My Dystopic Reality

I can hear the muffled mumble of the sisters' voices in the nanoseconds before I open my eyes and re-enter my dystopic reality.  The sleep cements both eyes shut and so I have to struggle with the lids before the right one cracks open ever so slightly, then eventually, the left.

I'm thirsty.  Very thirsty.

In the corner I can see one of the sisters sewing something as she sits in this dimly lit room.  She's long-legged.  I notice the elegance of her stature as she sits there perfectly poised with one leg crossed over the other while she hems.  She dresses in a hippie-like fashion -- long flowing hair held together on top by a clip; polyester-type pants; and a fringe laden top of some sort.  Her hair and worn skin are indicative of the sixty or so years she's spent on Earth.  I imagine that her hair was probably brown with blond highlights at one point - a few decades ago; but now it's various shades of grey.

She agrees every now and then through the wall to her sister who I imagine is doing something more productive on the other side.

"Indeed," is the last word I hear from her before I open my mouth to speak.

"How long have I been out?" I say as I try to adjust myself in the bed that I'm lying on.  I notice that the room is lit by the mercy of the daylight that seeps in from behind closed curtains.  It's a boy's room.  A young boy's room.  There are lots of posters of ships and planes on the walls.

"She's awake!" says the sister closest to me as she stands from her chair and draws nearer to the side of the bed.

"How marvelous!" gushes the other sister as she swoops into the room wiping her hands on a cloth.

I am greeted with identical smiles.

"How are you feeling?" says the sister with oil on her hands.

"I feel -- fine, actually.  Just sore," I say as I roll my right shoulder around to find that it is fully functional with limited pain.

"You are very lucky!" says the sister to my right.

"Lucky indeed!" smiles the one to my left.

I wonder for a moment if they've always been this interconnected -- or did the disaster bring them closer together?

"What is your name, dear?" says the sister to my left.

"It's Karen," I tell them -- and wait for them to introduce themselves.

"How wonderful, mine is Mildred" says the sister to my right, "and this is Annie," she says as she gestures to her twin to the left of me.

"I am very glad to meet you," I say.  There is a multitude of entendres in that sentence, but I don't fixate on the subtext for too long.

"As are we!" they say in elated unison.

"As are we!" echoes through this little boys' room. 

I assume I've been resting here for a few days at the very least, given the mobility I now have in my shoulder.  I am overwhelmed with unanswered questions.  How did they find me?  Are we safe?  Where are we right now? 

At this moment, I have no idea if we are the last three people on Earth, but I am very grateful for Mildred and Annie.  And I know, that in the next few moments, when they've finished fawning over me and bringing me soup; that they will answer all my questions and tell me everything that I need to know.

The Proverbial Light

A single tear slowly streaks down my left cheek.  This is all the pity I allow myself as my breath becomes shallower and I drift in and out of consciousness.  I am weak.  My thoughts bleed into sleep and I have a hard time recognizing the few seconds that I am awake before I drift back into slumber -- only to be awake for a moment, and then slumber.

I try to take a deep breath -- but it's hard.  The muscles in my chest are deflated from the lack of nourishment.  I've given up trying to get out of here.  I will die here.

I've accepted that this will be my last few moments on Earth.  It's not the way I planned it; long, lingering, stinky and painful.  But the flip side to dying is that there is relief.

I'm too weak to have any self-deprecating thoughts about how I'm dying here cold, scared, and alone.  They don't matter.  Nothing much matters anymore.

I've taken to breathing shallowly through my nostrils.  It gives my pinned shoulder some comfort from the rise and fall of my chest -- and it passes the time.

And then I see it.  That proverbial white light.  It's radiant.  Blinding.  And so, I squint to accommodate the swift change to my iris'. Through the slits in my eyes I can barely make out in the distance two shadowy figures walking towards me, they're taller in stature than I would have thought -- and female.  They have long flowing hair.

"It's quite the catastrophe isn't it sister?"

"Indeed, sister -- the catastrophe."

They mumble to each other as they approach.

"This one is moaning -- she's alive!"

"Alive indeed!"

A moment later I feel the weight of the rock lifted from my right shoulder.  A moment after that water is being poured on my face, as soft hands brush my hair to the side.

"Quite the miracle to have found her in here,"

"Found her indeed!"

My body aches and cracks in odd places as I feel my upper body being hoisted into a sitting position, as more water is being poured on my face.

"Such a wonderful discovery!"

"Wonderful indeed,"

I close my eyes and let the cool water wash over me -- and for the first time in what feels like days, I open my mouth and allow both water and air to nourish me.

When I start to feel the blood tingle with life in my extremities, and energy sift towards my lungs, then brain, then eyes -- I realize that I am not dead.

That I am very much alive.

I raise my head to look at the two women who have offered me salvation -- when I see a third.  A short fat one, smiling and jumping in the background.

"Mia!  Yer iz alives!  Yer iz alives!  I iz finding dees sisters and dey iz here to help yers!"

I say thank you, in my heart.  My mouth is unable to form words. 

I drink more water, this time with a hunger for life -- my life, and all its possibilities.  And, as I watch Consuela dance a little happy dance awkwardly amongst the rubble and destruction in the car park, I am grateful for the sisters and their unlimited canteens of water, as I try not to think about the bodies I now see laying limp and lifeless all around me.

Gratitude Attitude

The stench of urine is starting to overwhelm me.  I have a new found appreciation for showers, soap, and the unencumbered ability to walk around breathing fresh oxygen.  The light has darkened and so I know it is now night.  There are no other moans.  Everyone around me is dead.  I am Kate Winslet at the end of Titanic and it sucks ass.

