Loud day

It was a loud day. Well, how else can one describe a day that opens to the loud, blaring, uncomfortably cheery whistle of an ice cream truck. It rolled through Washington Heights with a vengeance, tearing into the ear drums of every unsuspecting, innocent resident. There were few, if any, children in the neighborhood. Clearly, the driver possessed little knowledge of economics. Or, maybe, a bit too much...

Marissa hated ice cream trucks. The way they proclaimed such artificially happy and sweet sounds -- life just didn't work like that. One day, you're living a dream, cleanly licking the crisp cream off the cone. Then you wake up, and you're back to reality, in a basement at the bottom of a shoddy apartment in the middle of Baltimore's sketchiest corner.

And the noise screamed Hyannis, Massachusetts. Childhood memories. Spring picnics, Fourth of July fireworks, lazy Augusts at the pool -- all swarmed within the radius of the sound's reach. These memories jolted the poor 20-something girl awake, and she stumbled out of bed, a little fiestiness, a little fire in her step.

She was a master as converting negative energy into the productive variety. And today was no exception, as she stormed onto the street, eyes straight ahead, with all the noise and chaos of the ghetto ringing in her ears.

Then that blasted truck came to a screeching halt, right beside Marissa. "Hey hey, would you like to hold something white."

"No."

"Oh, come on, girl, you know I've got something good for you."

"No."

Any other woman, maybe, the guy would have kept pestering. Maybe even hopped out of the truck to swoon his way into a drug deal. But Marissa, oh God Marissa, did not cast an inviting aura. And buddy had to respect that. Buddy, the notorious drug dealer, could not take on Washington Heights's primmest princess.

Henrietta Floggsbottom sure tried. "Marissa, my sweet, how are you this morning? I'm sure the boys have been all over you. That is, when they take their swooning eyes off my beautiful visage. Oh, the beautiful day. Lovely, isn't it. So cold, so rainy, but yet, so beautiful. For I am a part of it. Don't you think?"

Marissa didn't rightly know how to respond to such an advance. She calmly replied "Today is just like any other, Henrietta. I wake up, come outside, and witness all the pain and suffering in the world. Then I have you to brighten my day. I always appreciate your sweetness."

It was a pitiful attempt, but Henrietta fell for it. She absorbed up the subtly backhanded compliment with her usual gusto, and left Marissa alone.

Alone. Sometimes, that's all Marissa wanted. She was free when she was alone. No parents, no teachers, no adults who claimed mentor status but really just wanted to create clones of themselves. Only Marissa, in peaceful silence, with the inviting sounds of downtown refreshing her ears.

The noise was absent, but the drive had returned. Marissa would return to Hyannis, with a vengeance. First, she would need some money. Preferably an attractive fiance. Maybe a convertible and a royal bloodline to go along with him.

Or she could just bring along Oscar. Wow, what a brilliant idea. She would take Oscar back to the Cape. Waltz right into her parents house, demand compensation for all the emotional damage they caused her, and waltzed right back out -- with gambling ring leader all in tow.

Marissa was always a dreamer, but this opportuntiy seemed too hilarious to pass up in reality. The New England aristocracy wouldn't know what hit it.

Black day

It was a black day. It must have been the shadows cast by the ominous sky. Or how the rain reflected the cold basement lair onto the pavement. Or that black van.

As much as Marissa morbidly savored the cold lonliness of Washington Heights, she couldn't helped but be scared to death by the black van. Screeching, zooming, roaring, shooting its way down Baker Street. Then a scorching turn, an icy splash of rain against the basement windows, and it was gone. Again, the early dawn was black.

And black the day would remain. No sunlight to dispel the dark, damp chill of the menacing Baltimore landscape. Concrete, urban, impersonal -- it was all black.

If Marissa had experienced an Emo phase in high school, she might have suffered a relapse. But she didn't -- she was too busy with... too busy, enough said. She didn't have time for sulking and misery. She did, this morning, however, have time to throw on a stark black shirt, durable jeans, and some don't-even-try black pumps.

No black eye shadow. Never. To the residents of Washington Heights, Marissa would never appear in the least bit discouraged. Only Oscar recognized the subtle mood shifts, hidden by her strikingly beautiful presentation. Oh, Oscar. The closest thing Marissa had to a friend in Washington Heights -- the closest thing she had to reliability.

Well, there were the loony late night drunks. She could always count on them. Like Kevin, for instance, one of the usual suspects. He was a fellow Hopkins student, but about as different as Marissa as she could possibly imagine. And never a chance. Some of her university friends thought him cute -- in a creepy, awkward sort of way -- but he didn't exude the odor of success. And as unsuperficial as Marissa tried to be, she couldn't resist the sweet smell of money.

She wandered toward Oscar's thinking about boys. A rarity, surprisingly. It must have been the introspective nature of the morning. The blackness.

Kevin -- nope. Finn -- too young. Marissa chuckled -- 30 or older, with at least an M.D. Charlie was kind of cute -- maybe for a one-night stand -- but, ooo, Marissa caught herself. She didn't do one night stands. Well, no, Oscar doesn't count. He's just Oscar.

He was safe. And she liked safety. No one could blame her -- she was Massachusetts girl caught in a Chesapeake ghetto. So she walked toward Oscar's, eyes forlorn, gazing into the bleak blackness, and she hoped for a different day. For a girl so driven, so motivated, so focused, Marissa could not even escape the overwhelming decay of Washington Heights.

