Pressing play, the episode begins, and I dig into my hot meal. A delighted Johnny Sack has been given permission to temporarily leave prison to attend his daughter Allegra’s wedding. Two distinct families are merging, promising drama filled moments to occupy my tireless mind. The phone vibrates against my leg, as I attempt to put a much too hot spoonful of cheese into my mouth. Carefully, I place down the bowl expecting to see a message from Andrea, but to my surprise, it’s not her. It’s a message from an ‘unknown’ number. Could this be the guy from the bar? I open the message.
Unknown: As much as I like The Sopranos, we’ve seen this episode before.
Instantly, I stand and the phone slips from my hand before knocking the spoon out of the bowl in front of me. It flips hot cheesy lava onto my bare skin.
“Owww, shit fuck!” I hobble to the kitchen, submerge a hand towel beneath cold tap water, and press the cooling cloth to my skin. After a few blissful moments of relief, I check to see that my thigh is super red but not terribly burnt.
Before I even consider cleaning up flecks of food from the living room, I march over to the window. I yanked back the curtains to peer back down in the spot I last saw someone, but there was no one. The sidewalk is void of bodies, nothing out of the ordinary to see. No menacing characters, just garbage cans on the street. In that moment, an older man dottles by with a leash in hand. An elated golden retriever trots in front of him, probably pleased as punch to get his master out of bed at such an hour. I step back, pulling the curtains closed and bend downto pick up my phone, feeling like I’m the butt of someone else's joke. I feverishly write a response to the “unknown” number.
Cindel: Who is this? Are you the creepy stalker who gave me the earbud?
I hold my breath, awaiting a reply. The phone shakes slightly in my hand when dots appear and dance on the screen. It vibrates within my grasp, just as the next message pops up.
Unknown: Did you know that the band playing on the stage during the episode “Mr. & Mrs. John Sacrimoni Request,” is a real-life band? They go by the name ‘Double Down.’ The band has a classic Frank Sinatra style, while adding a fun twist to modern songs. It’s truly a beautiful fusion of jump-swinging numbers and talented tributes. I know you like music.
What. The. Actual. Fuck?! I type back my response without much forethought.
Cindel: Look, psycho, I don’t need Soprano fun facts. Tell me who the fuck this is, or my cop friend is going to trace this number!
My heart is hammering so hard, I can feel it in my stomach. More dots tease at the bottom of the screen. Then, they go away. More dots pop up. I can’t help but begin to pace. Waiting for a reply, I find myself once again looking out the window.
Unknown: You hate cops. Let’s not start this relationship on lies. Finish your soup and go to bed, Cindel.
I can feel the blood drain from my face, just as an impending boiling sensation begins working its way up from my belly.
Instantly, I sprint to the bathroom, making it just in time to regurgitate any food I had consumed up until that point. The burning, churning sensation dissolves, but it doesn’t help this consuming awareness of being toyed with. Staggering back into the kitchen, I begin opening cabinet after cabinet, until I set eyes on what I am looking for. Pulling the heavy, stone-made item from its place on the shelf, I set it on the counter, before retrieving the last thing I need from my purse. Got it!
I drop the white earbud with its meaningless star into the hollow bowl. Standing up onto the balls of my feet, I bear my weight down on the mortar and pestle, as I begin to grind the earbud into dust. It takes much more effort than I hoped for, but completely worth it to watch the scraps of technology go down the drain, along with my vomit. If there’s a tracker, maybe the weirdo will follow it into Southie’s sewer system, where they’ll live out the rest of their days. Tomorrow, I had every intention of going to my phone provider’s store and changing my number. In the meantime, I’ll shut off my phone.
After I clean up and finally make it back into my room, I can’t settle. Instead, I rearrange my furniture, so I have my bed in front of the bedroom door and a large chest of drawers in front of the window. I don’t own a gun or anything, but I do have my pepper spray from my purse. I also may have brought a large kitchen knife to bed with me. Just in case.
As I lay in bed, my eyes are unwilling to close, I feel overwhelmingly lonely. Andrea’s never around, and Brodi… Brodi was no prince charming. In fact, the way we met was unexpected, but I never felt unsafe with him. When we started dating, we went out often. Whenever someone was too close at a club or trying to hit on me, Brodi instantly stepped in.