I dropped my water bottle yesterday and haven't been able to reach the other bottle in my bag, so my thirst is rampant.  The pain, at least, for the time being is gone.  I am now numb on most of the right side of my body.  I think I may have drifted in and out of sleep -- but I'm not sure.  I wiggle my toes every now and then to make sure that I'm not paralyzed.  So far, so good.

I think about mothers who are able to lift cars when their children are pinned underneath them, and why I'm unable to do that for myself.  Part of me understands that to be part of a group is perhaps, the essence of humanity.

I start to draw on my lessons from Oprah and begin my ritual of being grateful.  I still have energy in me to empower positive thoughts -- and that, for now has to be enough to sustain me.

I am grateful that I am not bleeding to death.

I am grateful that there are no fires.

I am grateful that I'm not paralyzed.

I am grateful that no one is here to smell my urine.

I am grateful that I haven't had to go number two.

I am grateful for the ability to see some light so I have an idea as to how much time may have passed.

I am grateful for the oxygen that I am able to breath despite being under this rubble.

I am grateful to be alive.

I will get out of here.

I will take a shower.

I will be ok.

Everything is going to be fine.

zen-like assertion

The moans have lessened over the past few hours.  I have no idea how long I've been here, or how badly I'm buried.  There is a small crack to the left of me that offers some light, and for the time being it is providing much needed oxygen.

Despite my overwhelming thirst, I try to salvage all my energy to assess the situation.  I know the building has collapsed.  I know there was some sort of firestorm.  The rest I'm uncertain of.

Aliens?

Meteor Shower?

What does this all mean?

I try again to use the weight of my good shoulder to move the slab of cement on top of me, but it doesn't budge.  The back of my head hurts from being rammed into an unwelcoming jagged edge -- but that, for now, is the least of my problems.

I try not to obsess with worst-case-scenario thoughts...for the time being I practise zen-like assertion:

I am alive.

I can breathe.

Everything will be fine.

The silence is engulfing.  Silence means death.  For the first time I have a grave perspective on what life without others would be like...

How we need each other.

How I would give anything to see my worst enemy right about now....

I try to conserve my energy by not crying.  I am not going to feel sorry for myself.  I can't.  I need me in every capacity to survive this.

Everything is going to be fine.

Do NOT fall asleep.

Everything is fine.

I try to readjust my head -- but I can't.  Part of me worries for a second that I've sustained some sort of paralysis, but a moment later I feel my toes wiggle and realize that I'm ok.

I'm just pinned.

This is salvageable.

Everything is fine.

I wonder if the others around me are doing the same sort of meditation...I hope they are and that they are ok.

My thirst is rampant.  I strain my left hand to feel around for my bag in the dark.  A moment later one of my fingers grazes past the canvas material, and I try to leverage my knee to push it towards me.

It feels like hours before I finally manage to grasp the top of the lid of one of the water bottles in my bag.  I used the base of a cement block below me as support, and maneuvering my forearm ever-so-slightly, I manage to roll the water bottle towards my elbow, where I hook it. 

I ignore the rampant pain from my right shoulder as I use my right hand to twist open the cap.  A moment later I take a precious sip -- then place the bottle beside me.

I don't know how long I will have to wait here -- but I know that this is just temporary.

I can breathe.

I have water.

I am fine.

Hungry Squirrel

"The water, it's too hot!" says my puppy in a squeaky voice.  I turn to adjust the cold water and then ask if it's ok.

"Now, it's too cold." she says.

I marvel for a second at how well her English has gotten -- she's only two and is already able to speak in full sentences.

I look around the room I'm in.  It's filled with metal cages, and the one right next to us has a squirrel.

"I'm hungry!" yells the squirrel, but I ignore it.  I'm too busy trying to wash my puppy at a temperature that she likes.

"I'm hungry! I'm hungry!" squeals the squirrel.  A moment later it begins to bounce around the cage -- and I start to feel bad because I know the squirrel is hungry but I have to take care of my puppy right now.

The squirrel uses it's arms to rock the cage back and forth.  The sound is thunderous.

"Make it stop," says my puppy in a soft voice.

I turn towards the squirrel just as it manages to topple over its cage.  A moment later the door bursts open.  A moment after that it is eating away at my right shoulder.

I open my mouth to scream -- but nothing comes out.

I try again -- but nothing.

"Make it stop," says the puppy in a soft calm voice.

And then --

I open my eyes.  All I can see is darkness.  I wait for my vision to adjust, and sense a sharp crushing pain in my right shoulder.

I smell cement.

"Make it stop," says a women's voice calmly in the distance.

"I'm hungry," yells another further away.

"It's too cold," whispers someone beside me.

I move my left arm to feel my way through the darkness.  The pain in my right shoulder sharpens.  And then it dawns on me; my reality.

I am buried under slabs of cement.

My right arm is pinned by a boulder.

I am trapped.

As are the voices moaning in the blackness all around me.

Where is Lando Calrissian when you need him?

"More coffee?" Someone in a suit asks as I hand my cup over to them.  There's nothing but sugary donuts on the board room table, and I'm trying not to give into the temptation.  It's another long development meeting and I've spent most of it half listening as I gaze out the floor to ceiling windows towards the skyscrapers in the horizon.

It's a foggy day; and so most of the buildings are half engulfed by clouds.  It's eerie, but part of me is secretly hoping for Lando Calrissian to show up and orchestrate my escape.

How friggen cool would that be?

