressed her face. "You know that broad's a whore, everyone does. And you know my brother." "But Sam." Shhh he said, shhhh stop. He reached up her shirt and rubbed her breast. "What's on your ear?" Embarrassed, she touched the earring, but Sam knew what is it, he saw those almost every night of the week. Those painted tramps walking around, asses hanging out of those dresses, so hot, so dirty, such filth. It made Sam sick. Sure he had fucked them for years, like crazy. But the filth swimming around, laughing, winking, swinging their thick hips back and forth begging to be bent over by the first asshole with a gold watch who comes in. He hated them, he wanted to rip them open and rip out all the chords and coils that made them work. He took Franny's face in his hands and kissed her hard. He pulled back and looked into her brown eyes wide open and fear filled. He lifted her down from the stepstool and pushed her up against the wall. He kissed her neck until it was bright red. Franny closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him, she could not remember the last time they'd made love, or if he had ever taken her so aggressively. He spread her feet apart with his foot and unhooked her bra. Her heavy breasts fell out and he eagerly kissed and licked them. Franny almost melted, not with yearning but with the heat exuded from Sam's large body. There was no way to push him or halt his passion. He lowered her to the ground and undid his pants, pulling out his quivering penis. Franny could never look at it. She thought of being younger, wanting children, wanting to work. Wanting to fuck how she wanted to fuck. This was all someone else's life. His forehead weighed down on hers as he pumped into her, Rita's earring falling to the ground After Ed made grilled cheese with some leftover crusty Italian bread from dinner at Franny's, he and Margie ate on television trays. They were light with conversation. Margie dug her toes into the carpeting, which she would keep throughout the house, for it was fairly new and clean. She wondered when Ed should learn she is sixteen years old. It shouldn't matter at this point. She will not leave him, ever. No one will make her. If they lock her in her room, she won't eat. If they make her go to school, she will leave as soon as they drop her off. Ed watched her eat, grateful that she seemed like herself whoever that may be. Driving her home, he thought of how unrealistic it would be to meet her family in a healthy way. It would take a few months for him to ease his way in, but once they saw his credentials, they would surely be able to trust him. He turned onto her street and proceeded to her address. "Wait, go past it, not right in front." He followed her instructions. "I don't think you should come in this time." She kissed him, soft and sweet while unbuckling her seat belt. "Thanks for the ride and the sandwich." He sat there gripping the wheel, petrified of jail. Scared of the town knowing, of Diane finding out. He would start over with her; marry her before anyone had anything to say. 2005 Margie sits at the table, turning her ring on her finger. She has lipstick on from the night before. She went out with Bobby, a black delivery truck driver she met at the salsa club she went to on Thursdays. When they married, she sixteen and Ed thirty-five, they went dancing all the time. He took her to dinner with friends he had made while married to Diane. No one ever inquired of her age. They would go to Tampa every summer and go boating and parasailing and drink tequila all night long. Now, twenty-two years later, Ed went straight to the den to watch television after work, tired, feet sore, hungry. He would help the boys with their homework and then usually fall asleep reading a magazine. Margie watched him from the doorway, disgusted. He sounded the same, looked the same, but he was rotting and waiting to die. He was still a good father and had been since the day they got the boys. He had made it clear that whether or not they had children was strictly up to her. He loved her either way and always would. Margie had tried for seven years to have a baby. After four miscarriages and partial hysterectomy, she and Ed decided to adopt. After all, it was the nineties and at that point completely acceptable to raise other people's children. This way, Margie could keep the body she'd always loved and help someone at the same time. They showed up at the agency, beaming and ready to cover up whatever had to be covered to be worthy of a baby. The lanky bookish agent was very conservative with her tone and looked closely at both of them, while looking at their marriage certificate. "There are no white babies at this time." She said coldly while pushing her glasses up with her index finger. "Well, when do you expect there will be a white baby ready for adoption?" Ed says slowly, avoiding Margie's face. "Well, honestly, I don't know, there's a three year waiting list. Right now I could give a six year old Hispanic boy or a nine year old with girl autism next month." Ed puts his arm around Margie. "Excuse me, but what makes you think I need a white baby?" Asks Margie adjusting her posture. At twenty-three, her face was the same as when she'd first met Ed but her hair is cut short and highlighted with gold. She wears bright magenta lipstick and her ears are pierced several times. "Well, ma'am, you're white aren't you?" "Yes I am, but I don't see what that has to do with this. I came here for a baby." "Margie, I think what she's saying is—" "I know what she's saying Ed, I can hear just fine." "I do apologize, I must have misunderstood." The agent said apologetically. "I guess so." Margie said crossing her arms. "I'll be right back." She got up and quickly walked toward the back of the office pulling down her skirt. Ed turning to Margie, put his hand on her cheek. "Darling, we need to take into consideration what we would go through with an ethnic baby. Think of where we live. Think of what our families would say?" "Like who? Your racist sister? She's just jealous because she never had any kids of her own. We could give any baby up for adoption a better home and you're scared of her and her bookie husband?" Margie leaned back in her chair, her right knee bouncing up and down and bit her thumbnail. Ed desperately rubbed Margie's shoulder. She had had some very difficult years. All the injections, the blood, and the way she screamed when looking into the toilet. All the nights she had to stay in the hospital, all the vitamins, all the specialists looking at her in disbelief that she had been through so many infertility treatments by the age of twenty. All of this most likely was from him thrusting into her before she was ready. All the pain she locked inside herself and let decompose her insides. Some mornings, Ed would rub her under the bed sheets, her body warm with perspiration, her eyes smudged from sleeping in makeup. Except for the heaving of her chest, her body was lifeless, limp. He could never tell whether she was burnt out from the restaurant or from all the shots. She was determined to be a mother. Ed tried to dissuade her a few years ago after she graduated high school in the top percentile of her class, by bringing home a pamphlet from Triton community college hoping she would choose a curriculum for the following Fall. She glanced at the cover before putting her bottle of nail polish down and began painting her nails. "I thought you could pick a few classes." He said while filling a large soup pot with water. "Well, I gotta be at work by five, and these don't end till four thirty, so I don't know." Ed closed his eyes while looking away from her, clenching his teeth until his jaw ached. "I think the restaurant's wearing you out." She finished