Page 2 of Blood Red Woes

By the time I leave the library, the world is dark outside, and I walk home. Don’t have a car. More often than not I curse not having a vehicle, but at a time like this, I’m reminded of the fact I wouldn’t be able to afford it. The pathetic cashier’s job I used to have barely covered rent and food, not to mention my textbooks.

My place is downtown, but not in one of those new fancy high-rises. No, I live above an old bar, across the hall from the bartender himself. Frank. He’s a good guy. Gave me a deal onthe place. He said I looked like a quiet kid, and that’s exactly the kind of tenant he wanted. Not someone who parties it up every weekend like most college kids in this city.

I used to think it was a compliment, but now… maybe partying it up wouldn’t be so bad. At least I’d feel carefree, even if it’s just for a few hours.

The bar’s not directly off-campus, so it’s a bit of a hike. Twenty minutes later, I’m walking up the steps on the fire escape in the alley of the bar, but right before I reach for the door to the second-floor hall, Frank walks out, a grim look on his face.

I freeze when I see him. My instincts usually aren’t wrong, and right now, they’re telling me this isn’t good.

“Frank,” I say. “Why aren’t you downstairs working the bar?”

“I wanted to see if you were home yet,” he says, rubbing his jaw before moving to the metal railing on the landing of the fire escape.

Call me psychic, but I have the feeling I know what this is about. I don’t move to stand beside him. I’m rooted in place, staring at the back of his head as a sinking feeling takes hold in my gut.

“I don’t have the rent yet,” I whisper. Technically it was due a month ago, but I asked and got an extension. Still, I’m not dumb. I know there’s only so much waiting Frank can do. “Can I have a few more weeks?”

I like Frank. Sure, he’s an old, crotchety bastard sometimes, but if I was his age—see: sixty-five, maybe—I’d be mean to most people, too. Course, he’s only mean to those who are jerks to him, first. I think that’s why we get along.

“Rey,” he starts, and then he turns around for eye contact, which tells me he means business. “I’m gonna level with you. The bar ain’t doing good. You’d think that wouldn’t be an issue in a college town, but with all these new, fancy places servingmixed drinks with music so loud you can hear it across the street… I need someone who can afford the rent.”

He runs a hand down the side of his old, gnarled face, rubs his gray stubble for a moment. “Look, I can give you one more week. I’m sorry, but that’s the best I can do. If you can’t make rent, I’ll have to kick you out—and I hope you’re smart enough to know an eviction doesn’t look good on anybody.”

If I’m legally evicted, I’ll have a harder time getting a place in the future. It’ll be a permanent stain any future landlord would be able to look up. Shit. He’s right. If I don’t have the money in a week—and odds are I won’t because none of the jobs I applied to since I was fired have contacted me for as little as an interview—I’ll have to voluntarily leave.

But where will I go?

It’s as I’m standing there, mind spinning as I wonder what the hell I’m going to do, Frank says, “I should get down to the bar. Don’t worry too much, kid. I’m sure things will work out.” He gives me a smile and a pat on the shoulder before he goes, but I don’t react.

What can I say besides my life is falling apart? That everything I worked so hard for is being pulled out from under me like some damned rug?

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

If I had a mom, maybe she would’ve taught me not to swear so much, but the woman dumped me on my dad, and he swore like a sailor. Really, now that he’s gone, swearing is the only thing I have left of him, besides the picture in my wallet.

I push into the hall and pull out my key from my pocket.

Then again, if I had a mom, none of this would be happening. I could be living at home, commuting. Or I’d have someone to back me up, loan-wise, a parent to sign off on everything.

My foster parents weren’t bad people, but… well, let’s just say they let it be known that in this world, everyone’s out forthemselves. They pretty much only took care of me and the others so they could get a paycheck. As sad as it is, I consider myself lucky being placed with them. It could’ve been so much worse.

My place is tiny. Not a studio, at least, but that’s not saying much since my bedroom literally only fits a bed and an old dresser I trash-picked a few months back. I’ve been here since the beginning of summer, so about five months. AKA just long enough to get used to how things are without really thinking about how things could take a turn for the worse.

I drop my bag and collapse on my bed. After a moment, I roll onto my back and pull out my wallet. I dig out my dad’s picture and stare at it in the darkness.

His face looks like mine, though obviously a manlier, older version. Squarer jaw, maybe a bit lighter of brown hair. Our eyes are the same, though. A light amber color. When the sun hits it, it almost looks molten.

This picture in particular is one of him grinning. I don’t remember much, but I remember going to the zoo with him for my birthday in the fall. It was a windy day, so we were bundled up. I took his phone and wanted to play photographer for the day. I made him pose in front of every single animal exhibit. Every damn one. He played along, never complained once. If anyone was a good sport, it was him.

I said something stupid before taking this one. Something like, “Don’t worry, Dad, this will be the last one… until the next one.” Something silly and what I thought sly at the time, but it made him laugh, and that’s when I took the picture.

Some lady took a photo of both of us near the zoo’s sign on our way out after a long day, and he said he’d print me off whatever pictures I wanted.

I only wanted one.

I was nine at the time. I had no idea about a year later, he’d get sick and leave me.

As I stare at his picture, I whisper, “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m trying. I am. It’s just… things are so hard, and half the time I don’t know what to do.” I meet his gaze in the photo. “You weren’t supposed to leave. You’re supposed to be here now, helping me not make stupid mistakes.”

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