I try to wash away the boredom with images of me running down a long glass corridor in Cloud City with Chewbacca guarding my back.

The irony, as I sit here bored to tears, is that I couldn't sell the reality of my life.  There's no conflict.  Nothing to get excited about.  No thunderous soundtrack to mark impending doom.

Just me, sitting here, on a foggy morning having a boring meeting -- and trying my best to ignore the presence of sugary donuts.

The clock ticks.

Seconds morph into Eons.

I yawn.

It's funny how life is.  The Monday to Friday of it all.  Boring.  Simple.  Uneventful.  I guess if the real world were more exciting, I wouldn't have a thriving career.

I yawn, again.

More seconds melt into minutes, then quarter hours.

The clouds become thicker and darker.

Probably going to rain.

Eventually, the room becomes so dark that we have to turn on some more lights.  A moment later a predictable squabble starts between the talent and one of the producers.  Their egos put on boxing gloves and duke out who has more power, and so I shift back in my chair to feign sleep until it is over.

I'm awoken a moment later by a commotion outside, followed by a young girl who bursts into the boardroom and exasperatedly tells us to "Turn on the news!"

I look outside to see that the fog has shifted to dark rolling clouds.

What the fuck?

Panic starts to set in as someone clicks on the flatscreen to our right to catch an interrupted news brief;

"...to warn that all immediate measure be taken and that for the time being; we are urging everyone to stay underground. I repeat, while it is unknown what exactly has prompted this bizarre...firestorm...we are urging all citizens to immediately evacuate to the nearest basement at this time."

In the distance I see a red streak shoot from one of the clouds and smash into a building.  A moment later, our building begins to shake.

"C'mon!" I say to everyone as we all begin to race towards the stairs.

There's a lag in the hallway in front of the stairs.  People stampede over one another as they push forwards towards the staircase.  I take a second and grab some water bottles from a nearby waiting area and throw them in my bag.  A moment later, two people behind me grab the rest of them.

The crowd in front of us is thick, and there's massive panic and disarray in front of the stairwell.

My stomach begins to turn with fear.  I don't know what is happening.

I don't try to push; because something deep inside of me is telling me not to -- and so, out of primal necessity I chose to listen.

And then it happens.

A red steak fires through the wall and disseminates a dozen or so people who are crowding in front of the stairwell.

Before I have time to process what I've just seen, someone grabs my arm and we begin to race in the opposite direction.  I can feel tears flowing down my cheeks, but my legs seem to take over and a moment later we are scurrying down another set of stairs.

The smell of fire and charred flesh becomes more pungent.

I can barely grasp enough breath to take me down the next flight.  But somehow, I manage and a moment later we join with a small crowd as we race through the back hallways of maintenance towards another door and another set of stairs.

And then we hear it.

The thunder.

The screams.

"Hurry!" someone shouts as if that thought hadn't occurred to any of us.

We blast through the emergency exit.  I'm the second to last to make it through the door before I hear an explosion.  And then the steel door shuts behind me.

It's dark and moist as we hurry towards the basement parking area.  More screams in the distance. 

The five or six of us take salvage in the bottom of a stairwell on one of the levels of the parking garage.  The lights have now gone out with only the faint hue of green from one emergency light outlining our terrified faces.

It's hard to breathe.  I watch as the walls and stairwell shake uncontrollably all around us.  I have no choice but to huddle and cover my head.  The screams intensify as the ground all around us shakes.

I grab on to the person beside me for balance -- and they do the same to the person beside them. 

We are all in tears.

More screams -- this time in the parking garage outside of the stairwell we're huddled in. 

And then we hear it -- the deep rumble of crashing cement.  It is inevitable -- the building is caving in on us.  The stairs begin to crumble around us, and I brace for impact by covering my head with my hands. 

I am shaking uncontrollably.

The screams become louder with the thunderous crumbling --

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Floors are caving in on one another.  Slowly at first -- then faster.

My heart is pounding.  The person beside me wets themself out of fear.  I look to them to offer some sort of comfort, but just when we're about to make eye contact, the walls around us begin to crack -- and the floor gives out.

And I fall -- barely able to make out the chaos and destruction in the hue of the green light that offers little comfort.

And as a sharp searing pain takes control of my body, I --

lunch-time rush

There's a long line up of hungry lunchtimers that winds past the water fountain.  I stand at the edge of the parkette and wait for the line to dwindle before approaching.

Consuela is in full swing.  She smiles at her customers.  Some of them smile back.  Most of them are preoccupied with the music their iPhones are entertaining them with.  Consuela scoops up the meat with vigor and excitement before lovingly pouring it into a soft shell -- then a hard one -- then two soft ones.

There's something very rewarding about watching her take the change from her customers and pour it into her money pouch which she wears around her waist.

Holy Shit!

Consuela has a waist.

This Taco Stand really is doing wonders for her. 

I watch for a few more seconds without her noticing me; her shoulders seem to have more stature.  She's also wearing capris.  And flip flops.

It's a whole new Consuela.

When the crowd breaks, I walk over to her.  She doesn't notice me at first because she is busy cleaning up around the edges of her condiment trays.

"Hey!" I say and approach.

She gives me a fake kiss on one of my cheeks, and it takes everything in me not to laugh.  There's something very odd about a mis-matched capri outfit held together with a banana clip and topped off with a snotty kiss mostly used by socialites.

Interesting.

I look behind Consuela to see a sad looking boy staring at the Taco Stand.  He doesn't encroach on her space; but you can tell that he's hungry.  Beyond him are two older homeless men swapping stories and drinking from a paper bag.  They laugh as if there isn't a care in the world.

