Marissa Bancroft - Basement
"Monday"
It was Monday. No further description needed. No word in the English language can possibly qualify the bitterness, anxiety, and frustration of waking up on a Monday morning. Human happiness draws from two resources: contentment with the past and anticipation of the future. On Monday mornings, the latter takes a sharp dive into the workweek abyss.
With little in the way of contentment with her past, Marissa narrowed her vision to the future. And with five days ahead of her of near-minimum-wage work and night classes, not to mention social dramas and financial crises, the future obscured itself in a dark tunnel.
As she rolled out of bed, these thoughts traveled merely in her subconscious. Her conscious thoughts in the morning never deviated from fundamental necessities. Bathroom. Sink. Closet. Clothes. With the whole world in front of her, life could only be approached in single word sentences. No subject, no verb, no action - just an object.
She entered the bathroom, her eyes half open, and glanced at the mirror with an awkward smile, reassuring herself with a reassuring facade of happiness. She bregrudgingly opened up her make-up kit, though the action was never debatable: she had to make herself look presentable. Just a swish of mascara here and a dab of blush there - enough to effective without being conspicuous.
Conspicuous was to be avoided at all costs, as she trudged up the stairs out of the basement. The cold morning breeze jolted her senses, but not her mind, with the sunlight blinding her resisting pupils. The place never felt like hers. Washington Heights was owned by her father, but never did she feel a familial connection to it. She had been kicked out of the house at 18, disgraced and pregnant, her only consolation being the basement apartment. And that was only after she got an abortion.
Grandma Pearl was the first character of the morning drama. A tragedy, perhaps, but Marissa always looked for the comedic elements in her awkward life. Grandma Pearl, though, required a taste for dark humor. She sped through sidewalk with the motivation of an old soldier, blinded by age. Life seemed not to need reason or a purpose for her - just objects and actions.
"How sad," Marissa thought, though sympathy was directed more inwards. "What if I end up like her? Old and miserable."
Marissa swared every time she passed the Grandma Pearl that the old woman muttered "Kids these days" under her breath. But it was one of those things that Marissa never thought twice about. One of many. When guys passed by, hooting and hollering at the gorgious object of their attention, she never took a second glance. Such thoughts were merely diversions for her foward focus.
She crossed the street to Oscar's shop, entering without so much as a glance toward the sketchy door in the back. Though she suspected something, she thought it a waste to dwell on it. It was his business anyway. Oscar fixed her a sandwich every morning, and she had no complaints.
Roast beef on rye. An interesting selction, complemented by a slice of swiss. Marissa always appreciated Oscar's spontaneity. Her life completely lacked it, she thought, and his friendly randomness generously mixed up her mornings. She picked up the bag from him with a shy smile, her usual variety, and he replied with a quick grunt. Also usual.
She strolled down the street, clutching her bag like a baby wrapped in a blanket. Oh, how nice children would be. A house, a car, a white picket fence - the whole works. But she had her sandwich, she had her morning walk, she had Washington Heights - and she lived with that.
The grocery store approach her imposingly. It stood as her morning fortress, locking her in for six hours - the eight-to-two shift. Out of Manny's walked Delilah Plunk, fresh from the most recent episode of her morning routine. Orange juice and coffee - Delilah never failed her rhythmic quest for monotony.
Marissa peered at the woman with sympathetic eyes, as she did all women lacking her attractiveness. But beauty is only skin deep, and Marissa was always more concerned with the inner struggle. At times, she almost wished to be free from the chains of beauty. But regret never stole her attention, and as Marissa stepped into Manny's grocery, her attention focused on her cashier line and the immediate business at hand.
1 comment:
Oscar Alcazar
The place was packed. Without the back room, his butchery wouldn't be in business. But was it worth the drama? The fights, the arguments, the deals, the tension ... Oscar chuckled. He knew the answer. Yes. It was worth every penny.
He thought back to that afternoon, when little Slick had popped in. Oscar had slipped him a few bills for something or other. It didn't really matter. Slick was a good guy. That's how things worked to Oscar. The key word was reputation. If you did good, and didn't do nothing stupid, Oscar had your back, as long as you drop in every now and then. You do Oscar a favor, he does you one. Simple, really.
He stepped out front for some fresh air, catching Mrs. Floggsbottom's eye as she trundled past. He liked her. She was quirky. Amusing. Coming the other direction was Grandma Pearl, "or Miss Pearlie to you," she would tell him. Pearl bought a week's supply of kosher meat every weekend. She was one of his most loyal customers. She even gambled a bit, "when she was feelin' frisky."
As Oscar turned to squeeze back through the door, he glanced at his shattered window. The glass itself was no biggie. He'd have Alexander fix it up. The boy needed a job. The story behind it was the real problem. It was another threat from Manuel, the pitiful crack dealer across the street. He thought his Columbian heritage earned him status in the community. Oscar knew the real meaning of status. Status was being a man, being honest, being forthright. Status meant no severed fingers on doorsteps. Manuel had a lot to learn. Oh well, Oscar thought. He wished their Columbian connection could make them brothers, not enemies. But if Manuel wanted a war, he'd get one. Oscar had Machelli on his side. They'd been exchanging favors for years.
Back inside, Oscar's grubby fingers tossed a few slices of roast beef back into the fridge. Damn, that was from Marissa's morning sandwich. He had to stop leaving food out. He chucked the slices out onto the sidewalk. A bird would get them.
The freezer's chill nursed his grimy skin as he brushed past a dangling pig carcass. There was commotion in the back room. Nothing new there. Not too long ago a bounty hunter had chased his man out the front door. And before that, a nice woman by the name of Elizabeth had completely decked a guy. The fun just didn't stop.
At 3:30 Oscar closed up shop, courteously moving his guests toward the door. He'd count their money in the morning. A big guy needs his shuteye. The Kosher Carriers truck was scheduled for 7:30 in the morning.
Post a Comment