>>Chapter Two

SLAM.

I jerk awake, eyes wide.

Heavy breathing.

I jump out of bed in shock, holding the blanket to my chest. Slowly, I open my room door and sneak my head out.

A shadowy figure stood at the door, head on the door, back against me.

My mind speeds past a million possibilities… except the one that’s most possible. I pick up Sara’s baseball bat from behind the kitchen table where it’s been lying for more than a month since Aidan quit baseball. I sneak up towards that figure.

It turns around.

“AGH!”

“AGH!”

We both scream at the same time, both eyes wide in terror, mouth open in horror, just staring at each other. Her hands are held up in front of her body protectively. Then there’s a moment of silence.

Somewhere in a distance comes the sound of a sound of an angry cat and the breaking of china. That cues our burst of hysterical laughter. I throw myself at her, the laughs cutting off my breathing and making me light-headed.

“Ha… Sar… a,” I babble. “Wha- ha ha…”

She laughs with me and it goes and goes until I notice the tears streaming down her face. For a moment, I think she’s just crying because she’s laughing too hard. Then she starts sobbing.

And I stop laughing. Altogether, she breaks down onto the floor, with me going down with her.

I’m in shock, and unable to speak. And through that silence, second by second, her sobs got louder and louder until she’s finally comfortable enough to really cry. To wail. And to let it all out. Her tears trickle down her whole face, down her neck, onto my shirt, staining it. Her face’s buried as she tries to hide her face, because she always told me that someone’s the ugliest when they cry, every time I cried.

I sit there, right in front of the door, my arms around her. Feeling broken to see her cry for the first time.

She’s been crying for three hours straight, finally quieting down. The sky’s lightening, even though the sun’s still unseen. She has her head on my lap and I stroke her golden locks, staring out the window.

I am lost in thought. I look down and see that blank look in her eyes, and I know that she may have been, but those thoughts are probably empty ones now.

Sara’s one of the strongest people I know. Because of her insanity, her straightforwardness, her happy-go-lucky outlook, it’s hard to be a fragile person. She never thought much of love. Always thought she could walk right past it, and I’ve seen her do it a dozen times. “Men should be toys – ’cause if they’re anything more, they’d come to life and stomp all over your head and pull your hair, then break your heart. And hair-pulling should only be allowed during sex,” quote Sara – and I am serious that she wrote that down in one of her articles.

Through the night, I saw the changes in her emotions. Up and down. She started mumbling about how it wasn’t her fault, it shouldn’t be her fault. Then she cried loudly again, and started cursing “that effin’ asshole, heartbreaker, drunkard!” which lasted about an hour. She quieted down again. Then she started moaning about what’s wrong with her, and got louder when she started complaining about how love was unfair and not worth this, angered again. The tears never stopped. And before one point where she stopped altogether, she just cried and quietly said, “I don’t want my heart anymore… it’s broken.” And then… there were no sounds, at all.

I was unable to feel anything for Aidan, not anger, not indignation. I only had mind and heart for Sara. But now… I open my mouth. “Can I go shoot him?”

Sara bursts into hysterical laughter.

Oh, no.

“Ha – shoot – him –” she blathers as she shakes uncontrollably on the floor with laugher. “Shoot… ha…”

I look at her, panicky, entirely unsure of what to do. Tears begin to run down her face again. My heart shoots up to my throat.

She rolls over and catches sight of my expression. She laughs louder, harder. “Ha! Ha… you’re… ha… why do… ha ha… look so…”

I scowl. “Sara… are you okay?”

She lets out this one big high-pitched laugh that makes me shrink. “No, silly! I’m not!” And contradicting her words, she continues laughing.

“Sara?”

“Because I think I just peed!”

“Agh!” I run for it immediately, not even caring when her head drops on the floor. “SARA!”

She continues laughing. “God… ha… need to… get up…”

“I am not cleaning that mess up, okay?” I glare at her.