"Um...," I start and point with my eyes in the direction of the boy who is hungry.  I call him a boy, but he's in his late teens.  I try not to think about what brought him to the streets.

Consuela turns around, sees him, and then busies herself with grilling some more beef.  I watch for a moment as she smiles towards a few business men who appear as if they are walking towards the Taco Stand.  She smiles like a hooker in a red light district, but they don't take notice.

"Um....," I say again a little louder.  I can't tell her what to do.  Her heart has to grow into it.

She gives the boy a disdainful look but then reluctantly makes him two soft tacos and walks it over to him.

He smiles with a slight embarrassment, and then asks for something to drink.  Consuela pulls a Sprite out of her cooler and hands it to him.  As he wolfs down the first soft taco in record time; a cloud shifts.

A moment later when he cracks open the can of Sprite, a ray of sun beams down from the sky and graces Consuela's Taco Stand with a heavenly spotlight.

And just like that, a long line continues to form and Consuela once again busies herself with feeding the hungry people.

The boy eventually disappears, and a new one takes his place.  But this time Consuela doesn't wait for a break in the crowd.  She simply hands him two soft tacos and a Pepsi, before returning to her never ending lunch-time rush.

I waive as I walk away, knowing that Consuela is in good hands; as are the people she's feeding.

This Taco Stand has turned out to be a really good thing.

Prince Charmings are Hot!

Sigh.

I'm sitting across from a Production Exec who doesn't really get what I'm trying to do.  They're nice, and they smile a lot, but somehow hidden behind the glint in their right eye I know that their thoughts are elsewhere.

They offer me some coffee, but my stomach is off.  Convincing people to do something outside of their comfort zone has never been my strong point.  I like to inspire, not finagle. 

I start to think that maybe I should hire a Development Exec to take these meetings for me, because I am really awful at selling in the room.

On the page -- no problem.  In person; I waiver.

My mind drifts to all the crap that's been made over the years because someone was excellent at pitching it in the room -- and horrible at executing their vision.

We can't all be James Cameron....

"So," he starts and snaps me out of my gaze, "Why don't we see what happens when you hand us a couple of outlines?"

"Cool." I say and thank him.  I guess I'm not so crappy about explaining what I'm trying to do after all.  Either that, or he's hard pressed to fill up his development slate.

My mind starts to do cartwheels.  I hate that despite the fact that something really good just happened, I'm still second guessing myself.

It's annoying.

And lame.

And dumb.

For a second I have a childhood memory of me riding my pink banana seat bike down the street; and I marvel with excitement because there are rainbow streamers flowing from the handles which I had completely forgotten about!  

"Hey!" he says to me with a weird smile. I'm snapped back into the meeting.  I realize that I'm now standing -- and I have my coat on.

"You ok?" he asks with genuine sincerity.

I nod, and give a faint smile.  "I just have a lot on my mind," I tell him as we walk towards the door.

"Well, try to focus on this for now," he tells me before scurrying down the hall to go do something more pressing.

A moment later I'm walking towards reception.

A moment after that I'm in the elevator with a courier.

A second later I'm on the street.

My head feels a bit dizzy, and I start to think that maybe I am coming down with something.  Things have been fuzzy lately. 

Pale.

Void of their full colour.

As if I'm watching everything through a dirty window and the audio is off.  As if I'm walking around in a muted reflection of what my life is suppose--


"WATCH OUT!" I hear a voice yell as the air is yanked from my throat and I'm jerked backwards.

And just like that -- the colour returns.

I try to catch my breath, but I'm distracted by everything that just happened and the blaring horn of a car that narrowly missed hitting me.

Everyone stares.

"You ok?" he asks, and then tries to straighten my jacket which he used to pluck me from certain death.

"Yes!  Thank you so much.  I must have been daydreaming." I say and realize that I'm shaking.

He's tall.

And handsome.

And married.

I do an awkward smile because I'm not really sure how to act in this moment.  I think he knows I was checking him out -- but I like a good fairy tale; and Prince Charmings are hot.

For now, the audio has returned.  I can now feel everything that I'm suppose to.  I'm alive.

It takes a moment before the crowd disperses.  We do an awkward waive with each other as I walk more conscientiously towards the subway.

And when no one is watching, I say a little thank you to Fate for her ever perfect timing.  For somehow, in the millisecond that it took for me to be yanked back into this world; I've had an epiphany about what needs to be done.  What I'm here to accomplish.

And what it all means.

Cleopatra-ish

"Stop fidgeting!" I yell as I try to straighten Consuela's head so I can do a good job.  I've managed to convince her to let me cut some bangs, since she refuses to go and get her hair cut until the Taco Stand is in full swing.

"Yer iz going to poke out de eyes!" she wails back at me as if I'm suffering from Parkinson's disease.  I stop for a moment in case the lack of coffee is making me shake, but then realize that Consuela is just being stupid.

"Do you want me to do this or not?" I ask and cross my arms in front of me nearly clipping one of her cheeks by accident with the scissors.

She glares.

"Sorry," I say with a half chuckle at the irony of what just happened.  I don't think Consuela is amused.

"Why iz yer haf to do dis right dis second?" she says to me without standing up from the chair. 

"Right this second?" I say.  It's obvious my mannerisms have rubbed off on the way she speaks.

"Because," I say as I grab a chunk of what could be bangs and make one swift slice with the scissors.

The hair falls to the floor peacefully, and so I begin to snip away at the jagged pieces.  "You need a change." I tell her as I straighten the bottom of her bangs to more or less look Cleopatra-ish.