painting the little finger on her right hand. She held it up and spread her fingers. She bit at a hangnail. "Well, once I have a baby, I won't work for awhile, so it won't matter." The agent returned to her desk adjusting her reading glasses. "It appears we have a baby ready for you." Margie sat straight up and clasped her hands together. "His father is black, we do not have his name, and his mother is white, lives in Portage Park. He is two weeks old, no dependencies detected, clean. Would you like him?" Ed's mind was still. He looked around the office as the objects blurred to the rhythm of the phones ringing. Margie's hands were squeezing his thigh. The thought of a black baby running around the front lawn of his mother's house was inconceivable. He had taken everything from her. He had sucked her out clean. He had weighed down on her. So what if she wanted to redecorate his shitty ranch house Diane picked out? Who cares if she always took what he had and asked for more? She was a girl who he could not understand where his devotion for began and ended. The adoration so deeply implanted in his soul it would take the screeching arms from hell ripping open his chest to remove. And then he would be a vessel, free, but without her. "We will take him.", he said. Margie sprung on him and kissed his cheek sloppily. That night they had sex noisily because that was what Margie assumed couples did before they had children, because children could never hear them, never. She remembered hearing her parents through the vent at the house and covering her ears, jamming the lobes into the canal with her thumbs until they ached. Finally she gave up and heard her father climax, as if he was dying, deflating. She promised she would always orgasm even if she had to trick herself into having an orgasm. She sat split over Ed's groin, shoulders straight up in the air and watched her shadow ride the wall. All she wanted was coming true. She would have a beautiful baby and the house she wanted and the perfect husband for the rest of her life. She grabbed the top of Ed's head and ground into him harder, wondering if she may kill him this way. She let go and melted back into the sky against the paned glass. Never had she loved, never until Ricky. He was the plug keeping all her slush from pouring out of her. She covered his room in yellow. Yellow paint, sheets, yellow ducks of the walls, yellow lampshades, the bassinet Ed slept in, taken from Sicy's attic house painted yellow. Franny was making sauce when Margie got it down from the attic to vacuum out. She stirred the stewed tomatoes intently, looking up only the see the clock on the wall. Sam and Dennis and Ed watched the football game in the den and Sicy lay on her side with the heating pad jammed under her sternum for arthritis in her bedroom. Margie tied her hair up and bent over in her denim cutoffs, scrubbing the sides with a Brillo pad. "Oh Margie, you'll scrape the paint." Franny said setting down her spoon. "Oh that's alright." Covering her nose from the dust, "I'm painting it yellow. The entire nursery." "I thought it's a boy." Sam said while opening a bottle of beer. "He is a boy." Margie said. "And you're painting yellow? Everything?, Dennis asked. "Yes." "You better hope he's not a fag baby, cause he's already a coon baby." "Dennis!" Franny said while slamming down her spoon. Sam bit his lip and avoided Ed. Margie dropped the pad and walked out the back door. Ed got up and picked up her purse. He threw it in the bassinet and carried it outside. Margie sat in the car red faced and crying. Franny stepped in front of him with the spoon in the air. "Ed, come on, don't. They're sorry." He stepped passed her. "Bye Franny." She ran back in the house, dropping the spoon and stood in front of the television. "Move it Franny." Dennis said slurring. "I got a lot of this game." "Oh yeah, when don't ya? What the Hell's wrong with you?" "That's enough Franny." Sam said turning up the volume. "That's my brother Sam." "Yeah well he's lost his damn mind marrying that kid and having a chocolate baby." "What does it matter if—" "Franny!" Sicy screamed in pain. "I'm coming Ma." She stomped away, Sam rolling his eyes. Sunshine she wanted. The yellow lemonade sheen from the light through the yellow lacy curtains bouncing off the canary stained glass lamps and settling in the balloons and ducks dangling from the tiny mobile, sunshine was all there was. She brought that baby home and never stopped looking at him. She kissed his tiny hands and feet. She sang to him, she read to him. She spun around with him while feeding him his bottle. She yearned to nurse him, to feel his pressure from his tiny wet mouth on her, to give him what he needed. But we can't all be blessed with it all. This baby was perfect and he was all hers. She rocked him and bathed him in rose petals. She took out books from the public library about African American heritage to learn how to comb his hair. She drove far south across the city to attend lectures and seminars with well-known community oriented blacks. She was even bold enough to start incorporating classic soul food into their meals. She never felt more at use with her gifts. She loved watching Ed feed him or caress his soft head. The vapors lifted from his essence and floated into her hungry nostrils, flowing into her chest whipping in and out of her heart between beats. She would walk him in his stroller down 64th Ave to her parents' house twice a week. Papa would sit with the baby and watch the baseball game while she helped Ma with the laundry. They would eat pepper and egg sandwiches and just before four she would walk home to make dinner to Ed. Their walk home was slow, stopping often to look up at branches, the greens popping through each leave from the light in the sky. She lifted Rick out of the stroller and pointed to the tree. "Look my love, look Ricky, look how pretty." She kissed him on the forehead and lay him down carefully, bundling him so only his tiny head poked out of the blanket. She pushed the navy blue tram up to the corner and pressed the gummy pedestrian signal button that never seemed to make any difference in the halting of traffic. A flock of curly haired boys in their late teens proceeded to cross while the orange hand flashed, causing alarmed drivers to slam on their steering wheels, letting out long streams of horns honking while brakes screeched against the surprised cracking asphalt. Margie briefly looked up but did see the figures in the blinding deep afternoon sun. They, the eight of them made it across the street and lingered on the corner. The street at the moment was vacant of oncoming cars but Margie waiting for the reassuring white light the tiny white man exuded when telling her it was safe to cross with her baby. The boys shoved each other, laughed, and spun around in a messy routine. Margie looked at Ricky and felt deep chills down her spine. She felt that this child was the only thing in the world she cared about. She could do no wrong as long as she did for this child. A shadow flowed across part of the baby's face that did not belong to Margie. She looked to her right and saw one of the gang standing next to her. He had holes in his white denim jeans, a tight purple tee shirt and a bright red felt hat. His black hair was greasy and sweat dripped down the front of his forehead. He had some illegible script written on his hand in black ink. He had dark pug eyes that did not seem to blink. His nails were dirty and he smacked his gum loudly. He looked at her and looked at Ricky. Margie could not remember the last time she ached so much to provoke a smile from someone. She wanted so much for this boy of fifteen to love her baby, for everyone she came across to be so deeply and obsessively in love with her Ricky. The boy looked under the hood at the sleeping boy. "Why do you have a nigger baby?" Margie froze in the harsh white light fighting the urge to rip out this boy's heart. He stood there smirking, confused, and proud of what he just said. He had made a very adult observation and relayed it to another adult. Had the baby been white, he never would have said a word, even if he did think something about the baby, like maybe it was ugly. Because this baby was black, he could say anything he wanted to Margie because she was trash walking around showing him off. His friends came by is a loud cluster and sucked him up like a bacterial trace. Margie stood still, not being able to look at Ricky, fearing he heard what the greasy pig said. He cooed a little then strained all of his muscles in his tiny forehead to lift his head up. He strained and got flushed as he tilted it up, begging for Margie to hold him. She looked down at him and his head dropped, hitting the thin mattress. He began to cry. She lifted him out of the stroller and rocked him gently in the wind staring into the oncoming traffic. 