Second Chance
A transforming triangle coalesced in the isosceles high above the sea of fire, the speed of revolution briefly winding down as if coming to a stop before spiraling back, rapidly reversing right through the phases of acute, equilateral, and obtuse as three lines fused into a brilliant stream of light. Calling out with a deafening clamor, Suzaku took the lead. The cascading rivers of fire twisted boundlessly into the midnight sky conceiving the gates of Empyrean. Paradise lay ahead; our revelry was about to begin. In the twinkling of an eye the horizon became a cool black sea from which the three ascended into the warmth and splendor of the transient temple of lightning and fire.
Drinking in the light and surveying one another in silent communion they nodded with unquestioned agreement – the time of reckoning was at hand. Splitting the sky as they moved through the amber storms, tumultuous legions of chalkydri streamed hypnotically like rivers of jacinth beckoning them hither. Alas, the time for diversion had transpired, and in knowing they moved with purpose, and against their longing and desire for clemency, a strange admixture of regret of and despair manifest and initiated pursuit. The Ashen chains of the swift task master writhed about as if tendrils of some nefarious creature of the deep, yet each ambitious shackle met its fate in the irony of hunting that which cannot be caught and embracing that which ought not be touched. Brilliant flashes of electric fire – cyan, violet, and blue were the only signs of the hopeless struggle between the exuviations of the Eternal and the ephemeral power of attachment. As they descended in unison into the black sea below and looked up from the sky of fire into the endless void they beheld the world far beyond, as a sea of glass, silent, unmoving.
*
The cheap paint on the trembling door squeaked against the cracked panels, waking her suddenly. Someone had slammed the door. It was 3 AM. For the most part, the door had muffled the shrill sounds of Emily’s mother, just as it had reduced the voice of her father to a barely audible rumble, and just as it had reduced the meaning and reality of the broken furniture, the tumbling, the physical struggle and the beating. Mascara and a good pair of sunglasses could do the rest. Tonight wasn’t like most nights. Emily had learned to grow fast in a world where children were one part blessing and two parts curse. Every night, for the past 30 nights she had only one wish – one hope – “please don’t let them fight, please, oh God! Please don’t hurt each other any more!” What a fool she had been. Not tonight. Her desires and energies sharpened to an acute focus. She cried no more in the manner of sympathy as before, but a more intimate, pressing, and desperate whisper, “Please don’t let them hurt me! Not again, Oh God, please don’t let them hear me! Please God, let me disappear!” She remembered suddenly the television program about the bears of the forest and grew stiff, silent, thinking if only I remain quiet, if only I don’t breathe, if I can stay still, and play dead, they won’t get me.
A final series of shouts echoed through the hallway before the door slammed again, the house going strangely quiet as the rattling subsided. They were gone. She remained frozen, waiting for something, something terrifying to happen. Perhaps like a horrible banshee they might, at any time burst in through her door and she would have another seventeen stitches to explain to the school counselor, or perhaps she would be dead. She lingered in silence, waiting, counting slowly; her bleary eyes glancing quickly to the alarm clock. 3:21...
The fighting had ceased. Her legal guardians had left, perhaps to an all night bar, or perhaps to work, or some friend’s house to do lines and sleep over. It didn’t matter. Emily had school in the morning, and she needs to get back to sleep.
*
The morning went like most mornings do. A bowl of cereal, shower, and a bag full of books were the ritual emblems of childhood, but this morning was slightly different. The Television blared warnings on the local network of a sudden frost heading their way, with a high chance of snow. Emily, like most other things, dressed herself and packed a scarf and mittens, before heading to the subway, locking up like all good latch key kids do. Mr. Zanes waved ‘hello’ and Emily smiled as that was what they would always do, before going back to pretending their lives were better than what they really seemed to be, Emily to the School by 105th and Mr. Zanes to his cubicle in the news room downtown.