"There!" I say, as I step back so Consuela can squint at herself in the mirror.

"Much better, no?" I prod.

She shrugs her shoulders then reaches for her sneakers.

"Sanks," she says without any real sincerity before grabbing her duffel bag and heading towards the door.

"It really looks much better," I say as convincingly as I can.  But the truth is, I am a bit worried that when the humidity sets in the bangs may be uneven.

But for now, I'll keep that thought to myself.

After the door clicks behind her, I go to reach for a broom to sweep up the remainder of the hairs.  It's weird having more work to do around the place, now that Consuela is starting her own business.

I hope she does amazing.  I hope she has a chain of Taco Stands one day.

Then I could laze around all day while she works her ass off....for a change.

As I bend to sweep the clumps of hair into the dustpan, I notice that some of it looks out of place.  Some of it is long and light brown....

...like mine.

I walk towards the mirror and notice jagged Cleopatra-like bangs staring back at me.  I think for a moment because I don't remember the scissors ever being in Consuela's possession.

When I look back down at the hair on the floor, it's changed in texture.  Now all of it is light wavy brown like my own.

I look back to the mirror and try my best to straighten out what I can with the scissors, but cutting into a reflection requires a certain amount of coordination -- which I don't seem to have.

When I more or less even out the fringe, I put the scissors back where they belong, and the hair in the garbage before putting the broom back in the closet.

When Consuela gets home today, I'll have to tell her that I don't find her little joke amusing.  I've never looked good with bangs.

They're just not my thing.

Me

"Wow!"

I look around and take in the view from the balcony of my penthouse.  The clouds are luminous in varying shades of pink and silver that I don't believe I've ever seen before.

There is something majestic about the sky's hue.

The wind is a perfect temperature.  Not too strong. 

I look down at my body.  I am tall and slim.  My hair rivals any style worn by celebrities, and when I catch a glimpse of myself in a nearby mirror, I am beautiful.  Perfect.  Me.

"Wow!"  I say again, because I am lacking the words to describe how I feel.

There are no words.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I turn to see....no one.  Although my eyes are blind to the entity that is standing beside me, I know that They are there.  I can feel the warmth from their energy.  They speak to me through my heart which acts as a type of lithograph for this conversation.

I know as I stand here that I have been promoted to the next realm of consciousness.  A prettier, more beautiful version of our dismal life on Earth.  A better Earth.  A heavenly Earth.

In this existence, my heart isn't burdened by any pain or strife....or fear.  Those are realities restricted to the plane below me.  Here, I am me.  Unobstructed by violence, or labels, or humanity.

I am me.

I can breathe.

This is the truth of who I am.

And as I stand here fully free to exist in the realm that I was created to be in; I know that my time on Earth is simply a means to an end.

They tell me that I am now on the right path.  That the good of who I am will propel me here.  That I need not give up.

My heart brims to capacity with love.  A deep, true, uninhibited love that I've never experienced before.  On this plane, my heart can act at its fullest potential.

As the being turns and flutters away, I am left on that balcony both self-assured and confident that my existence matters.  That I have a purpose.  That being me in its simplest capacity is the greatest gift I can give to myself and the world.

Everyone deserves to come to this plane.

I will never be the same.

I have grown.

11th floor discovery

"Over here!" I say to Consuela as we walk down the long carpeted hallway past two sets of elevators toward a marble entrance that leads to the stairs.

I look around in amazement; the architecture of the building is grandiose, in a luxury hotel from the 1970s type of way.

We clunk up the stairs in unison and I marvel at how bright they are before coming to an entrance on the 11th floor.

As we push through the glass doors I am immediately greeted with an outdoor mahogany bar equipped with two or three servers dressed in formal wear.  One of them looks at me while he dries a glass before returning his attention to the patron in front of him.

"I never knew there was an outdoor patio on the 11th floor of our building," I say to Consuela in sheer amazement as we walk past tables draped with white linen and adorned with with well dressed people.

"I can't believe I've never come up here before," I whisper under my breath as I scan around the terrace.  The view is spectacular.  The sun is a perfect brilliance -- the brilliance that happens so rarely; where everything is awash in a perfect yellow and you don't need to squint to enjoy it. 

The tops of cherry trees act as bushes on the outside perimeter of the terrace and I make the decision to myself to have lunch here every day -- because who wouldn't want to eat at white linen tables surrounded by tree tops?

I turn to share my enjoyment of the terrace with Consuela but she's no longer behind me.  I scan the patio, recognizing the odd familiar face, but then I see her running towards the terrace's cement edge.

I open my mouth to scream her name -- but nothing comes out.

A moment later I watch in horror as she jumps into the air with glee.  She suspends there for a moment and I try to call her again, but my face is frozen.  I watch as she retracts on her decision and is only able to barely graze the edge of the ledge with the back of her heels.  She wobbles backwards, and for a moment I think that everything is going to fine...

But gravity begins to suck her forwards.  The tendons in the back of her ankles flex and pulsate, but the task is made harder by the slippery bottoms of her dollar store slippers.

I want to call her name again, but I can't. 

I don't move.

I can't move.

My eyes scan the terrace pleading for help; but everyone is oblivious.  Before my heart can make its next beat Consuela's slippers give out, and I watch in complete agony as her screams sear towards my heart and stab me --










Awake.




Breathe.....

I turn toward the window and see the moon half hidden behind a flimsy cloud.  My heart races uncontrollably and the back of my neck is drenched with sweat.