1983 Franny sat in her Ford with the engine running blowing out the back in the ninety-degree heat. She had parked across from Taj's liquor store, which was adjacent to Arancini's. She could hear the horns blow from the track, signifying the start of the race. The faded sign was creaking in the wind and the dust from the parking lot blew across all the windshields leaving them murky and dull. Franny crouched down against the steering wheel, looking in the rearview mirror every thirty seconds, out of nerves. She had driven there this morning instead of driving to Dennis'. Let them catch her. Let them see what she knows of them. The plywood side door to the restaurant opened and Rita stepped out, bouncy and full-bodied, shiny polyester stretched across her thighs. She carried a large cherry red patent leather tote, which she pulled cigarettes and a shiny gold lighter out of. She stopped next to a dumpster and removed her heels. Franny turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car slowly. She took off her glasses and held her purse tightly against her chest. Rita leaned against the brick wall, candy apple lips holding her Virginia slim in place; smoke billowing out between her teeth. Franny reached forward to touch her shoulder just as Rita turned and stepped back, cat eyes blinking rapidly, flinching while salt and peppery ash fell on her sleeve. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Franny stepped away, nearly tripping over a curb." "What do you want? Who are you?" She was frozen with fear. Franny put both of her hands up. "I'm Franny, Sammy's wife, um, Dennis' sister in law. I was at the apartment that day." "What day?" Rita pulled her long red tendrils around the side of her neck over her shoulder. "When I saw you, you had been asleep. You must not remember." "No lady, I don't." "No, here, look." Franny pulled the earring from her jacket pocket and handed it to her. Rita looked at and shoved it in her bag. She blew smoke in Franny's face. "Must be from your husband's pocket." She threw her cigarette on the asphalt and ripped it apart with her spike heel. "I don't remember shit." She stepped past Franny roughly and went back in the side door, hinges squeaking behind her. Franny looked both ways and hurried back to her car, hoping she could make it to Dennis's in time. 2005 Ed shuffles into the kitchen adjusting his marigold tie and walking straight toward the coffeemaker. He had not slept well last night, or the night before. He pours the dark brown liquid into his 1994 "World's Best Dad" mug and gulps it straight down, noticing Margie in the corner of the wood paneled kitchen. She sits with her robe closed, lit cigarette flittering slightly as her knee bobs up and down. "Hello dear.: He says leaning over and kissing her forehead. She says nothing and appeared to be staring at the refrigerator door. The boys come into the kitchen, Ricky shielding his eyes from the harsh light. Margie squishes her cigarette and stands up. "Hey honeys." She kisses their foreheads with no response and takes cereal from the cabinet. Ricky with his dirt caked sneakers and baggy eyes; latte skin flawless and almond eyes covered in sleep sits chewing solemnly. Is he upset because she took him from his rightful world, because she ignored that he is black? Is he just tired from making out with his girlfriend and waking early? She will not know his truth. He stopped talking to her years ago. Sal giddily shovels the sugary pink balls into his mouth. "Daddy, you know that this cereal was banned out our school? They say it's got no nutritional value and won't let none of us eat it?" Ed puts down his mug pondering why Margie would let the boys have such a sweet cereal, so full of nitrites and sugar pumping through them, making them hyper, making them loud, making her scream at them later on in the day. "No Sal, I didn't know. You should probably have a banana or something to get know through your morning classes." Margie lights another cigarette by the screen door and blows smoke through it. When Ricky first came home with them, Margie threw away all of her smokes and scoured the entire house. After being at home alone with him everyday, she found herself buying filtered thin ones, the teal cellophane wrapper singing to her from behind the glass in the corner store. She would smoke quickly, blowing the smoke away from the front from the buggy. Except sometimes she would push the stroller against the heavy winds coming up on 64th Ave and the smoke would float into the baby's face. She would quickly bathe him before Ed came home and would make manicotti and salad, distracting Ed the moment he walked in the house. She wonders if the inhalation made Ricky irritable. How maybe the smoke shifted a brain signal that made him irritable, angry. She didn't know and was too distracted to really think it out. Sal happily eats, humming, singing, and bringing his bowl to the sink. "Hey momma." Kissing her cheek, snapping his fingers. His doe eyes shine from within never had anything to do with Margie or Ed. The same adoption agent who found Ricky called about four years later saying that the same white mother had gotten pregnant by a different father and had been kicked out of the house they were staying at. The agent said the woman was confused and unsure of her original notions for getting pregnant. Without hesitation, Margie drove in the middle of the night to sign papers and bring the newborn home. How lucky that Ricky would grow up with his real brother! And such a happy baby, so dark, so warm, so easy to make smile. She was in awe of her beautiful sons and yet her heart ached knowing Ed could never have given her such beautiful children. Their babies would have turned out blond, with green eyes and freckles. She knew it. She stares at him now, hair graying, the same dingy white collared shirt, the stained cuffs, his bloodshot eyes, dull and heavy lidded. He always stays for extra meetings at the factory. He is so worried after the potential lawsuit last year when a young man supposedly found a needle in one of the peanut butter squares produced in Ed's factory. The accusation was sloppy but nonetheless took countless hours to look into and Ed was away in the evenings so he missed his nightly story with the boys. Ricky was the first to be affected. He would retreat to his room and push Sal out and stay on the phone much of the night. Occasionally, he would sneak out to go see Maribel, a white girl down the street whose father was one of the attorneys working on the factory's case. Margie started going to Arancini's. She would drink dirty martinis at the bar