Chapter One
Sissy
Another day, another dollar.
Not in my case.
More like another day hoarding myself away from the pain and what if’s the world brings our way. I used to dream of having a normal life. I used to ask myself, “Why, why, why, don’t you seek help and get out of this place? Live a little before there is no time left to live.” The voice in my head’s response has always been the same. “Why? So that they can declare you crazy and lock you away? The world needs help so that it doesn’t injure you! You would never hurt the world. It’s not you that there’s anything wrong with.”
Yeah, that doesn’t sound crazy. Not at all.
I shake the thought from my mind and ready the kettle on the stove. A nice cup of tea always makes things better and settles the jittery parts of myself when my anxiety gets to be too much. I hum to myself, a tune that my mother used to sing, as I pull my favorite chipped teacup and saucer from the cabinet. It’s an antique, but I think that’s why I like it so much. I feel so fancy when I use it, like I’m someone else enjoying a break from their regal, debonair lifestyle.
Looking around my tiny one-bedroom apartment, I try to imagine velvet lounges with carved feet and legs, beautiful bookshelves lined with classics and collectibles that no one can afford, and a beautiful marble finish fireplace.
“Ah, this is all mine.”
I continue to hum as I prepare my tea. The steam rises to my nose, tickling my senses with the scent. I raise the cup until it sits under my nose and suck in the smell greedily, sighing on the exhale. Adding a drop of honey, I collect my tea and take a seat on my sofa.
That first sip is always the best. It zings through my taste buds awakening them to that familiar, robust flavor, and yet, seems so new all at the same time. I open my book to where I left off and continue to read. Raising my teacup to my lips, I take a sip just as something slams against the wall on the other side, shaking my chair.
A surprised shout leaves me as I jerk in my chair toward the wall. Hot tea sloshes over the rim of my cup onto my hand. I scream out again, only this time in pain, and drop the cup. It spills as it falls before shattering all over the floor. My good hand wraps around my burnt hand as I blow on it, but once I see the disaster my favorite teacup has become, I lower to the floor and pick up a jagged piece.
“No,” I whimper, staring at my only teacup. “No, no. no.”
A tear pricks my eye. How many people have held it? How many people have loved it as much as I have? And now it’s gone. Destroyed by a world without a care in the—world? I shake my head and wipe the tear away.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t fix you. But maybe I can save you and use you for something else.” I smile, thinking of all the beautiful new things my precious teacup can become.
I treat and bandage my hand before cleaning up the spill. As I sop up the mess, I pause, staring at the wall that came out of nowhere and hit me.
Yeah, because walls move all the time.Totally sane and logical thinking there, Sissy, you twit.
“I need to get out of here.”
The window beckons me, and I walk over to it. It screeches as I push up the old pane and lean slightly out to get a breath of fresh air. I cough when the smell of fumes greets me instead. My eyes roam around the city block and take in the bustling scene four stories below.
Bicyclists fly down the street to make deliveries, cabs zoom by trying to get their passengers to their destinations, pedestrians walk around like the crazy fuckers they are. Who walks in the city like that?! A woman crossing the street garners my attention. I hold my breath, and my fingers dig into the sill—chipping not only the flaking paint, but my nail also—as she reaches the middle of the lane. Just as I think she’s made it to safety, a cucumber green cab comes whipping around the corner.
I suck in my breath as the cab slams on its breaks and stops what looks like centimeters from her.
“Why don’t you watch where you’re fucking going, you fucking moron! You trying to kill people?” The woman’s screams echo to my ears as she slams her hands on the hood of the pickle mobile.
They flip each other off and yell a few more choice words at one another, but I can’t make them out no matter how hard I try. I watch the cab go about its way and realize that in the ruckus, I made it fully out onto the fire escape.
I totally freak and grip the rail. My heart takes off so quickly that I lose all chances of breathing anytime in the next few minutes. I’ve completely screwed myself. How did I get out here without thinking? That woman risked her life to be on the street. I wasn’t risking shit. I kept myself safe, up here away from the street. Far, far away from those crazy bastards putting themselves into jeopardy. That’s another thing.Jeopardyis starting, and I’m stuck out here pseudo dying on the fucking fire escape when I could be relaxing and playing trivia with the silver fox Alex Trebek.
My fingers meld to the railing, and my eyes pinch closed as I stick my ass out to get closer to the wall behind me.If I can … just … reach. Streeeeetch, you can do it, girl.I think I feel the wall behind me, but I’m not sure. I would let go of the railing if I could, but I may fall to my death down the ladder shaft. Nope, not gonna happen. Knowing my luck, I wouldn’t die. I’d be ran over by the jumbo pickle and the crazy lady would stand over top of me and mock me.
I begin to feel dizzy and lower my head until I can squeeze it between my outstretched arms. The deep breaths I take don’t help, and I begin to sag from the rail holding on for my dear life. I’m sure if anyone can see me they think I’m drunk, having a fit, or just plain silly. The thought that people can see me sets me off even more. I have to get off this balcony.
I push myself up with my feet, my ass end swinging left to right as I get my balance. I release the fingers of my left hand one by one, the soreness from gripping the rail too long cramping them up, and reach blindly behind me as far as I can until my fingertips brush the rough wall. Next, I slide my foot along the metal balcony floor. My toes hit the wall and I open my eyes and smile—that is until notice that I’m spread eagle on the balcony and I now have to shove myself to the wall, or do a Michael Jackson dance move that I’m sure will pull a muscle in my groin.
I growl at my predicament and tell Karma that now is not the time to get even with me for when Thelma asked me for sugar and I poured it out of the old mail slot and said, “There you go! Hope your grandkids cupcakes taste good!” She never took the sugar. That pile was there weeks later bringing ants under my door.
I shove off the railing and throw myself face first at the brown brick wall. I exhale harshly as I hit, and my cheek scrapes the old chipped bricks, but those scrapes could be welcome home kisses for all I care. I’ve fucking made it. I take big gulps of air as I settle my racing heart and hug the wall the best I can.
The sound of the busy street comes rushing back as all my senses come back online.