Before I can properly process my fright, the weight of my lids takes over forcing them to close once more. 

A moment later the horror that I've just witnessed is washed from all consciousness, as slumber whispers comforting thoughts into my ear which somehow manages to slow down the burden of my pulsating heart.

Banana clips Be Gone!

"There'll be a 48 hour hold on any amounts over ten thousand dollars," the Teller says to me as I sign off on the last of the paperwork for Consuela's account. 

Since she's not 'legal' per se, I thought it best that I handle the money side of the operations.  I've given her a temporary loan to start her business, which she is to pay me back interest free.  I'm not sure Consuela understood what 'interest' was when we shook on the deal, but she definitely understood the word 'free'.

I walk over to one of the ATMs where I instructed Consuela to wait for me, and begin to show her how to use the bank card to deposit money.

"And dis iz where yers can takes da money out too, right Mia?" she says coyly.

"Yes," I tell her.  "But in the beginning you shouldn't be spending so much money.  You need to have enough money to buy supplies."

She nods.  There is a slight glint in one of her eyes and I know that on some level she does view this ATM as a slot machine.

"Consuela?" I say to prod her out of whatever fantasy she was in.

"Si?"

"This is serious.  How you treat your bank account is important.  If you respect the money, the money will respect you back, ok?" I say to her as nicely as I can.

"I iz respect da money, Mia!  Yer is no haf to be so means to me alls za time!" she snarks as we walk towards the car to go source Taco Stands.

I stop in the middle of the street and look her square in the eye.  "Consuela, you think I'm mean to you?" I ask.  I thought we were just kidding around.

"Yer iz always saying da 'fat ass' and yer iz no likes my Ricky Martin t-shirts," she says as the water begins to well in the bottom of both her eyes.

I look straight into her dark brown eyes and feel a tinge of remorse.  I don't want Consuela to feel bad about herself.  How can she possibly soar at her Taco Stand business if I'm being mean to her?

I put my arm around her and tell her that I'm sorry, and that I was only joking.

"If you want," I offer as we near closer to the car.  "I can help you go shopping once you make some money.  Wouldn't it be nice to have a new haircut, and maybe buy some new clothes?"

Consuela takes a moment to inspect her faded Ralph Macchio airbrushed Karate Kid sweatshirt and bicycle shorts, and then takes a good long look in the reflection of the store window beside us.

"Maybe, da new clothes iz ok," she says as she tries to tame her wild hair that is barely restrained by her banana clip.

I watch as she struggles with the clip, first combing up one side of her hair -- only for it to snap in half and have her start all over again in frustration.  She makes eye contact with me before barely saying above a whisper, "Yer iz no sink da Consuela iz purdee?"

I put both hands on her shoulders, and without hesitating I say firmly and with grandiose conviction, "Consuela.  You are beautiful."

I think this warms her heart.

I begin to try and help her with her unmanageable mane and continue, "But, if I'm being honest," I start as I point to some of her more wirier strands, "I think you would look really nice with shorter hair," I tell her as I help her to clip what I can of her hair back into place.

"Si," she says and raises her chin a little higher.

"Si." I say back to her and nod with firm approval.

We take a moment and stare at the faded reflection of a person about to go under a transformation.  A person who is very much in need of a pampering.

So, in essence, it's as if this half-reflection is almost a ghost of who Consuela was.

We turn back towards the car in unison, and when Consuela isn't looking I do a little waive to the ghost in the window because I know it is the last time that I'll see her.  She winks back at me as we turn the corner as if to say 'thank you' and 'i'll be just fine'.

"Mia," Consuela says to me as we both slip into the car and put on our seat belts.  "Do yers want dees bicycle pants when I iz getting rich and buying da new clothes?"

I use my Jedi training to control my laughter.  When I think I have stabilized my cheek muscles enough to respond without cracking, I start the car and tell her simply "No, I'm good.  But thanks anyways."

And with that, we turn into traffic,  hoping to score a good deal on a Taco Stand that I let Consuela source on Craigslist this morning.  And as we drive into Consuela's trendier future I begin to silently pray to every known God in the Universe that 'taco stand' isn't Craigslist code used by perverts, rapists, or murderers.

Whaddya See?

"Hey Fat Ass!  Put your shoes on, I want to show you something."  I say as I head to the door and grab a jacket.

Consuela looks down at her Dollar Store slippers with confusion.

I raise my eyebrow and cross my arms until her gaze turns towards a pair of white Nike's that have barely been worn.

"Yer iz no like da slippers?" she says half disappointed as she struggles to bend over and reach for the sneakers.

"C'mon," I say as I head out the door towards the street. 

A moment later we're walking down the sidewalk.  Me out in front, Consuela dragging a few feet behind.  When we reach the parkette I turn around and wait for her to catch up.

"Wha-a-a-t, Mia?" she says begrudgingly as she looks around.

"Whaddya see?" I ask her.

She pauses for a moment before shrugging her shoulder.  I stare at her faded Ricky Martin t-shirt that clings a bit too tightly to her chubby upper arms.  For a moment my mind wanders and I think of maybe taking her to Verona in July for his concert.

"Mia?" she says and interrupts my daydream.

"You know what I see," I start as she readjusts her scrunchy and taps one of her feet in discontent.

"I see a great place for your Taco Stand," I say.

Consuela huffs.

"Mia, der iz no da place for dat Taco Stand!  NOT da place!!" she yells back at me. 

"Why not?" I retort.  The parkette has great traffic throughout the day...it's not too far from home...there is nothing visibly flammable within fifty yards of it.