and wait until she was sure Sal would be home from a friend's house. She no longer could sit in the empty house. She would occasionally spot Dennis, Franny's brother-in-law and would immediately think that surely the plaintiff in the case was someone like him. Some slime bag that just wanted to make trouble for someone else to get some money he didn't work for. This was what was interrupting her life. Interfering with her Tuesday night salsa and Friday night margaritas, this low life who doesn't feel like getting a job? It unnerved her. She would sip the salty sour drinks one after another and then stumble home and go straight to bed. It wasn't as if she and Ed would have sex. They hadn't in months. The boys put their sneakers on and, getting in each other's way, a hitting match began. Margie threw her cigarette outside the screen door. "Boys, stop, go to school." Sal goes over to Ed's chair and hugs him. Ricky leaves without saying a word to anyone. Sal kisses Margie and hurries behind him. Ed checks his watch and stretches his arms up above his head as he did every morning for the past twenty-five years. Margie watches him as he carefully picks up his briefcase, nodding as he says he will try to be home early. She takes a sip of coffee and closes the door behind him. She should have told him, why hadn't she told him? Ed drives to work cautiously. He has fallen asleep behind the wheel several mornings since the peanut butter square case had been opened. Actually he had been falling asleep behind the wheel for months. His consciousness had been opened by a pinprick and the whole truth trickled into a new part of his mind for a few seconds before completely blowing through the opening, making jagged edges never to be seamless again. He has noticed that Margie was not in love with him anymore. She has taken on a look of pure disgust in his presence and seemed to let that carry on throughout the day in her communication with others about him. At the grocery store, the butcher's, the drycleaners, she began to be sloppy about hiding her contempt for him. Ed had never received any proper education about women. His father had died when he was thirteen leaving him with a headstrong mother and emotionally inept sister. Diane was the first woman who ever taught him anything and she was either very happy or very lethargic. He had worked hard to support her just as he was with Margie. But he was older now, more vulnerable and in love with his children. He could never take them from Margie. It would kill her. Although, as they were getting older, he wondered if Margie even took much notice of their development, the sugary cereals, not making sure homework was done, coming home late. She was obsessed with them as infants but once they had begun preschool and she decided to not return to work, she filled the day with chatting with girlfriends and leafing through the large Spiegel catalogues that came once a month. Ed would come home to find the catalogue open, the page stained with rings from her coffee mug, the wetness warping the tissue thin paper. He would find several pages earmarked and large black ballpoint circles looped around household objects rather than the clothing on the statuesque models. She would circle part of a curtain blowing in the wind from the strong sea breeze in a Mediterranean villa. She would circle a cabinet from a kitchen in a Victorian mansion. She would circle things that could not be ordered from the chipper yet tired saleswoman she reached via toll free number. She would pick up local real estate listings from the super market and rip out pages of houses, leaving them in Ed's briefcase. Houses that cost three times as much as the house he bought for Diane. Margie would refuse to serve dinner until Ed spoke with her about her recent residential finds. Ed would explain they had one income coming into the house and two boys they were going to send to college soon, so maybe Margie should consider working during the day. With this, she flared up into outrage, her aqua eyes turning to half dollar sized circles. She picked up the pages, tearing them to shreds, screaming. Ed grabbed her wrists and tried to calm her down, telling her she would wake the boys. He rubbed her head and pulled her close to him, telling her they would get through it together. He would figure out a way for her to get want she wanted. She would cry and grip his back tightly. He would bring her to bed and she would pass out, her face sticky with tears. Ed would eat whatever she prepared, now cold then climb into bed gently, fearing another outburst. He would watch the neon red hot numbers morph 2am, 3am, 4:15am, wanting to scream, to run out to the lawn and rip out the dry yellowed grass he had planted himself. He lay there, thinking about the prospect of working somewhere else. He could possibly ask if he could do some sales calls from the road to pull in some commission. This would mean time away from home however; leaving Margie was very lonely and upset when he was gone for extended periods of time. So they stayed on 64th Ave in a house that was never really Margie's because it was never meant to be hers. She would decorate and re-decorate, then get bored and focus on the boys, then decorate again. Ed worked more and more and when the peanut putter square incident came about, he was the first one to pull a committee together to fight it. He realized this would mean he would be at it alone, for Margie could not be bothered, but he didn't care. He would fight for the sake of the factory and leave the legacy to his boys. 1983 Dennis dialed Sam's number for the sixth time that morning. He paced the dusty back room of the butcher's glancing out the rusted side door that led to the alley. He chewed on the end of his damp cigarette and jiggled the handle on the old soda refrigerator he got his hand caught in as a young boy. Where the Hell was Sammy? Why wasn't his nosy dyke of a wife picking up? By knowing the consequences of Franny seeing what she saw that morning, he also knew that there was another set of consequences there was no way he could even think of and he needed Sammy to help sort them out. He wanted to tell him before Franny could. He hung up and sat of a rickety milk crate. He ran his hands through his greasy stiff hair that he was just about to wash before he heard Franny in his hallway. He just wanted Rita to get a few hours of sleep before she had to get out of there. Rita grew up with Dennis. She would sneak into his basement after one of her uncles would give her a busted lip or a black eye. She would skip school and hang out at the card club where underage girls could serve drinks as long as they weren't pouring. She would steal fishnet stocking from the drug store and line her eyes in ash. At fifteen, she past for twenty-one and began working at Arancini's. She would meet up with Dennis and his friends every night after her shift to drink and do cocaine. She was saving to get out of her house so she would take each of Dennis's friends one by one behind the squat garage and suck each of them off for their drugs. She was never mistreated in her opinion more so than she was at home. Rita finally moved in with another waitress Diane and they had some wild parties. They would run around topless, give lap dances, do line's off one another's chests, and men would go crazy. They would drink for hours, eat steaks at four in the morning and work their shift the next night. They were under some spell together, until Rita started dating the owner of Arancini's. She spent more time away from the apartment and Diane got lonely. She also couldn't handle all the harassment from the customers without Rita backing her. She started working less shifts and eventually got engaged to