Cheating
Scarlet burst through my door before I could even stand up to open it.
“Leigh, she’s locked herself in the bathroom—with a knife!”
“What?”
The color had seeped from Scarlet’s face, not that there was a lot of color that could escape. Wide open, her eyes sunk into their pale sockets, almost trembling in fear themselves. She whipped around on her heels and I followed, leaving my door open.
“Wait, she did what?” I scratched my head, my hair coarse under my fingers, like sand.
“She came in from her date, soaking wet from the rain,” Scarlet started, her hands shaking to steady her voice. “She was mumbling something. Next thing I know, she’s grabbed the boom box and a knife and locked herself in the bathroom.”
We turned the corner at the end of the hall and entered Scarlet’s room quietly. Scarlet stood at the door, afraid to go anywhere near the prisoner. I shook my head at her and tiptoed to the bathroom door. I pressed my ear to it, praying that silence wouldn’t reverberate back, signaling the worse.
Instead, Billie Holiday’s voice rose through the layers of wood, followed sullenly by Nira’s rhythmic moans.
“…I’ll be seeing you, in all the familiar places…”
Nira wailed the words as if they were saving her life.
I tapped on the door.
"Nira, darling, it’s Leigh,” I said. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she tweeted in a voice so close to her own, it was almost credible. Until she released a crying squeal that said otherwise.
“Will you open the door, lovely? I want to talk to you.”
“No, that’s alright. I don’t really feel much like talking. That’s why Billie’s in here with me.”
The music got louder as she turned up the volume.
“…in that small café…the chestnut trees…the wishing well…”
“That’s not telling me anything, Nira.”
“Keep listening!”
I rolled my eyes. I looked back at Scarlet, who’d ventured closer to the bathroom, but still kept her distance. Sitting on her desk, she fidgeted with her stapler, her eyes still manic with wonder. I turned back to the door.
“Nira, darling, is it true you have a knife in there, too?”
“Yes,” she declared over whining jazz horns.
“What do you intend to do with it?”
“Not sure yet.” She turned the music up a little louder.
I sighed, exasperated.
“Are you planning to hurt yourself?”
“Don’t know.”
“Can you come out so we can talk?”
"No, I said, Billie’s talking!”
I shook my head again, this time backing away from the door.
“…I’ll find you in the morning sun…”
“Okay, I’m leaving,” I said, approaching the door.
"You can’t leave me here!” Scarlet hissed in a whisper. “I don’t know what to do with her!”
“Neither do I! I give. Just make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. If she does, just clean it up.”
“…I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you!” Nira/Billie howled as I exited the room.
On the other side of the bathroom door, Nira sat on the floor beside the toilet, her knees up to her chin. She held the tips of the knife between her index fingers. She watched her reflection blink back at her in the blade. Drops of rain water trickled down her spiral follicles, splashing onto her dress and the bathroom floor.
Scarlet sure knew how to clean a knife to its finest brilliance, she thought.
Nira kicked her feet up on the opposite wall, leaning back as she stared at herself. She listened to her own breathing as Billie trilled “God Bless the Child.”
“…momma may have, papa may have, but God bless the child that’s got her own, that’s got her own…” Nira sang in the knife mirror.
An odd smile found itself on her face, which had turned pink from crying. She lowered the knife, setting it on the floor. She closed her eyes and rested her wet head on the wall.
“…You can help yourself, but don’t take too much,” she hummed in the shadow of her eyelids. “Momma may have, papa may have, but God bless the child that’s got her own…”
Nira repeated the words again, deviating from the music’s trail. She opened her eyes and peered down at the knife again. She picked it up. She held it between her palms, this time pricking herself deep on her right hand. As blood urinated a path of red down her wrist, she stared into her hazel eyes in the knife, wondering where their brilliance had gone.
“Leigh, she’s locked herself in the bathroom—with a knife!”
“What?”
The color had seeped from Scarlet’s face, not that there was a lot of color that could escape. Wide open, her eyes sunk into their pale sockets, almost trembling in fear themselves. She whipped around on her heels and I followed, leaving my door open.
“Wait, she did what?” I scratched my head, my hair coarse under my fingers, like sand.
“She came in from her date, soaking wet from the rain,” Scarlet started, her hands shaking to steady her voice. “She was mumbling something. Next thing I know, she’s grabbed the boom box and a knife and locked herself in the bathroom.”
We turned the corner at the end of the hall and entered Scarlet’s room quietly. Scarlet stood at the door, afraid to go anywhere near the prisoner. I shook my head at her and tiptoed to the bathroom door. I pressed my ear to it, praying that silence wouldn’t reverberate back, signaling the worse.
Instead, Billie Holiday’s voice rose through the layers of wood, followed sullenly by Nira’s rhythmic moans.
“…I’ll be seeing you, in all the familiar places…”
Nira wailed the words as if they were saving her life.
I tapped on the door.
"Nira, darling, it’s Leigh,” I said. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she tweeted in a voice so close to her own, it was almost credible. Until she released a crying squeal that said otherwise.
“Will you open the door, lovely? I want to talk to you.”
“No, that’s alright. I don’t really feel much like talking. That’s why Billie’s in here with me.”
The music got louder as she turned up the volume.
“…in that small café…the chestnut trees…the wishing well…”
“That’s not telling me anything, Nira.”
“Keep listening!”
I rolled my eyes. I looked back at Scarlet, who’d ventured closer to the bathroom, but still kept her distance. Sitting on her desk, she fidgeted with her stapler, her eyes still manic with wonder. I turned back to the door.
“Nira, darling, is it true you have a knife in there, too?”
“Yes,” she declared over whining jazz horns.
“What do you intend to do with it?”
“Not sure yet.” She turned the music up a little louder.
I sighed, exasperated.
“Are you planning to hurt yourself?”
“Don’t know.”
“Can you come out so we can talk?”
"No, I said, Billie’s talking!”
I shook my head again, this time backing away from the door.
“…I’ll find you in the morning sun…”
“Okay, I’m leaving,” I said, approaching the door.
"You can’t leave me here!” Scarlet hissed in a whisper. “I don’t know what to do with her!”
“Neither do I! I give. Just make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. If she does, just clean it up.”
“…I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you!” Nira/Billie howled as I exited the room.
On the other side of the bathroom door, Nira sat on the floor beside the toilet, her knees up to her chin. She held the tips of the knife between her index fingers. She watched her reflection blink back at her in the blade. Drops of rain water trickled down her spiral follicles, splashing onto her dress and the bathroom floor.
Scarlet sure knew how to clean a knife to its finest brilliance, she thought.
Nira kicked her feet up on the opposite wall, leaning back as she stared at herself. She listened to her own breathing as Billie trilled “God Bless the Child.”
“…momma may have, papa may have, but God bless the child that’s got her own, that’s got her own…” Nira sang in the knife mirror.
An odd smile found itself on her face, which had turned pink from crying. She lowered the knife, setting it on the floor. She closed her eyes and rested her wet head on the wall.
“…You can help yourself, but don’t take too much,” she hummed in the shadow of her eyelids. “Momma may have, papa may have, but God bless the child that’s got her own…”
Nira repeated the words again, deviating from the music’s trail. She opened her eyes and peered down at the knife again. She picked it up. She held it between her palms, this time pricking herself deep on her right hand. As blood urinated a path of red down her wrist, she stared into her hazel eyes in the knife, wondering where their brilliance had gone.
Labels: past
posted by Vonetta Young at 7:11 AM
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