"Becuz, Mia!" she squeals, before leaning closer to me and lowering her voice to a whisper.

"Dis iz da place where da homeless people dey sleep," she says and nods her head as if she has just passed on the whereabouts of a wanted terrorist.

"So?" I say and walk toward the middle of the parkette to inspect the best location for her Taco Stand.

"So!?  So!?  Der iz da homeless people!!  Dey iz da drinking da beerz and dey iz da steeling da bikes!" she cries back to me.

"Consuela," I turn around and face her.  In the background a couple of homeless men sleep innocently under an old birch tree.  Consuela motions her head towards them as if to inform me of something I was unaware of.

"You're too selfish," I continue.  Consuela begins to tune me out, and so I jostle her shoulders and regain her attention.  "Just think of the possibilities!  Think of all the people on their lunches and that they might really like to have a Taco Stand here in this parkette," I say as I point to the office buildings that surround us. 

"Think of how much nicer this parkette could be if you put your Taco Stand right here," I say and motion towards a nice curve in the path near a water fountain.

"And maybe," I tell her as I put my arm around her and we walk back towards the street, "Maybe you could do something nice for the people that have to sleep here.  Maybe with all the money you make -- you could afford to give a free lunch to the homeless people.  I think they'd like that."

"I dunno, Mia..." she says as we turn back towards the street.

What Consuela doesn't understand is that there is never going to be a perfect place for her Taco Stand.  There's never really a perfect place for anything.

That's the challenge. 

See the beauty in the imperfect and try your best to make that a reality.

"I do," I tell her matter-of-fact as we head back home.

I think the Taco Stand will be good for her.  I have no worries about the homeless people in the park.  After all, they are human just like us.  They breathe.  They feel.  They cry.  They have needs.  They have dreams....or had them.

I think this could be good for Consuela.  It will give her the independence she so desperately needs, and most importantly, it will get her out of my hair for a couple of hours each day.

Besides, the neighbors were starting to complain about the missing newspapers.  And the last thing I need is Consuela doing jail time because I was too lazy to help her get her business started.

Tired Crack Whore Spinster

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The clock, like all time, moves forward as I lay in bed under the covers impervious to what the day will bring.  Impervious or Apathetic.  One or the other. 

My body, feet, brain, and heart ache from 14 months of non-stop meetings, development, and pre-production.

And today I'm tired.

Today all I want to do is lie here under the covers and let the next few hours pass as I attempt to recharge my body.

But then I remember how fat I've gotten and decide that a trip to the gym might not be such a bad idea.

I raise from the crypt and squint when I see how high the sun has risen in the sky.  I know it's late morning because I can hear the television blasting from the other room.

I wait for a moment before planting both feet on the floor.  While the feet are still in bed, the day hasn't officially started.  There is no guilt. 

Once they touch the floor it's a whole different story.

I saunter towards the bathroom and check myself out in the mirror.  Despite the rotundness of my face, I don't look so bad...for a spinster.

Actually, I wish I could sew; or at the very least darn.  There are so many holes in the ass of my pants from the recent weight gain that the ability to let out seams would come in very handy right about now.

If it wasn't for an accidental glance in a store window the other day, I would have had no idea that one of the rips extended across both ass cheeks.  Instead of walking with my head held high like the contributing member of society that I am -- I was par with the crack whores.

The crack whore spinster.

The TIRED crack whore spinster.

Labels are funny.

I head towards the living room and pray that Consuela has had the good sense to make a pot of coffee -- because at this moment, that is all I have the energy for -- reaching for that first cup.

"What the hell are you doing?" I say with a raspy voice.

Great, my voice is now gone.

Consuela sits in the middle of the floor, plopped in front of the TV, surrounded by dozens of newspapers.  A mad sparkle glints from both eyes as she stares intently at the screen.

"I iz Extreme Cooponin', Mia!" she squeals.

I sigh.

"There better be some coffee in the --" I say as I turn the corner to the kitchen and see almost a full pot.

After filling my cup I turn back to the living room and plop down on the sofa behind her. A moment later we are both completely immersed in back to back episodes of "Extreme Couponing". 

"Consuela," I say after returning with my second cup of coffee.

"Si," she says without looking at me.

"You didn't steal these papers from our neighbors, did you?" I ask.

She snaps her head around synonymous with demon possession and says through very angry eyes and flared nostrils, "Yer iz no to judguh me, Mia!  Yer iz da one who iz saying dat yer iz to giver to Consuela a Taco Stand, but why iz dere no Taco Stand?  Why Mia? Yer is da promised and so now I iz loving da extreme couponin' and yer iz to say dat to me!"

I wait a moment and lock myself into a dead stare with her stupidity.

"You didn't answer my question," I say as I take a sip of coffee.

She stands in a huff, "Dat woman in da Georgia iz to der da same sing, and yer iz to not want Consuela to evers be happy!  EverS!!!" she screams before stomping out of the room.

I stare at the floor covered by papers before reaching down to pick up a section with my horoscope.  I check to see if it says anything about being agitated by rampant disarray and stupidity, but it doesn't.

It does, however, tell me that the fabric I am weaving will come together shortly.  So, at least there is that.

And so, I lay back on the couch, too tired to reach for the converter to change the channel.  Hoping that after this episode of "Extreme Couponing", there'll be some sort of show about someone with too many children. 

Those are always good.  Not in the 'compelling story' type of way, but in the 'everything is alright' type of way.  And besides, they're great to fall asleep to, I think to myself as my lids become heavy with the fatigue of a lifetime of hopes and dreams.