Ed. Dennis didn't know how they met and he didn't care. Franny and her family was all a bunch of bible-thumping white trash weirdoes for all he knew, they weren't even all Italian. Diane had to be crazy to get involved with all that shit, but hey, that's who she was. After Diane split from Ed, she moved back in with Rita and it was good times again. Except, everyone was a lot older now and things didn't fly that flew back then. The cops would break up parties two or three times a week. They couldn't use as openly and they were beginning to wear their drinking on their faces. Everyone was slow, like when someone is moving during a Polaroid is being taken. Diane and Rita's faces smeared with makeup, stuck in between their laugh lines, mouths looking inflated by the fuzzy lipstick trails outside of their lips, their hazy eyes glittering with iridescent streaks of purple eye shadow matching the signs for Darlin's Lounge across the street. Dennis watched hundreds of these girls probably night after night, letting white powder seep into their perfect skin, scratching, spreading bacteria around their faces, causing marks, scars, irreparable blemishes. He helped Rita as much as he could but he had to be careful. The man she was seeing didn't fuck around and these broads didn't use their heads and were always getting guys like Dennis killed. Sam answered the phone. 2005 Franny wraps her long shiny black lace shawl around her shoulders. She covers her face with powder smelling like mold and put on her shiny black loafers. Getting ready for church was the time when Franny took care in her appearance. She often saw woman in dingy sweatpants, their hair uncombed and muddy shoes, fumbling to get the crumbly used Kleenex out of their pockets, dropping change on the marble floor. She despised them; such disrespect for the only bring that should make any difference to them. They would put on dresses to have dinner with their husbands but would dress like slobs to see the ultimate lover. The sky was still stale gray as she descends the porch steps. She goes back up to make sure she locked the front door. She opens her umbrella and clutches her shoulder bag to her chest as she walks the three short blocks to St Augustine's. She does not look from side to side at the people outside the church; since it was midweek there were only groundskeepers, no patrons. She pulls the heavy oak door and the incense floods her nostrils with the starchy dusty smell of the inside of the dark church. She dips two fingers in Holy water and makes the sign of the cross then proceeds to her usual pew. The water drips down her makeup caked nose and she waits till it sinks into her pores before proceeding down the left aisle. She steers clear of the center aisle, for it was meant for brides, or she supposed for young girls marrying Christ. For these reasons, it was never to be used by anyone else. She kneels before the Byzantine Christ and closes her eyes inhaling the incense, then sits on the hard shiny wood. She wraps her shawl tighter around her shoulders, wishing it could cover her entire body. She glances at the regulars who came as frequently as she did, she would not know them if she saw them around town while doing her errands. They all look the same; all of them had other thoughts that did not include Christ. They all had the nerve to pretend to worship while making grocery lists in their heads. The tall stonewalls always seem to close in around her, not suffocating her as much as encasing her in His spirit. She bows her head and tried to give thanks for her husband, her brother, her nephews, her mother but the only person she could passionately thank God for is Diane. Diane who was always around for her, always knew the right thing to do, at least, what felt right to Franny. She was an unexpected light for Franny's never-ending mundane sequences. Ed did not deserve her; no one Franny could think of possibly deserved her. Franny realized Diane was part demon, and she did not care. If she was part demon, she would have to be part angel as well and the part of her that was angel was probably the most favored by God. So really, she could be a demon disguised so well as an angel that it would not matter in the end. She removes her shawl. She always ends up feeling faint while thinking of Diane in church. Diane did not attend church. She laughed when Franny first asked which she belonged to. As a child, Diane attended church each evening with her grandma while her mother worked at the poker hall. She would return at nine at night and awake at six in the morning to wash her face, eat stale toast and be dressed in her uniform for school. She and grandma would walk the eight blocks to St. Priscilla's where Diane was constantly smacked with rulers and penalized for having long hair. After she left home she vowed to never enter a church again. If God was alive and loved all, he would not allow children to be harmed as she had been in the name of the Lord. Diane lived without fear of God, and this concerned Franny. She wore three-inch leather heels, micro mini dresses, large plastic bangle earrings with smoky eyeliner and candy red lipstick. She would construct elaborate up dos with spiral curl tendrils to go to the super market. She would drink with men whose horses won the day races and decided to stay till closing even though her shift ended at 8. She would routinely drive her young co-workers to the abortion clinic. Her brother went to high school with the head physician and would regularly sign as the girl's legal guardian. She often ordered in dinner and was gone by the time Ed got home from work. It was not possible to not want to be around Diane, let alone ever be angry with her. Franny realized that she was sent as a gift to awaken what had never been born inside of her. For years Franny had wondered about the contribution she would make to the world. She was a barren, hardly attractive and fairly young woman who in the eyes of the neighborhood elders was useless. She constantly pondered Dianne about having children. She could not understand how a woman did not utilize the most important gift she could have. Diane would snicker. All of her girlfriends were trapped with men who beat them, raped them, and swore at them, spit on them, all because they had kids. They had nowhere to go and no one to talk to. Unable to understand how this could be possible, how a husband could "rape" his wife, Franny was flabbergasted. "Oh Diane, surely you don't think Ed would ever, I mean, he would never hurt you. He isn't violent. He goes to church." Diane put her hand on Franny's hot cheek and looked into her timeless eyes. "When men have kids, when they have their little princes or princesses, they change. You used to be the only person, the most important person, but then, that stops. They don't love you the same way; you're a slave to them. You're a housekeeper. I'm telling ya, I've had more friends get beaten after they have kids, than before. You're lucky you can't have any." A needle plunged into the middle of Franny's chest. She tried to decipher whether or not Diane could be serious. This beautiful demon with bouncy curls plummeting down her shapely back, firm breasts, the tops popping out of her purple mohair sweater, dressing as if doused with fertility, saying she does not want it. All Franny had wanted was to have a baby and she was never able. Diane looked at her nails coolly. 