Mr. Zanes had aspired to be a world class photographer for CNN, but ended up as a part time editor for the personals of a somewhat related newspaper produced by a third party subsidiary. His name didn’t appear anywhere in the paper and scarcely in his private blog, mostly occupied by ladies asking questions about sweaters for cats – one of his many experiments at joining the ‘booming’ internet business. Every morning he would wake to retrieve his daily copy, a ritual that brought him small joy when perchance one of his own articles – well, you could hardly call it his articles, but certainly he had edited them and who would publish without an editor – yes, he had a purpose in life, but every morning he was greeted by his paper, the sad smile of the little girl next door would follow. Emily’s family had moved in only a few months ago. Polite enough people in the day time, the parents nonetheless fit the description of the ‘angry drunk’ and while in that state – which seemed to be the case more and more – took out their frustrations on each other. More recently it seemed, as the little girl came into a habit of keeping her head down and wearing hats, they took it out on her. Mr. Zanes had like most good citizens decided someone needed to intervene, and like most good citizens, decided he wasn’t the one to do it. Life in Morning Heights was a mixed bag, lots of college kids mixed up with protests and construction, local protests over property and mass evictions, an occasional gas leak explosion shaking up an otherwise quiet neighborhood that kept most of its darker secrets hidden from plain view. Recent incidents like the stabbing on the subway, or the rape and kidnapping of the less wary and well heeled undergrads up the road led most parents to exercise caution and watch their children like hawks.
But after last month, Zane was beginning to wish the neighbors would watch Emily a little less. The bruises on her throat and the numerous stitches on her eyebrow were more than he could bear. Dialing the CPS was considered pretty Taboo in the city, you really had to fear for someone’s life before you could justify sending someone to the foster home. Far more disturbing that the cuts and bruises on little Emily was the cold reaction from the child protective service. They never showed up. They never did anything. Zane couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was clearly wrong. The girl must have had hospital records by now, why didn’t anyone do anything about it? Ironically, as he was brooding over this just a week ago, a late night dinner party took place at the neighbors. He could hear the contralto of some obese woman with powerful lungs and no regard for private matters chattering away about her daily work with the ‘ragamuffins’ down at the center, followed by an irritating ‘hey hey’ laugh and the shrill echo of Emily’s mother adding her own comments. He should have known. Like most people in this town, the neighbors had connections, in this case, to social services. While doing his master’s in journalism just up the road, he conducted some research on the networks of adopted children, and found more opposition than his limited grant or thesis could handle. It wasn’t a conspiracy; it was simply a bunch of greedy and corrupt people who looked out for each other and knew when looking the other way was best for everyone.
*
Bloomingdale elementary number 145, like most schools in this city lacked a lot of things; a decent sized play ground, ready access to clean air, and most importantly, parking. The proximity meant riding the subway was almost pointless – why walk north a few blocks just to walk north again when you exit the subway? Emily’s parents relished the idea of no Parking space, as it afforded them the opportunity to avoid having to pick her up – after all, holding up traffic would be a clear violation of the law.
Walking wasn’t so bad, though. It gave her the chance to look around and see the world. Most of the world was made of brick and asphalt, but the sound of birds in the tiny trees and the occasional block party or traffic accident made it worth it. This time, Emily was looking up at the sky. She began to wonder about the wishes she used to make on the stars at night, and remembered what her science teacher had said. ‘The sun is also a star, and we are just ninety-three-million miles away. If you took the subway, it would take over two hundred years to get there!” She glanced up at the sun as she walked, light trickling through the leaves causing her to wince twice, once from the light and again from the sudden contraction of a black eye. Still, she made her wish, upon that morning star, the first star she saw that things would be better, or perhaps that things just wouldn’t be at all. Aside from the snow drift – which she had ‘predicted’ accurately for her fellow classmates who had yet to discover the magic of the weather channel, the rest of her school day was pretty uneventful. Latchkey kids had a lot of time to themselves and she spent her time reading and watching the news. It gave her a strange sense of responsibility her parents never had to be her own teacher, but it also made things different when parent involvement was required. Picnics, holidays, sleep over parties and field trips were largely unknown to her – her parents worked for a living, they didn’t have the time. They paid for her food, clothing and shelter, and these people – teachers, coaches, and camp leaders wanted too much money for what they deemed a waste of time. Besides, they couldn’t afford it. They could never afford it. Forget the nightly escapades at the bar. Forget the late night gathers with grocery bags full of beer, vodka, and whisky. Forget the cocaine and the hookers and the male strippers. Mom and Dad were broke. They never had any money.
Like most days, after she got out of school, she began walking home alone, her key on a neon orange lanyard around her neck, concealed by the snug scarf she had twice wrapped around her neck. She had tried the loop through technique like the nice lady at the Macy’s had shown her, but it wasn’t as cozy and the wind was getting pretty cold. She began tightening her fists as the icy chill seeped through her thin mittens, turning sharply and picking up her otherwise steady pace. Two more blocks and she would be home, warm, and able to enjoy another few solitary hours undisturbed.