Wun Too Fee! Twooo Too Fee!

"Wun Too Fee! Twoooo Too Fee!" the Asian dance instructor hollers above the piano music as we spin around the room. 

There are too many of us here in this dank dance studio, and it's hard to maneuver.  The piano is in desperate need of a tuning and so we stumble off-tempo to what I can only assume is suppose to be Mozart.

"And gwiiiide....gwiiiiiide," the Instructor says with a smile and a nod. 

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  Despite all my denial, it is evident: my ass has returned to its more comfortable gargantuan state.

My partner doesn't seem to notice.  He smiles aimlessly, oblivious of his rampant body odour and gunkiness.

I've been in this studio one too many times.  It's familiar and haunting each and every time.  Over crowded, but bright, it offers congestion, murkiness, and stagnation in exchange for your attendance.

"Twooo too fee, Feee tooo Fee..." the Instructor smiles and nods.  He's happy to see me here.  He's always happy to have participants.

 

"OWCH!" I scream and lose my concentration.  I elbow my partner in retaliation. 

I take a moment to inspect my now throbbing foot which he inadvertently (although predictably) stomped on.

"Prick," I mutter under my breath as he continues to smile there like a dumb puppy impervious to its owners' agitation.

 

"WUN TWOO FEE!  TWOOO TWO FEE!!" yells the Instructor in my ear in an effort to encourage me to resume the dance.

I nod as I brush a strand of hair away from my face.  Despite my hatred of this wretched dance studio, I remind myself that the exercise will have some benefits.

I raise both hands into position and brace myself for the first waft of stench as my partner raises his.

It's funny how the stench disappears after a few moments.

Funny and sad.

And pathetic.

And lame.
 

I try to advert my attention away from the large circles of sweat stains that hover underneath my partner's armpits.

It's gross.

In an effort to distract myself from the sheer agony of a situation that I willingly entered, I start to focus on the finer details of my partner's shirt. 

As we turn, I notice for the first time that it is emblazoned with his name.  He wears it with pride like the Loser he is.

I read all five bright red letters that arc across his back.  He smiles.  He thinks I'm admiring it. 

I'm not.

"New shirt?" I ask, not really caring what he answers.

He nods with an even wider smile.

"My mother made it for me," he tells me between pants as he turns me around the room.

We weave awkwardly between the other uncoordinated participants.  The room is getting hotter.  Dust particles bounce frantically in the air, adding to the congestion.

I hate my partner.

But he's the only one I seem to know.

The only one that likes to dance with me.

And as he turns me one more time so I can see the letters of his name in the mirror again, a tear begins to fall down one cheek.

I'm so tired of dancing with him. 

As the song ends, I walk to the side of the room and grab my bag.  I'd like to think I'm done for good, but the odds are is that I'll be back.

The pianist takes a sip from her diet cola, as I wipe away some sweat from my brow.

"You leaving?" he asks as I head for the door.

"Yep," I tell him as I turn the knob.

As the door begins to shut behind me, I hear the Instructor petitioning for poor pathetic uncoordinated sweaty Doubt to have a dance partner.

I'm sure he's standing there alone and disappointed in the middle of that crowded floor, but I don't care.

"Anywun?  Anywun?" are the last words I hear before the door clicks shut.  And as the tuneless piano begins to waft music through the hall, I walk away relieved that the piano music is soon replaced by the sound of my footsteps as I scurry as fast as I can towards the doors to the real world.

And then there was one...

"How many limes would you like with your Vodka soda?" asks the Bartender in a rather attentive manner.

I slide over some change left from the person before me and pretend it is mine.

He smiles.

"Three," I say before slipping back into the crowd.  The air of the club is stank.  Iranian looking business men circle around badly dyed Blonds wearing skirts reminiscent of tensor bandages.

The crowd is thick.  Desperation fills the air as 'last call' seeps into the foreground while lonely genitals rummage for company.

"Excuse me," I snark at men who can't be bothered to step aside.  They don't notice me because I'm not wearing a tensor bandage.  I steer myself in five inch heels through the thickest part of the perfume ladden crowd --
 

WHEELCHAIR!

I bash my knee into the spokes and pretend that nothing happened.

I didn't know you could bring a wheelchair in the bar....

How did they get it up the stairs?

I push through the crowd like a sturgeon on a mission.  More tensor bandages blur the periphery of my drunken vision as I make my way to the back wall and turn around to scan for my friends.

Nothing.

I look left, then right -- but I am alone.  Surrounded by mutants.

I head back - only this time more quickly, through the thick and desperate crowd.

My intoxication confuses me.  The hot air makes it difficult to think.

Left...no...right...no...left.

I make my way back towards the Iranians.  

A tensor bandage is sick in the corner.  A new layer of stench adds to the mix.

I scurry.

Through the crowd...

....past the WHEELCHAIR!

"Sorry," I say to the girl as I pretend to sop up what I spill on her.   "It's just water," I lie.

In the distance I see the doorway.  Fresh cool air graces past my cheek as I race from the herpes infestation that surrounds me.

Wobble, wobble, click.

My heels have not failed me.

A moment later I breathe in thick fresh air. 

Relief.

I scan.

But they are no where in sight. 

Not a one.

They are gone.

I check my phone to see if anyone's told me where they've gone; but there is only a simply message saying they are west of here. 

A cab winks at me in the distance, and as I manoever myself to my chariot, away from the chaos and towards salvation; I realize both my fate and my destiny:

To go it alone.


One last time.


Inspiration is once again upon me.


The final chapters have begun.