He was protective, strong, and often a little too hot-headed for his own good. Sometimes he would visit me during my lunch break at the hotel. It was really sweet how he’d bring a sandwich and share it with me, until he wasn’t able to come around anymore. He got banned after punching a guest in the face when he came to visit me. An older gentleman asked if I conduct the bed turndown service myself. Brodi overheard and connected his first with the man’s nose. I was lucky I didn’t get fired, but we lost a client and Brodi couldn’t come back. The perv had it coming! Maybe I should have quit and left with Brodi then and there. I still got let go a few weeks later. Things could have been different if I had just given the hotel the ‘middle finger’ and walked out?
Brodi and I were drawn to each other physically. Whether it was something I should have done on my part or an external factor. Seeing him less hurts. A few months before he disappeared, I actually thought I was ready to leave Boston. Make a new life with him. Then, it was like his polarity switched; he started pulling away. Half the time he seemed to have dumb excuses as to why he couldn’t see me, but when we were together, it was good. Not magical, but better than a lot of relationships.
I’d like nothing more right now than to be in the crook of his thick, motor oil smelling, tattooed arms. My eyes burn and my pillow is wet. I’m tired. Once the sun’s morning rays relentlessly pierce through the edges of my blinds, I feel a little safer knowing it’s daylight, but I can’t fight the exhaustion any longer. The sandman creeps in, and I soon find myself slipping within my recurring nightmare.
Spring was here. The scent of blooming cherry blossoms lingered just outside our playroom window. I was spread out onto the floor with crayons and drawing paper, as I created various designs of gowns and dresses. I liked to create outfitsthat princesses would wear, just like in the movies. Sunlight spilled across the wooden floor, warming the slats beneath me. I felt like the heroine of a fairy tale, bathed in my own magical glow.
My brother commonly played games on the small TV in front of the couch. Connected only by a wire, he could lead four green turtles through the city streets, battling ninjas, and devouring pizza along the way. We could be in that room for hours, me on the floor creating and him pleasantly engulfed in his game. It was wordless companionship, but I knew we still enjoyed having each other there.
Today, however, I designed whimsical attire alone. Theo wasn’t allowed to play his usual console games in the rec room since he got into a fight at school. Donovan Polinsky was picking on a girl in their class, all because she wore pigtails. During lunch, Donovan wouldn’t stop pulling the girl’s hair. That is, until Theo stepped in. Theo, like a knight in shining armor, went straight up to Donovan and poured a carton of milk down the back of his shirt. Donovan swung at my brother. Playing all those video games must have made Theo quick, because he dodged the hit, causing Donovan to stumble forward, catching his chin on the lunch table. Donovan chipped a tooth, and Theo was briefly suspended. Mom and Dad were upset he got in trouble, but I heard Dad also saying he was proud of him for doing the right thing. Theo had a lot of chores that week, including polishing the fancy silverware, dusting the bookshelves, and scrubbing the baseboards on both floors of the house.
Outside, tiny chirps indicated baby birds were hungry from the trees below. I, too, was hungry for lunch, but I needed to decide which shade of blue would best suit the massive tulle gown.
Little specks of dust stole my attention, as they danced between the opened window and my drawing, creating an unexpected performance. I blew little puffs of air, watching the once graceful spots, spin and twirl with velocity. The star of the show, a large fleck of gray rocking from side to side, just outside my little rectangle of sunshine. Pushing my art to the side, I watch in amazement as the dust piece slowly made its way toward the window, before being caught by a breeze and rushing outside.
It was suddenly so bright. I felt as if all the air was sucked from my lungs, like that one time I fell backward off a swing. My throat felt dry, unable to form words while I remained still, my body unable to move. The worst part was the sound. It was both the loudest and the quietest thing I had ever heard, all at once. The ringing was unbearable, no matter how much I tried to cover my wet ears, the sound wouldn’t relent. Smoke filled my vision. As it cleared near the floor, pairs of feet came rushing toward me. I lay there watching the situation unfold, my parents’ mouths moved, but I was unable to hear anything but ear-splitting bells. A slew of dust flecks filled the room now, but none of them danced. Not quite like they did before.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
CINDEL
Iwake, covered in sweat, legs bound, with something awkward and hard poking me in my chest, I glance around the room finding that everything has been rearranged. As I attempt to kick off the cocoon of blankets, I find the cause of my discomfort is the travel-sized pepper spray I previously clung to.