'We should go get manicures, you know?" She shivers in the pew and hears water drip dropping somewhere behind her from the damp ceiling. In her retreats, this cave was the only place she could find that was dark enough to think about her Diane. No one knew the thoughts she had of the woman she loved more than herself. At noon Margie is still in her blue rayon robe staring at the phone. She is still trying to decide whether or not whether to call Ed at work. His secretary is so damn protective, screening his calls like he's the Goddamn president. Lawyers constantly surrounding him, meals being brought in, his mailbox being full, what did he expect? Was she supposed to just sit in this shit box house and wait for him to tell her what to do? This man, old enough to be her father, giddy in love with her, toying with her, disgusting. She picks up the receiver and dials quickly. She takes a deep breath; it would be done in no time. His nasal voiced secretary picked up. "I need to speak to Ed." "I'm sorry, he's in a meeting." "It's an emergency, his sister's been hurt." Ed picked up. "Margie, hello? What happened? Where's Franny?" "Franny's fine. I'm leaving you Ed. I'm having an affair. It's over." Margie hangs up and goes into the bathroom. She steps into the shower and turns on the water, instantly drenching her in her robe. She was free. Surely Ed will be home any minute to demand order, but at this moment, she is free. Ed puts down his receiver and steps into the conference room littered with Chinese food boxes from the night before. He walks down the hall to the storage room and steps inside. He closes the door behind him. He is trapped. He knows he cannot keep up with Margie, but he loves her with all his heart. He has put in countless hours to support her in the fashion she insisted on. He raised their sons to the best of his ability. He changed for her. He made over his attitude to make her happy. And now what? He'll be a middle-aged divorcee, paying child support through the nose so she can run around fucking every degenerate in town, putting their sons through Hell. She never reminded him so much of Diane until now. And he will not be made a fool of again. He hits the concrete wall hard, smashing his knuckles. Who was it? Who is this affair with? Someone younger for sure, someone who has no responsibility. What does she care, Ed will be supporting them anyway? He would find out whom, but not right now. Right now he has to go back in his office and figure out how to win this case to save his factory. The factory he will leave his sons so they will have something besides a mother dying in the streets. 1983 Dennis sat at his place twirling spaghetti on his fork and eyeing Franny. She salted her chicken and ate slowly, quietly as usual. Sam sat with his arms crossed, tonguing a toothpick. "Let's go." He got up, placing his napkin on the table. "Come on Dennis, let's go pick up that part." "You don't want no cannoli?" Franny asked, secretly happy they were leaving. "Nah, we got work to do. Enjoy it baby. And don't wait up, we may not be back till late." Dennis zipped up his hooded sweatshirt and followed his brother outside. Franny waited until their car pulled out of the driveway then stood up. Something was going on with Dennis. He was colder than usual toward her. She took a cannoli and bit into it, the creamy custard making her wish she was with Diane. She picked up the phone and dialed Diane's number, biting her lip in anticipation. An answer on the fourth ring, loud music blaring in the tiny apartment. "Hello." It was not Diane, it must be Rita. "Hello, yes, is Diane there please?" "Um, she's in the shower, I think" she giggled loudly following a loud slap. "Uh, hold on." The receiver was dropped and Franny paced back and forth clutching the phone closely to her face. She felt sick, she had a twisting in her stomach, and sending cool drops of sweat ran down her back. "Yeah!" Diane always answered the same way, barking into the receiver. Relief flooded Franny, flushing out her anxiety, leaving her exhausted. "Diane, hello. I was just calling to see how everything was going." "With what?" "Oh, well, with the court proceedings I guess. I mean, I know that lawyers can be so cruel and I really can't talk to Ed without fighting about it and—" "Ah! Hold on! Vlad, Vlad, get it off the carpet! Ah, that shit's gonna be everywhere." Franny blinked quickly. "Diane, are you alright?" "Yeah, yeah, I'm just having some people over, why don't you come by?" "Oh, I don't know if I should, until the divorce is settled." "Who gives a shit? Look, I'm giving Ed everything, trust me, he needs it more than I do. Come on, come on, come for one line, one drink, no big deal." "Well, I don't know." "Look Franny, I miss you, ya know, I miss talking to you." Franny was wet with perspiration and she was awakened with adrenaline. "So, just come over, don't even call, just come." A dial tone. Franny squeezed the receiver. Tears streamed down her face as she hung up. She took a hot shower and scrubbed her nails with a coarse plastic brush. She shaved her legs and covered them with talcum powder. She set her black curls in hot rollers. She massaged her temples with eucalyptus oil. She pulled the dress she wore to her parent's last anniversary party, fifteen years ago. It was gold lame with copper and silver sequined leaves embroidered throughout. She applied dark burgundy lipstick. This was the night she would share with Diane that she wished she were in her family instead of Ed. That she would never understand how Ed could have a lover like her, and let her go. A light snow began to fall dusting the street and making shadow shapes whizzing past the streetlamps. Franny put on Sicy's old Sable hair coat and stepped out unto the porch. She shivered, feeling as if she might as well be going out in underclothes, the way she was carrying on. She walked slowly around the house to the garage and had to use her entire body to open the frozen-hinged door. She could not remember the last time she drove Sam's car, she was petrified when faced with a stick shift but had no choice, Diane's apartment was over three miles away, she would freeze to death if attempting the walk. She just had to get there. Hopefully she would come back for her things tomorrow. Sam would understand. He was still so handsome; he could marry a waitress from Arancini's next week if he wanted to. In fact, Franny should ask Diane if she knows anyone for him. She drove slowly down Harlem Ave, hoping none of Sam's friends would spot her. Once she made it to the apartment, she'd be fine. She just had to focus, not be ashamed. Diane was going to be the first person she ever told she loved. She pulled up to the brown brick rectangular complex. The front door was clamped shut and several inches of snow had accumulated on the front lawn, freezing the plastic bags and cardboard boxes that littered the lawn. Franny could not tell whether or not the building had lost power or if all the lights were turned off. She drove down the street to the next complex where the lights were on. Should she go in and check the circuit box? She tried to remember whether or Sam kept a flash light in his car. She backed up to Diane's building and locked the doors. She had never been anywhere so deserted and fear crept over her. Where was Diane, had the cops came to break up the party? Did they find Diane's drugs and haul her off the jail? She leaned over the passenger side and strained to see Diane and Rita's apartment. The shutters flapped open and closed banging against the brick. She could not get out of the car. She drove back home. She had no choice, where was there to go? She thought of driving to Arancini's. Maybe Diane was there in her royal blue mini dress, extending a tray all the way over her head, winking at customers. Maybe Franny hadn't spoken to her tonight, but the night before? She had been forgetting things lately. If Diane was in jail, in a dirty cell, pulling her skirt down to cover herself from the guards. Franny would rescue her. She could bail her out before something