“Ah, shut up, will ya?” With a hmpf, she pushes herself into sitting position. “I’ll clean it up later. You better go cook for me. I’m damn hungry.” And her stomach growls right on cue. She gets up and walks towards her room. “I didn’t get to eat yesterday –” and right before her door closes behind her “BASTARD AIDAN!” Slam.

But I’m pretty sure she didn’t cry after that.

Then she opens the door, and looks at me for a moment. “Should probably clean up that first huh?” she curses, staring at the blotch on the floor.

Thank God I refused when she asked for carpets last time.

She walks out of her room while I’m stirring the pot of gumbo.

“AGH! SARA!” The ladle in my hand drops to the floor with a loud clang. I stare at her with utter horror.

“What?” She twirls her finger around her hair self-consciously with a frown on her face.

All her luscious locks are gone. Gone. “Gone,” I say in a hushed voice.

She stares at me with her brow crumpled. “It’s just hair, Una. It’ll grow back.”

Agh! I love Sara’s hair. Her gold curls were everything I wanted to have. I have terrible hair (though that’s probably because I don’t take very good care of it), always astray and messy, often unkempt. My mahogany hair’s been short for the past six years and she’s the one who convinced me to let it grow and now she’s chopped her waist-length hair off!

“I’m gonna go to the saloon – have Ty trim it off properly.”

And with that she leaves me, with a pot of gumbo… “AGH!” – that’s getting burnt.

I grumble as I pick up the ladle and get a big plate of rice, topping it with as much gumbo as it can take before it overflows. Gumbo for breakfast. Yeesh.

I walk to the living room and placing the plate on the coffee table, I prop myself down on the couch and switch on the TV. I take the plate onto my lap and start stuffing spoons into my mouth. I stare at the TV, one hand clicking on the remote, surfing channels.

The phone starts ringing. I stare at the clock, remembering it’s a Sunday. Shoot.

I drop the remote and put the plate down, spilling some gumbo on the table. I plunge for the phone.

“Hey, Michael,” I greet breathlessly.

“Una? Shouldn’t you be picking Ma up today?” he sounds disapproving through the phone.

“Hey, yeah. Sorry about that. I… well, Sara just went through a breakup,” I answer honestly.

There’s a moment of silence. “That Aidan bloke?” He sounds mad. Oh, crap.

I think Michael’s in love with Sara. Michael’s been divorced from the Wicked Witch for four years. That’s around the time I met Sara. But Michael’s never said anything about it, and I know better than to ask. And honestly… I wouldn’t know how to feel if they do end up together – which makes it all rather scary. “Mystery is only but a veil from knowledge that sometimes gives you a sense of security,” said Rita, “well, unless your husband decides to get a dog secretly, forgetting that you’re allergic to fur.”

“Yes, Aidan.”

He makes a sound of disgust. “I told you she should’ve broken up with him long before.”

“I don’t get a say in Sara’s love life, Michael,” I say loudly.

There’s a moment of silence and I know that I’ve got him in chagrin. “Okay. Well, pick up Ma, alright? I think she wants to go to the park today.”

“Yeah. I will.”

And he hangs up, leaving me just a tiny bit guilty. I shake it off by thinking about the times he bullied me. Then I threw myself back down on the couch, switch off the TV and gobble up the gumbo.

I jump into the shower after that and change into a plain white dress – something Ma picked out when I brought her shopping last month, knowing it’d make her happy… if she remembers. I leave a note on the counter for Sara and pick up my keys on the way out.

I open the door. “Hello, darling.”

“Hi, Rita,” I smile up at her. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“What was last night’s commotion about, dear?” she asks with earnest concern.

Rita is sixty-seven, with big green eyes and iron-colored hair, and dresses appropriately. Her husband, Sonny, has been in the hospital for the past two years – in and out, in and out. They’re the most admirable couple around, married for fifty years with two children, both abroad and married, with grandchildren who comes around every month to cause a huge racket but a lot of laughter.

I smile slightly. “Aidan.”

Of course, she knows everything, as a rightful gossiper. She doesn’t belong in New York with people who don’t give a damn about what’s going on in other people’s lives.

