Candle in the Attic Window(28)
She ran her hands over the books nearest her bed, her favourites. Traitors, all of them; not one could numb the yearning she felt for real human company.
She thought, as she always did when loneliness got the best of her, of her mother. Her mother loved to talk, even if the conversations didn’t last long, and usually wound up in bitter arguments. Lorena sat up and put her hand on the old tan phone before remembering it had been disconnected over a week ago. That was probably for the best. The call most likely would have ended with Lorena feeling guilty, while her mother tried to talk her into coming back home. Most of the time, being alone, independent, was what she wanted. Except on nights like this, when the heat was unbearable and the shabbiness of the apartment grated on her. On nights like this, she wanted more, something she couldn’t describe, even to herself.
Sighing, she absently braided her hair and continued looking outside for something, some kind of variation. The last few weeks, she had felt a horrid yearning, but she didn’t know what for. It was just a pull at her stomach, her brain, her heart. A pull that made her stare out the window for long hours. As she worked the plait, she wondered why she kept her hair so long, when all she ever did was to pull it back and away. But Lorena’s hair had always been long, a comforting shield to hide behind when she wore it down, something to swing around and play with when it was bound back, and to pull on when she got nervous. Comfortable. She looked out the window again to see if anything had changed. A few pieces of trash blew around near a sewer grate, but that was all. She secured the braid with an elastic band and flopped back on the bed, sighing loudly.
She knew she wouldn’t sleep much, if at all, the rest of this night, so she got up and pulled on a pair of cut-off sweat pants. The walk was becoming a nightly ritual. She grabbed her cigarettes from the bed and stuck them in her waistband, after slipping on a ratty pair of tennis shoes she had bought on sale at work.
The outer hall was dark with imitation-wood paneling on the bottom, faded yellow paint on the top. The smell of rot lingered in the hallways, emanating from other apartments and fast food bags left in the corners. I can’t wait ‘til I’m outta here. Just a few more months. Lorena had been saying that to herself since first moving in over a year ago. She hated the hall, the narrow stairway, the apartments and the people in them. Her life. But not enough to go home.
She walked around the block five and then six times, willing somebody to come out and rape, rob, mug, stab her.
No one obliged, so it was back up four flights to her one-room life. Maybe she’d get an hour or two of sleep before work. The walk had exhausted her physically, if not mentally. I want, she thought. I want.
The want stayed in her thoughts until she got up and paced the small box of her apartment. Even then, it ran like a train in the back of her mind. IwantIwantIwantIwant. She pulled on her hair, nervously twisting the ends with one hand while she alternately smoked and paced. Finally, she went to the kitchen and dug around in the messier of the two available drawers. Found a pair of scissors. The shears were old and rust-spotted, not as sharp as they used to be. Kind of like me, ha-ha. But they’d do.
She went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Same plain face, brown eyes, brown hair. Nothing special leapt out at her. A few freckles dotted her nose, but even they were light, difficult to see if you didn’t know they were there. Like me. She reached around and grasped the thick braid with her left hand, brought her right behind her and closed her eyes. What am I doing? she thought.
She cut.
It was tougher than she’d expected to get through the twist and the scissors didn’t cut quite straight. Holding the thick braid of hair in her hands made her realize what she had done, what she had really, actually done. Cut off something that had been there most of her life. A phantom weight remained on the back of her neck, telling her she really hadn’t gone through with it. She reached back and felt her neck, the feather-light strands on her skin. Short intake of breath and even smaller exhale of laughter, and she hacked away, then, at the stray wisps that hung haggle-straggle around her head, evening them out the best she could. She did the back without a mirror, feeling, instead, with her fingertips. She hoped it was straight, but did not bother to check.
At last, Lorena looked in the mirror and saw her new head. Her face looked smaller, her eyes larger. It was certainly different. She didn’t bother to clean up the bathroom, just stripped off her shorts and crawled into bed.
She lay on her side and smoked a cigarette while looking out the window. Someone was walking down the street. He was tall, with dark hair pulled back in a tail. Familiar. Thigh-length black jacket and dark pants. Boots on his feet. Their heavy tread echoed below. He was thin, almost sickly, and beautiful. So familiar. She’d seen him somewhere before. Where? Lorena ashed her cigarette out the window and inhaled again, watching. Not many people were out at this hour and she always studied those who were, trying to guess where they were off to, where they might be coming from.
He looked up, then, and Ohmygodhesbeautifulthemostbeautifulthingi’veeverseen, his eyes, large dark eyes she could see even from her window, held hers for a moment before he put his hands in pockets and walked on.
She shivered with excitement under the covers. What just happened? It wasn’t much, but it was what she’d wanted – something different. Enough, perhaps, for her to finally be able to sleep. She wondered what he looked like up close and why she thought he was beautiful, when all she’d really seen was a coat and dark hair. But his eyes, they seemed to look right at her. And she could have sworn she knew him from somewhere. But where? She wondered if he would be back tomorrow, wondered if she dared walk downstairs if he was, wondered and eventually fell asleep.