In the distance a wobbly motion caught her attention. At first she thought it was a big rat, like the one in the cage of her science class. Curiosity overtaking her phobia of unpronounceable diseases, she arced off the sidewalk and onto the street to get a closer look. Although the dominant sheen of the animal had been grey, the neck was shrouded by vermillion pigments and the eyes were of the purest gold, catching the light of the final rays of the sun and it fell behind the six story brick building. “A pigeon?” she asked, wondering for a moment, but realizing the colors were especially unusual, and the eyes weren’t dull like other pigeons – more like an eagle, or other bird of prey she saw on the animal channel. If it was a pigeon, it was an especially pretty one, but it looked sick some how, trembling in the cold. Mrs. Abernabby, her science teacher used to talk about how birds flew south for the winter and a lead bird would be followed by others. Maybe this bird lost its way, or stopped too soon and got caught in the storm? Whatever the reason for it’s being here, she thought, leaving it wouldn’t be right – and it was such a pretty bird, perhaps she could keep it as a pet.
Thinking nothing more of it, she reached down to the trembling creature and scooped it up in her mittens. It was almost as big as a cat, but weighed practically nothing. As she began to pick up her pace again, she cradled it with one hand while unraveling her scarf with the other, bundling the bird as the wind picked up and the snowfall sped up. The sidewalks were now becoming icy and she hastened to the door, again fumbling with one hand to reach for her lanyard while cradling the bird with the other. While she dug around the house for something to feed the bird, she began to grow paranoid. Mom and dad would be home soon, perhaps by 6 or 7, and if she had a pet, there would be hell to pay. She could almost hear them now. ‘What about our lease, you know they don’t allow pets! How do you expect to pay for it?! Have you any idea what kind of diseases that filthy thing could be infested with!’
Emily had grown used to this imaginary screaming by now; it was her best defense against the unwanted reality. She looked at the clock. 4:30.
She had to act quickly, and cautiously. She cleaned out a small section in the back of her closet – the place where her “going out” clothes had been stored. Since her last funeral, she hadn’t gone out anywhere and didn’t expect her mother to go digging into that area, for fear of being reminded. Emily thought carefully, and realized once everything was moved – the saucer of water and seeds placed, she would have to put everything back in its place, carefully reconstructing the home to look exactly as it did before. She figured watching animal planet would be loud enough and natural enough to distract per parents from any sounds the bird might make.
It was a long winter, colder than most. Many of the pundits in the news were beginning to question Global Warming while their cars were stuck in the snow and their relatives had frostbite. It was the biggest winter in decades, and the first big winter for Emily. She had seen snow before, and been out in the cold, but not like this. This was unbearable. Emily’s new pet was weathering it as best as it could, and safely tucked away in the warm closet at night. The building looked run down but thankfully, like many buildings near Central Park, the walls were made of brick, and most loud noises sounded like they came from some place else. Time passed slowly that winter, but as all things must, it came it pass, and spring loomed on the horizon. With each dawn the bird gained strength and vitality, and by March, began flying again, in small circles about the bed room, chirping exuberantly. On two occasions, Emily’s mother yelled at her for having the TV on too loud, and it took everything she had to avoid giggling.
On March 21st, after her parents left, she opened her window to let in the sunlight, and the bird suddenly dashed about in a circle around Emily’s head before heading out the window, narrowly dodging the iron bars and becoming obscured in the light of the sun. Within a few moments, the bird was beyond the reach of her obstructed view, somewhere beyond the brick and concrete towers surrounding every avenue of her neighborhood. She had thought to release it in central park, but the bird had a mind of its own.
*
It had been six months since the snow had fallen that brisk afternoon, and three months since the bird had flown free. Emily was planning out her summer vacation, and trying to think about what she would do with her extra time. Her parents said something about sending her to live with ‘Uncle Jack’, not uncle by blood, but something a little less pleasant than that. Jack and mom used to hang out while dad was away, and Jack had lots of girlfriends. Sometimes even mom seemed like one of them. Jack had a hundred dollar bill one day and wanted to show Emily a ‘neat trick’. He rolled it up into a small straw and pulled out a tiny bag of what looked like powdered sugar and emptied the contents onto the table. He grinned at mom and then handed her the straw. She took it in one hand and looked up at him lovingly, sensually, and then bent over, holding the Benjamin tube to her nose and inhaling while pinching her left nostril. She twitched a bit and started giggling, and then said “Oh God I love it Jack, you have a deal. The brat’s yours for the summer.” Emily’s mother stood up suddenly and smiled bleary eyed. “Oh you are just going to love it dear, absolutely love it!” Emily locked confused. “Love what, mom?” Her mother smiled innocently “Why Thailand dear, Thailand! It’s a tropical paradise, like Hawaii with Coconuts and Curry. You’re going to love curry. Well, anyway, I have to be getting back to work, so why don’t you run along up to your room and get some rest. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow; we have to get you packed and ready to go!” Emily was shocked, but paced corpselike to her room. She looked out at the few stars shining through the smog and prison-like window and contemplated her summer wishes, disappearing in a puff of smoke. Meanwhile, her mother continued the conversation with dear old Uncle Jack.