“Oh, dear.” She purses her lips. “That man…” she shakes her head. “He is no good. No good at all.”

“I know.”

“Well, good to be rid of him then, Sara.” She nods seriously. “You better make sure he doesn’t come around again, Una, dear.”

I hadn’t even thought about that. I frown. “Yeah… I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t.”

“Right then, darl. I assume you’re going to see you dear old mother. Be on your way now! Don’t keep her waiting! Say hello for me,” she titters.

I laugh. “Sure, Rita. I’ll see you when I get home.”

She waves as I trot down the stairs. And I get a cold feeling inside of me, for a second. Seeing how Ma’s doing, after Papa… and as for Sonny and Rita… I don’t even want to think about what would happen.

I pull up in front of an average-sized, handsome-looking house halfway through Manhattan. The long glass windows without shutters look like eyes – sad eyes, tinted blue and looking lifeless. I stare for a moment. Then something moves.

I get out of the car and walk up the cobblestoned path. The door flings open.

“Auntie U-na!” Lora, the three-year old toddler comes stumbling out.

“Lora!” I pick her up and gives her a good spin around. “How’s my little niece doing?”

“Rara got teeth now.” She grins to show off her new front teeth.

I don’t know why they call her Rara. I think it’s cute, but it’s funny… in a strange way. Rara. I just don’t get it. But then again, it is the Wicked Witch who started that one.

“Una.”

I look up. Michael’s face is half hidden in the shadow of that dark cursed house. I breathe out heavily and decide to give it a shot at being warm. “Hey, Michael,” I smile.

He moves a bit out, and nods. His auburn hair has been stained by streaks of gray. His handsome brow that he inherited from Dad lined and his brown eyes tired. He nods slightly. “I’ll go get Ma.”

I play with Lora while Michael got Ma out of the house. I look at her as her eyes scrunch up when the sun hits her eyes and then slowly opens up again.

“Una, dear,” she greets me with enthusiasm hidden by years and years of tiredness and sadness.

“Momma,” I lean forward to hug her.

“Una, honey… why don’t you come inside?” she persuades me, the way she does every single time I come over.

And like every single time, I refuse. “Come on, Momma. We’ll go to the park today. It’s a good day out. Then I’ll take you to lunch, if you’d like that?”

She looks at me for a second. Just looks at me. Then slowly, she nods. “Alright, dear.”

I wrap my arm around her shoulder and support her to the car’s passenger seat. Then putting on my shades, disguising all emotion, I nod to Michael, smile at Lora, started the engine and sped off… away from that stupid, sad house.

“What a lovely dress, dear. When did you get it?” Ma attempts at making conversation.

She doesn’t remember. “Momma, you picked it out for me last month, when we went shopping?”

She frowns. “I… don’t remember.”

“That’s alright, Ma.” I smile tightly, hoping that it doesn’t get to her. Because Momma hates it when she forgets things… and she just can’t help it.

Her frown becomes permanent, setting into the lines of her face. “Why don’t I remember?”

“That’s alright, Ma. It’s just your medications.” I know I shouldn’t have brought it up.

I stare at the water trickling down the fountain. We’re sitting outside a restaurant inside the park. The air’s getting hotter by the second, and the clock tower shows that it’s now one p.m. There’s noise, no peace. This is the reason I don’t like parks.

Back in Michigan, as a child, I spent every weekend with my family out at the park. That park was right. The only noise was the sounds of laughter and soft chatter and the wind and the light lapping of the water in the lake. But I can’t expect New York to be like a small town – can’t expect anything here to be like a small town.

A mime comes up to me. And I glare at him with a sort of blackness. But it didn’t bother him – he probably has seen worse.

“Ma, stay calm,” I give her a warning.

“Oh!” Okay, waste of a warning.

She looks shocked as the mime starts riding on an imaginary scooter. Then she just looks fascinated. And I hold back a laugh at the childish look of curiosity on her face.

The mime finishes his performance and holds out a hand. Ma stares at it. He stares at her.