Gusty day

It was a gusty day. Fresh with excitement. Invigorating right to the bone, chilling the heat, and jump-starting the mind. Marissa awoke this morning with a rejunevated spirit, and as always, she couldn't explain why. It was just a windy, gusty, intense sort of day.

Her day off from work, too. That was always a plus. And combined with the inspiring wind, the day's atmosphere was breathed cooly and easily. It was a Wednesday, no, maybe, a Thursday? -- it didn't matter. Marissa grasped the ball, handed to her by a mysterious force deep within the gloom of Washington Heights, and ran with it.

She slipped on her pink Chucks, remnants of her high school days. Before the baby, before getting kicked out, before Washington Heights. And off she skipped, spritely toward the Metro and then off to the University. She had her one morning class of the week, and she was excited.

Wait a second, what day is it again? Oh, Thursday -- good, she did have class and breathed a sigh of relief. And plus, tomorrow is Friday. She always appreciated Thursdays, though. The anticipation for the weekend always caught her senses -- she almost enjoyed the eager waiting more than the actual weekend. She lived by hope.

But not everyone did, and Marissa received a stark reminder as she saw Fil scramble around to repair his roof. He offered her a paper, and though she almost replied in the affirmative, she couldn't bring herself to it. New York Times, only. Not the Baltimore Sun. She had enough of Baltimore. In her mind, she dreamed of Broadway, Wall Street . . . Baker Street was the present, and she wanted none of it.

As her mind wandered off into the future, her past came back to shock her. No, not anyone or anything directly related to Hyannisport, Massachusetts. That didn't even matter. The past came to her in the form of Molina Rose, who shared her story. Once normal, even affluent, but then took a turn for the worse.

Worse? What am I thinking? she pondered. This is a great life, she retorted. This is freedom. No parents, no yacht clubs or tea parties -- no expectations. At least, none from anyone else. As Marissa hopped on the train to downtown, the only things she expected came from herself and herself only. All the cute boys at school, just distractions. All the foolish people in Washington Heights, all just distractions.

The future lay waiting at the other end of the subway line, at the other end of a college diploma, at the other end of a cul-de-sac, with a happy house, a happy family, and a happy life.

Rainy day

Marissa Bancroft - Basement

"Rainy day"

It was a rainy day. Marissa didn't particularly mind the rain, but she wasn't about to go outside dancing and singing in it either. She appreciated the refreshing lull around the neighborhood. What was depressing and distressing to some, she found pleasant and tranquil. It was the perfect day to stay inside and look through the basement window as the rain drops plopped on the muddied puddles.

She stretched out on her futon with an inviting tale from William Faulker. Her recent readings had turned southwards, a direction she had never traveled, and she was fascinated. All her life, she had grown up under the might weight of the New England establishment. Baltimore was about as far south as her family had ever traveled - anything farther might as well have been the depths of hell.

The southern landscape was riveting. As the fall chill descended over Washington heights, enshrouded in a mist of Chesapeake rain, Marissa escaped into a Deep South fantasy. Piney woods, lonely highways, and endless fields of cotton and peanuts. This to her was freedom. Freedom from the stresses of the Mid-Atlantic. Freedom from her poverty and her suffering. Freedom from her cuthroat Yankee background.

Of course, it wasn't all for fun. Marissa would not be caught doing anything at least midly productive. The Faulker was a reading assignment for her American Literature class at Johns Hopkins University. She was an English major - pre-med, of course; she would always be tied to financial ambitions - drudging her way through afternoon and evening classes. She loved reading, writing, and most of all, talking about reading and writing - too bad she didn't exactly have too many Faulker scholars around Washington Heights.

Faulker's stream-of-conciousness, riveting her eager soul, sent Marissa's thoughts into a frenzy. After a a full morning of monotonous grocery-bagging at Manny's, her subconcious finally found an outlet to empty its memories. She gradually drifted into events from earlier that day:

She had left her apartment that morning with her face forward, chest held high, eyes straight ahead. Her posture, however, was overshadowed by the man walking beside her. Kevin Lansing, from near the top floor, exploded down the sidewalk with the fire of a madman. Eyes blodshot, sweating and pale, Kevin shocked Marissa's passive morning mentality. She didn't second guess him, though. She, too, was on a mission. Excitement and frills could wait for later - as in post-college, post-kids, post-career life. That's all that lay ahead of her in her mind.

It was a few moments later when she saw Lola Fontaine. Slightly awkward and spritely, Marissa thought she was sweet, in only a mildly condescending way. She had an alluring attractiveness - kind of skanky, kind of cute - that always perplexed Marissa. She had grown up accustomed to the perfectly-manicured-and-always-well-presented New England bombshells. This sort of blue-collar beauty always fascinated her. Along with the South, she had begun to respect a world beyond the white picket fences and fresh green grass of Connecticut. Or maybe that was just her coping mechanism.

Marissa was in Baltimore, rejected by her family, her friends, and the whole society she once held dear. But it didn't matter to her, at least on the surface. As long as she had Faulker and Kevin and Lola to brighten her rainy day - and she had begun to appreciate the little things in life - she could survive any situation. Back to Faulker, she found the descent of the Compton family strinkingly familiar - but she was too busy to care.