Her pt.1 - Week of 4/23/18
I like where this one is going, and will probably come back to it.
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She smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap perfume. I never enjoyed those cheap adages as they seemed too shallow to describe a person. Only after having met Her, known Her intimately, and come away bruised battered and scarred, did I realize how apt a summation it was.
We met while I was doing some community service at the local homeless shelter. They of course did more than cater to the homeless population, helping out those living on the edge of poverty as well. Those people had gone from few to plenty in the aftershocks of the war, and those of us living comfortably could feel the cold knocking at our door. It wouldn't be long before everything collapsed and left us all to freeze.
But I digress, we were talking about Her.
There wasn't a day that went by after our first chance encounter I didn't think about Her. She needed food, I needed to "repay the community the debt I had inflicted upon it" (because apparently punching a cop who called your brother a chump is frowned upon), and fate, like a tornado, drew us in close and destroyed a nearby trailer park.
Seriously, Hunter's Ridge would still be around if not for us.
I keep getting distracted, she had that effect on me. That fateful night I was on the food line, she was in line. It was probably the least romantic setting possible; a run down gymnasium attached to a church where the city's urchins came to leech some sustenance. I believe it was goulash night, but I know there was mac and cheese. I think I noticed Her nails first. They shimmered blue and silver in the dull yellow florescence of the gym. As I slopped food onto Her tray I actually stopped and looked up for the first time that night. Usually I avoid the glances of the needy mostly out of shame, at least here they did the same instead of rattling a cup at me or asking me to spare a few dollars. "H-hi.." I managed to stammer out. She looked up at me, and although brief, I caught a glimpse of Her green eyes, the dark purple bags under them, and faint smudges of eyeliner that once-was. She gave me a look that said "Who are you and why are you talking to me?", that was my first clue that she was new to all this. Or maybe I was being cocky and that look really meant "Why are you trying to flirt in a homeless shelter?"...
In retrospect, I may have come off as creepy.
I saw Her there a few more times, Her nail polish was always different, but then my community service was done and I was free to once again terrorize my own home during my free time. The thought of Her stuck to my brain the way the mac and cheese that night had stuck to my ribs, so I made the ultimate sacrifice: I became extroverted for one night to try and track Her down. The decision had been monumental to me at the time, but the Herculean effort I was ready to put forth was in vain, as she was back at the shelter that night. I approached Her, nervous and ready to run home with my tail between my legs, but she smiled when she saw me and invited me to sit down.
Already I was confused (being social isn't high on my priority list, if you couldn't tell), but we started with the most basic of conversations (Her name was Melissa!) and continued talking until the shelter closed down, the street lights came on, and we were back in my apartment. Nothing intimate happened that night. But over the course of the next few weeks it certainly did.
I should have noticed the red flags sooner: She needed a place to stay (duh, she was at the shelter for a reason!), she was short on cash (see previous justification), she had gotten fired recently (Her old boss was a total bitch, I wholly agree), she was having trouble finding work (times were tough!), she insisted on smoking regardless of all of this (hey, we've all got our vices!), and she always found time to do Her nails (gotta get some self love in there!). Maybe if she had just come out and said she didn't plan on doing any of the things she said she would, maybe if she had just admitted upfront that she was broken baggage and she had a lot of work to do on herself before she could be in another relationship, maybe we could have worked it out. Maybe I wouldn't have had to been so jealous, paranoid, crazy even.
Maybe Hunter's Ridge would still be standing.
To be fair, Hunter's Ridge had for a very long time (since I was but a wee chil') had a reputation for drugs of the explosive nature. As if crippling poverty wasn't enough, we apparently needed a drug trade run by people without enough teeth or brain cells to stick together and make a chihuahua. I'm not saying they had it coming, but it was inevitable that someone would try to light up one day in the middle of re-enacting Breaking Bad and blow the whole place up. I just didn't think it would be anyone I knew.
I didn't think it would be Her.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap perfume. I never enjoyed those cheap adages as they seemed too shallow to describe a person. Only after having met Her, known Her intimately, and come away bruised battered and scarred, did I realize how apt a summation it was.
We met while I was doing some community service at the local homeless shelter. They of course did more than cater to the homeless population, helping out those living on the edge of poverty as well. Those people had gone from few to plenty in the aftershocks of the war, and those of us living comfortably could feel the cold knocking at our door. It wouldn't be long before everything collapsed and left us all to freeze.
But I digress, we were talking about Her.
There wasn't a day that went by after our first chance encounter I didn't think about Her. She needed food, I needed to "repay the community the debt I had inflicted upon it" (because apparently punching a cop who called your brother a chump is frowned upon), and fate, like a tornado, drew us in close and destroyed a nearby trailer park.
Seriously, Hunter's Ridge would still be around if not for us.
I keep getting distracted, she had that effect on me. That fateful night I was on the food line, she was in line. It was probably the least romantic setting possible; a run down gymnasium attached to a church where the city's urchins came to leech some sustenance. I believe it was goulash night, but I know there was mac and cheese. I think I noticed Her nails first. They shimmered blue and silver in the dull yellow florescence of the gym. As I slopped food onto Her tray I actually stopped and looked up for the first time that night. Usually I avoid the glances of the needy mostly out of shame, at least here they did the same instead of rattling a cup at me or asking me to spare a few dollars. "H-hi.." I managed to stammer out. She looked up at me, and although brief, I caught a glimpse of Her green eyes, the dark purple bags under them, and faint smudges of eyeliner that once-was. She gave me a look that said "Who are you and why are you talking to me?", that was my first clue that she was new to all this. Or maybe I was being cocky and that look really meant "Why are you trying to flirt in a homeless shelter?"...
In retrospect, I may have come off as creepy.
I saw Her there a few more times, Her nail polish was always different, but then my community service was done and I was free to once again terrorize my own home during my free time. The thought of Her stuck to my brain the way the mac and cheese that night had stuck to my ribs, so I made the ultimate sacrifice: I became extroverted for one night to try and track Her down. The decision had been monumental to me at the time, but the Herculean effort I was ready to put forth was in vain, as she was back at the shelter that night. I approached Her, nervous and ready to run home with my tail between my legs, but she smiled when she saw me and invited me to sit down.
Already I was confused (being social isn't high on my priority list, if you couldn't tell), but we started with the most basic of conversations (Her name was Melissa!) and continued talking until the shelter closed down, the street lights came on, and we were back in my apartment. Nothing intimate happened that night. But over the course of the next few weeks it certainly did.
I should have noticed the red flags sooner: She needed a place to stay (duh, she was at the shelter for a reason!), she was short on cash (see previous justification), she had gotten fired recently (Her old boss was a total bitch, I wholly agree), she was having trouble finding work (times were tough!), she insisted on smoking regardless of all of this (hey, we've all got our vices!), and she always found time to do Her nails (gotta get some self love in there!). Maybe if she had just come out and said she didn't plan on doing any of the things she said she would, maybe if she had just admitted upfront that she was broken baggage and she had a lot of work to do on herself before she could be in another relationship, maybe we could have worked it out. Maybe I wouldn't have had to been so jealous, paranoid, crazy even.
Maybe Hunter's Ridge would still be standing.
To be fair, Hunter's Ridge had for a very long time (since I was but a wee chil') had a reputation for drugs of the explosive nature. As if crippling poverty wasn't enough, we apparently needed a drug trade run by people without enough teeth or brain cells to stick together and make a chihuahua. I'm not saying they had it coming, but it was inevitable that someone would try to light up one day in the middle of re-enacting Breaking Bad and blow the whole place up. I just didn't think it would be anyone I knew.
I didn't think it would be Her.
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