I pick out a couple of twos and slap it into his hand. He bows delightfully with his imaginary hat and then goes off with his imaginary scooter.

“What’s that, dear?” Ma asks.

“A mime.”

“A mime…” She frowns in concentration. “I… oh! I remember!” She looks even more delighted than the mime that got his lunch money.

“Yes, Ma?” I ask with a smile.

She laughs. “Oh, your Papa and I used to make fun of those mimes. We’re much better at what they do than them.”

Then, a moment of silence. That’s the way it is all the time, whenever we talking about Papa. It’s like she struggles to keep his memory alive in her mind, but like I said, she just forgets things. So she works really, really hard to remember everything about Papa. And that’s how much they loved each other… and so much more.

“Momma… tell me about how you met Papa again?” I ask, like I always did as a child.

A smile lights up her face. Now, this is a story she knows well, that she can never forget. “Alright, dear. Let’s start from the beginning. It was summer when I left Michigan…”

“You still haven’t told me what happened,” I prod, being unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

Sara looks at me with a twitchy eyebrow. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

I know Sara – she definitely wants to talk about it. “Liar.”

She wrinkles her nose. “It’s nothing.”

We were lying on the floor, with a tub of ice-cream in her hands and a bowl of popcorn in mine. The TV is on but we’re facing each other. The sun has gone down. In New York, it’s never black outside. Lights are everywhere and noises don’t stop. The dishes have piled up to maximum in the sink after Sara’s attempt to cook. In the end, I cooked up spaghetti, the instant type and made her promise she’d do the dishes.

She sighs. “Okay… I haven’t broken up with him yet.”

“No!” I gasp. “He’s coming back?” I look at her in horror.

She gives me a look of scorn. “Who said I’m letting him back in?”

“But you haven’t broken up with him?” I scowl back at her.

“Not yet.”

I breathe. “Bless my heart.” Then pause. “Wait! When are you going to do it?”

She glares at me and my suspicious face. “I know you think I’m going to change my mind,” she says loudly.

“No, I know you’re going to change your mind if you don’t do it quick,” I interrupt just as loudly.

We have a glare-down for the next five minutes.

“Fine, I’ll do it tomorrow,” she says grudgingly, losing.

“You better.”

“I will.” She purses her lips. And I look in her eyes, seeing all her uncertainties jumping up and down in that sea of gray.

“It’s much better than crashing weddings, trust me,” I crack a joke weakly.

She rolls her eyes. “Found a new target yet?” she grins.

“Hah!” I snort. “I have standards, okay? I don’t just go and take any man I can spot.”

She fake-gasps. “You haven’t given up on it then?”

I’m quiet for a moment. “Oh, hey, maybe I can go crash that little boy’s wedding.”

“What little boy?” She raises one eyebrow.

So I tell her about the story.

“Hmm. I’ll have to call up some people to find out what school. But I think I can pinpoint a couple…” I’ve got her in business mode. She flicks open her cell phone. “I’ve got the contacts. Some principals too. But I think student information is confidential. Attendance might be alright though.”

Then she pauses. “Hold on. Why are you so interested?” Her eyes narrow.

“A little boy with an evil mother – why aren’t you interested?” I rolled my eyes.

Her eyes light up. “Brilliant! Article! Oh gosh –”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What?” I stare at her.

She stares back at me. “Article. That’s what you were thinking about, right?”

I give her a look of horror-indignation. “What? No! I am not going to ruin a little boy’s life for money.”

“It’s not about money!” she dismisses that thought impatiently. “Think about all the people you can bring out! It’s about… changing perspectives! Shaking up the community –”

Oh, dear… I’ve got her on a roll.

“Sara. Sara! I can’t do that.”

She stops and frowns at me. “If you don’t, I will.”

My eyes narrow and I clench my fist. “This isn’t funny, Sara –”

She holds up her hands. “Confidentiality promised.”

We stare at each other for a moment.

“Article for the contacts,” she speaks her condition.

Slowly, I raise my hand and shook hers.

“Deal.”