“Jack, Darling, you are certain you want to do this, I mean, she’s going to be such a burden. Why I haven’t got the foggiest clue why I didn’t sign that abortion paper like you suggested. It was the worst decision I’ve ever made – next to getting married to Charley. That b*****d has been sniffing after whores since he met me. Talk about a warped sense of loyalty.” Jack drew a feathered roach clip from the table and fired it up with a butane lighter. “Amelia, you’ve always been one of my best customers, and I promise I won’t let you down. That pretty little monster of yours won’t be bothering you any more, and when I get back, you can work for me again.” Amelia snickered. “She better not, I paid a pretty hefty price for those shiny white teeth and kept her on a strict diet.” The elder man nodded, the imagery of tattoos on greasy skin warped and pulsed as his muscles twitched, manipulating the roach clip. “Yes, she should fetch a good price. At least twice what you did when I found you. Well, I need to get going; Charles should be just about finished with his last bottle.” She rolled her eyes laughing quietly in a wide smile, before turning to a childish pout “Answer me just this one thing, before you go, was I worth it?” Jack grinned as he took his hat on the way out and turned winking “Every penny”. Jack Bumped into Mr. Zanes in the Hallway, knocking his cigarette to the floor. “Watch where you’re going, you clumsy a**!” Zanes wanted say, but Jack was a big man, and accepting his silence as apology was better than accepting his fist in conversation. By the time Jack had exited the glass security door, Zanes had figured out his last cigarette was on the floor, half squashed and smoldering. He began walking to the convenient store for another pack, passing Charley’s return from the bar.
*
A flock of pigeons scattered as an electric lamp flickered on 106th, the quiet whirl of a spring breeze creeping through the doorway as two men left and one man returned. The cigarette had almost burned out, but the sudden drafts of Zane’s exit and Charley’s return lit the embers up, the cheap liquor soaked carpet igniting gradually and spreading quickly and deviously through the building. Amelia had already passed out face down on the couch, Charley entered the house and locked the door before stumbling into the bedroom. “Hah! You lazy b***h! Too drunk to take the bed… Well I’m not too drunk to know where the bed is.” And with that, he fell onto the bed, passing out.
The fire continued to lick its way up the stairs and around the corners, beneath and through doorways, the cheap fire alarm wholly useless until long after the fatal point for most people. The construction of the complex was peculiar, some windows opened into an deep chasm viewing other windows, like the living room and Charley’s bedroom, while other windows opened to view the street, like the one in Emily’s bedroom. The fires caught the couple unaware, and unconscious, they passed away. Fire alarms woke Emily who seeing the flames thought to scream, but also considered keeping silent, as if life and it’s meaning were a coin toss she had already lost. While in a philosophical stupor – if children can be said to have such things, the alarm went off. Moments later, the sound of shouting, fire trucks, and the smashing of wood by axes followed. Suddenly the door was clawed – no torn asunder “anyone in there?!” The fireman shouted, his face covered in ash. She cried out weakly, coughing, “Yes, I’m in here!” The axe chop came down and a kick followed, bursting open the door “Take my hand!” the fireman screamed, almost as loud as the roaring flames behind him. The sound of a Tsssssss. And Crackling flames seemed normal to him, but in her eyes, as he carried her through the living room and down the stairs, she could hear a primal piercing scream, the roar of the flames twisting as if alive, the image of her winter pet, magnified a hundred times larger and a thousand times brighter, yet unmistakable. He had returned for her.
It was only a matter of days before Sgt. McBride of the NYC Fire Department could arrange the paperwork properly. Most of the questions and requirements had been waived. The adoption of the young girl went off without a hitch. Both of her parents were dead, and she had no living family members remaining. McBride was a Widow without child, lost in a fire some 6 years prior. Zane got a photography Job for his Newspaper after submitting intimate photos of the wreckage of his house and moved to downtown.
Jack got hit by a bus. No one asked any questions. No one ever does.
