Page 2 of Of Blood and Smoke

My dad wouldn’t wake up until the morning. Every day was now the same and the routine suited me after months and months of the initial battle for survival. I’d see my dad in the mornings, spending some time with him before I left for work. Melinda, our visiting nurse and caretaker, would stop by during the day and assist him with tasks like keeping appointments and taking his medications before guiding him through a physical therapy routine. She’d also read to him and do other errands as needed.

My father wasn’t completely incapable, he could use the bathroom on his own most of the time though he didoccasionally need assistance in the shower. His mental facilities could be hit or miss—but weremostlyhit, much to my relief.

It was hard to articulate the changes in him at times. Some days he seemed completely healthy, and I could forget but I could always tell, just under the surface, that he wasn’t. The major stroke had stolen the man I once knew and left him a mere shadow of the bright and energetic man he’d been before. To add insult to injury, he’d recently been diagnosed with diabetes. He just couldn’t get a break from medical issues.

Checking my phone’s clock, I realized I didn’t have much time and cleaned up my mess from dinner. I made a mental note of a new horror movie the streaming service advertised, grabbed my clutch, and locked up.

My friend Ashley met me in the parking lot when she pulled up for our festival date.

It was one of those balmy summer nights, the air full of mysterious and odd smells that clung to my skin. The constant drone of traffic was highlighted by distant sirens that seemed slightly muffled due to the lingering humidity weighing everything down. A few meager clouds drifted past a full moon, and a brave owl hooted from somewhere in the trees lining the decrepit public playscape across the street. All was right with the world—as much as it could be.

“Della, can you smell it? It's going to be a fun night,” Ashley said, after blowing a cloud of strawberry vape smoke out of the corner of her mouth. The damp air forced the foggy pollution from her pen to hover longer than usual, before a random stale breeze whisked it away.

“Want some?” She held the e-cigarette toward me.

“Yuck, no. What are you doing with that?” I’d never seen her smoke before.

She shrugged and tossed it on the console. “Andy left it in the car, and I thought I’d try it.”

I let myself into my friend’s car. “The night reeks of horror and hotdogs.” I turned to her. “And rotten strawberries.”

Ashley laughed. “That’s depressing but you might be right.” She took a left onto a main road, steering us in the direction of the festival we were headed to, one of many we tried to attend before the warmer months ended and the desolate, gray winter set in.

New York could be unbearably demoralizing in the colder seasons, with everything green having been stripped away and transformed into dreary decay. It was important to do as many fun things as one could before being outside became unbearable.

Four years ago, when my father and I had to transplant, we were evicted from the bright sunny colors of the only home I’d ever known. Stolen away from the lush, terraced gardens my mother hired someone to plant throughout our yard and the cheerful birdhouses I’d lovingly crafted since I was a little girl. I’d left them hanging there when we moved, imagining another little girl would take care of them, nurturing and feeding the birds who called them home. The whole neighborhood was full of life and greenery, and I would always miss it.

Our first apartment after we lost the house wasn’t bad, but it wasn’thome.This place, now, was definitely not home. “Looks like eastern Europe here, right?” I craned my neck out the window, glancing at the sea of concrete.

“If you squint, it all blurs together and you can pretend it's something else,” Ashley stated. Her apartment was only slightly better than mine, so it wasn’t surprising she’d imagine a different scenario.

Squeezing my eyes nearly shut, I did what she suggested and let the little slivers of light from the streetlamps blur the landscape. If I suspended disbelief, the granite monoliths almost looked like a fantastical medieval city. Almost.

“What are you doing? You look constipated,” my friend teased me.

After sighing dramatically, I said, “Trying to pretend this is someplace else.”

“Ha ha. Yeah, we wish.”

The lights of the street carnival lit up the sky in front of us with a rainbow of colors as we pulled into a parking space.

“I want fried dough,” I said, as we exited her car.

“Oh, yeah. Me too.” Ashley removed the navy-blue bandanna she’d had around her neck and tied it around her head like band, pushing her long, dark, curly hair out of her way. “Kinda crowded here tonight, huh?”

Scanning the crowds from where we stood in line, I watched the mass of bodies swarming about. Multiple attractions lined the park with vendors, small rides, games, and flea market style tables stretching out into the distance.

“Did you see the trailer for the newWings of Deathmovie?” I asked Ashley.

She wrinkled her nose. “Yes. It looks so ridiculous.”

“No, it looks fun. You guys gotta come over and watch it with me when it comes out.”

“You already live in a murder scene, why do you want to watch one on Netflix?” she goaded me.

I frowned at her. “Please?”

Ashley huffed. “Fine. But you’re providing the alcohol.”

---