terrible happens. She pulled up to her house and left the engine running. The front porch light was out, but she turned it on before leaving the house. She ran up the front steps and unlocked the front door. Silence aside from the low hum of the furnace. She went straight to the kitchen and removed her Noritake creamer Sicy had given her from the pantry. Inside was $2500 in fifty-dollar bills. She removed the roll of bills and squeezed it tight. The kitchen light went on. "Franny?" She screamed and turned around. Sam was in the doorway wearing an undershirt and smoking a cigar. He squinted at her. "What are you doing?" Franny backed away from the counter, her eyes full circles. He looked at the empty creamer. "Where've you been? What's going on?" She opened her mouth but could not speak. She closed her coat, embarrassed, she must look ridiculous. "Franny, you look beautiful." She began to cry. Something was very wrong. "Why you home Sam? What's going on?" "Don't wake your mother." He turned and walked down the hallway, opening the door to the basement steps. Franny followed him. "Why are you home? You told me you had to work." He reached the bottom step, turned around and raised his finger to his lips, signaling her to be quiet. He stepped into the laundry room, the appliances gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Franny looked at the pristine linoleum, she had just scrubbed it that morning and her eye caught a red spot. She looked up and there was Dennis, sitting in the corner, spattered with bright red paint. Were they out painting? Why wouldn't they change in the garage like they always have? There was an audible ringing in her right ear, tingling, warning her something was wrong. It was blood. The roll fell from her hand spiraling cash to the ground. She felt faint. She could not faint. If she fainted, she would not wake up. She took a step back. Dennis lit a cigarette, avoiding Franny's eyes, shaking his head. "Sammy, what? What happened?" "There was an accident. I need you to get rid of our clothes. You'd better go change." "But Sam, where were you? I thought you had work. What is this?" "We need to burn this stuff, get a can ready in the garage. Take off your clothes Dennis." Dennis remained in the corner, shaking his head. "Come on, you think I'm kiddin', get these off!" Sam pulled Dennis up by his shoulders. He was shivering as he removed his shirt, nipples erect and pale. "Franny, go change! Come on!" She was sobbing now, picking up the money, and rubbing her nose. Something had happened, something she would not know until she did exactly what she was told. 2005 Margie wraps her highlighted blond hair around the thin barrel and hears the slight sizzle that tells her she is beautiful. She tweezes her eyelashes and applies electric blue mascara she has worn since high school. She pushes her breasts together in the mirror and shakes her ass to the Latin music playing on her favorite radio station. It's five thirty, Rick is at a friend's house and Sal was no doubt riding his bike with friends, being hassled by local cops for vandalism he did not take part in. It was hard for Margie to fight for them day after day. She loves them so much and spends her life giving them the home they have and all anyone cares about is that she brought black kids into the neighborhood. Pulling up her hip huggers, she winks in the mirror. She's having Gerald pick her up at home. Why not? Why lie to Ed and insult his intelligence? What's the point? The boys will miss their father, but they'll have a strong black man to look up to, which is what they should've had all along. Ed was more of a grandfather to all of them. He prunes the bushes and reads the evening paper and talks to the boys about model trains. He's wilting, winding down, losing his stamina. Margie had been saving him for years. She gave him her teens and her twenties; she kept him up to date. It was her turn now. Younger men pay attention to her, want her in bed. Why shouldn't they? She's kept herself up, exercised, danced like a college girl. They had so much energy, would be so good for the boys. This was the right thing to do for everyone. Ed would get through it. He would pack up his overnight bag, move in with Franny where they could commiserate about the world going to Hell. 1983 Franny sat stirring her cold coffee, eye makeup smeared down her cheeks, hair frizzed out in wavy tufts. She did not know how long she had been sitting there. After she burned the clothes in the garage, she made a pot of coffee out of habit and just sat. Didn't check on Sicy, didn't water the plants, just sat. She didn't know where Sam was, she didn't know if the snow had stopped. All she knew was that Diane was dead. She could not remember how she found out. She assumed at some point around dawn Dennis stumbled up the steps, shaking and paper white, eyes oozing with tears, yanking a chair from the table and sitting across from her. She could not move, could not offer coffee, could not get him an ashtray, let him ash on her floor; she would scrub it again tomorrow. He told her, slowly, told her what happened, as if he was talking to a wall. It did not matter who was in her seat, he could've been talking to himself. He told her how the day she saw Rita in his apartment was the day he helped her abort her baby. She was pregnant with Leo Marci's baby and wanted it gone before he had found out. She couldn't raise a baby in a house full of mobsters. She didn't want to go to a hospital out of fear of Leo's guys reporting it back to him. Dennis got a phone call from her desperate and weeping. He decided to help her out as he'd always done. Sam had warned him to stay out of it, Leo Marci runs the whole town and Sam wanted Dennis as far away from Rita as possible. He didn't want Leo to think Dennis was involved with the pregnancy. Dennis paid a city doctor to drive in and perform the abortion in his apartment. There was a good chance Rita would die from infection, but she wanted to risk it instead of being shot in the beck of the head or suffocated with a plastic bag. Dennis held her hand the whole time. She didn't lose that much blood luckily and she was woozy from all the antiseptic she was given. He thought they'd be okay but Leo was suspicious after Rita refused sex. Sam got a call on his car phone saying that Franny was seen speaking with Rita outside Arancini's and put it together with what Franny told him. If Rita told Leo that Dennis had a hand in killing Leo's baby, he would rip out Dennis's throat, he wouldn't even mind getting his hands dirty. The only way to ensure Rita wouldn't talk was to get rid of her. Sam knew Dennis would never agree to killing her, so he told him they had to pick off one of Leo's guys who was at a party by Diane and Rita's. As soon as they got there, Sam tried to get Rita alone, but some junkies gave him a hard time and one of them pulled a gun. Everyone was running out of the apartment, a light got shot out, people were screaming, grabbing drugs, running out onto the balcony. Sam shot at who he thought was Rita running down the dark hallway, and hit her in the back. Only when moving the hair from her face did he realize it was Diane. Rita was no one in sight. By the time Dennis got to Diane, she had wet herself and was twitching, he tried to apply pressure but the bullet was in her spine. She was dead in three minutes. No cops came, no ambulance came, and everyone turned off their lights and waited for it to be over. Franny lost all desire to kill Dennis three minutes into when he started talking. She looked at his pathetic eyes seeping eyes speckled with thin red veins, worsening as he rubbed them in between deep sucks from his yellowing cigarette. She knew he was worried about Rita, that dirty childish slut, not knowing where she was made him want to kill himself. He spoke candidly, forgetting that Franny knew Diane so well, that she would've leapt in front of the bullet if she'd been there. Dennis leaves his gun on the table and steps into the parlor. She fingered the 14k gold zipper on her grandmother's sable coat, thinking of when her grandmother took her to California, her first and only time of an airplane. The dull blue ocean, the gray mountains, her springy curly hair blowing straight back in the warm breeze cast off the water. Her grandmother held her hand tightly walking in the sand, trapping it in between their toes, pointing out the seagulls, licking their snow cones. Franny had seen things in those three days that she didn't know were real. When she returned home, she kept a suitcase packed in her closet in case her grandmother ever wanted to take her away with her again. Her grandmother died the following winter. Franny unpacked her suitcase, knowing she wouldn't really be going anywhere that far away again. After she married Sam, she learned he was afraid to fly. She wondered if she returned to California, or went somewhere new, or just felt as if she could, if her heart would've burned in pain, shriveling into an angry black knot. 2005 Ed slams on the brakes, the steering wheel digging into his chest. He is winded, almost hitting the beat up Ford in front of him. He should've just hit it; no one would miss a car like that, or a person driving a car like that. His hands shake as he struggles to change the radio station. He wants to find something that reminds him of life before Margie. The conniving bitch, the slut. Making a fool of him. He must remain calm. His children need a stable man since he cannot think of one woman he knows he would want them with. Soiling his name, flaunting other men in and out of their lives, dragging them to confession when they had done nothing wrong. He would not hear of it. Margie was a child that he married and he allowed to run his life. She was temperamental and territorial. She would take the boys and Ed would never see them again if he angers her. He will not be an enemy of his boys. He will not have his children raised by another man, crude and sex crazed and poor in influence. He will not have them raised in shit after taking them out of shit at birth. He will not let Franny have her payback. Her "I told you so." He will not lose all he was worked for and let the child he married prevail. Then what comes to him is as stupid and fitting for the simple-minded man he is. Death. Death is the other sure way that the repercussions from her behavior will cease. Death. The only part of life that cannot be reversed. Franny lets herself into her house and a shadowy draft sweeps over her bringing her to Sicy's room where she laid stiff and dead. She walks into the kitchen and calls Ed at work. There is no answer, so she tells him in a message that their mother is dead. She walks into her bedroom and begins to lay her best church clothes out on the bed. Ed finds Margie in a bar that night with Bobby. She dancing, spinning around holding a martini as Bobby chats with friends at the bar. She sees Ed coming and stops. "What are you doing here?" "Margie please, I need you to come home now." She takes a sip of her drink. "I'm not goin' nowhere." "Margie, come on. Enough. Where are the boys?" She slams the glass on to the bar. It shatters and all the patrons look over at them. Bobby stands up and eyes him. "Get away from me, I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't love you, I never have." "Enough." Ed slams his hand on the bar." Bobby steps closer to him. "Fred, call the police." Margie shouts to the bartender. Ed holds up his sweaty hand. "No. Don't. I'll leave." He steps up to Margie, looking her up and down. "My mother died today." She stares at him, glassy eyed as he walks out of the bar. She grabs her jacket and follows him. Out in the parking lot, all he does is stare at her before handing her his house key, getting in his car and driving away. Three days later, Ed rolls his large duffel bag through Franny's back door. He decides that until the divorce is final, he should stay close to the house on 64th. With Sicy gone, Franny could use the help. She is in her room, disposing of the medicine she forgot to give Sicy, resulting in her death. Sam tells her to be quiet, not to talk that way, but she knows the truth. She's been keeping her alive for fifteen years. She wipes away dust with the palm of her hand. "Franny?" She hears Ed in the other room. She walks out and takes the coffee pot from the burner. She takes two of teacups from Sicy's tea service brought over on the boat and fills them to the brim. Ed sits down at the kitchen table. "Thank you." He says while sipping the hot coffee. "You're welcome." She sits across from him, stirring slowly with her teaspoon. "I got a call from the Bertucci's, said Ma's funeral was beautiful." "It was." "It's so strange, the timing of everything. You know, when Margie called me at the office that day, I wanted to kill her." Franny nodded. "No, not just wanted to, I mean, I was planning on how to kill her, physically." "Well, she brought a lot of shame to this family." Franny stood up and went over to the stove where she stirred tomatoes. "I'm just glad daddy wasn't alive to see it, ma too now, I guess." "It'll all be over soon." Ed stretched his arms over his head. Taking a few days from work has done wonders for him. "Where are the boys?" "Oh, Margie took them to Tampa with her parents for a few days. Just to get away from it all for awhile." Franny winced. She will never get used to how stupid her brother is. She looked up at the clock, 8am. "Alright well, I got to get to Dennis'. Stir these every hour till noon." "No problem." Ed said while unfolding his newspaper. "You know where I'll be if you need anything." "Bye Franny." She walked into her bedroom swiftly and took her suitcase from the closet closing the door behind her. She buttoned her coat. The sun was bright and she took brisk sweet breaths while putting on her gloves. She would never say it out loud of course, but Sicy dying was a relief. She had been sick for so long. Franny had been caring, sometimes overbearing her responsibility for years. Now she could do all the things she ever wanted to do, like travel. She would see all the places her grandmother said they go to. Everyone would worry at first but eventually, they'd move on as everyone does when someone is gone. She reached the squat building and climbed the three flights of stairs, being careful not to bang the suitcase against the wall. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving her suitcase in the parlor. She walked into the kitchen and opened the window; it smelled like smoke as usual. She peered through the screen at the oak tree in the lawn of the neighboring building. A mother sparrow was feeing her young; their heads bobbing up and down like a carnival game. She watched the precision, the instinctive maternal care only a mother could provide so effortlessly. If a woman does not have children, she may as well be a man. She waked through the kitchen and opened the bathroom door. Dennis was in the tub, head back, cigarette in mouth, mirror filled with steam. He looked at Franny. She removed his gun from her handbag and shot him three times. She threw the gun in the tub making sure not to get to close to him. She closed the bathroom door behind her. She picked up her suitcase and went down the steps quickly, a neighbor would surely be coming out of their apartment soon to see what that noise was. She would feel terrible if she had woken anyone. Next story >>>
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