Page 14 of Strings
“Welcome home, Stella.”Home. I love the way it sounds. It will be a place of happiness this time. “Let’s find you the perfect place.”
I end up moving my furniture around so that Stella is on an end table near the window. She needs plenty of light, according to the stick in her dirt. I don’t have much of a view—I basically see the building next door and part of the street—but the mid-day sun is warm and inviting. I spend the day unpacking and organizing my home. I have one small frying pan, a small coffee pot, and two mugs—one that says, “You’re ugly until after my third cup and maybe even after that too,” and another that has a Grizzly Bear on it. My dad used to drink whiskey out of it and tell stories. He was a funny drunk, but mean when he was high. I kept the cup because I liked him when he was drunk, and those memories are some of the only ones I care to remember.
I place the mugs on my shelf next to my three mismatched plates. I arrange my four forks, two spoons, and one knife in a drawer and smile.
Box number three contains my most prized possession. I carefully unzip the bag containing my pen collection. I pull the desk organizer out of the Target bag and carefully place each pen in the holder, thinking of its significance as I do it. Every pen has a special memory for me, and they really are all I have of importance. Everything else is just stuff. These pens hold my memories. They’re like the diary of my life.
I take one new sleek black pen out of the package and set it in the holder with the others. “The day I came home.”
The rest of the night is spent ironing my dress pants and skirts, trying to buff the marks out of my one pair of heels, and coming up with a backstory for myself. Dinner consists of a bologna sandwich on wheat and a shot of vodka. Just as I’m about to go to bed, there’s a knock at my door.
“Who is it?” I ask, before remembering there’s a peephole. I hear some mumbling as I glance through it. I quickly open the door to Cherese. She leans her head on the doorframe and looks like she may pass out.
“Please tell me you have chocolate?”
“I have a Snickers bar. You want it?”
“Oh my God, yes! I’ll owe you for the rest of my life. Save me from green peppers and kale. I’m begging you.”
“Come in.”
“This is…cute,” she says, looking around. “When does the rest of your stuff get here?”
“Itishere.” I open a cabinet in the kitchen, push the bag of barbecue chips to the side and grab the candy bar.
“But where’s your TV? You don’t have a TV?”
I didn’t realize how odd it was until she pointed it out, so I lie. “Would you believe the packers smashed it? I have to get a new one.”
She reaches out greedily with two hands for the candy bar. She unwraps it quickly and, taking a large bite, moans as if she orgasmed.
“Sweet salvation! Honestly, if eating vegetables is the only way to live a long life, then I’m fine with dying tomorrow as long as it’s with a Snickers in my hand.”
“I have a friend who drinks vodka every day and said she hasn’t been sick in three years.”
“Really?” she asks as she takes another bite. “Maybe I should start drinking. Doesn’t vodka come from potatoes or something? They’re vegetables, right? Anyway, I have to go to the office tomorrow. The concertmaster called a meeting.” She rolls her eyes. “So if you want a lift...”
“You don’t mind?”
“I offered, didn’t I?”
I like her sass. “Well, you do owe me for life,” I say, motioning to the empty wrapper in her hand.
She shoves the wrapper in her pocket as she opens the door. I’d offer to throw it away for her, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted to keep it to lick it when she got home.
“Honestly. Thank you. I feel like me again. You should have been my first stop, but I didn’t want to bother you. Every other woman on this floor is either dieting, or born healthy.”
I glance out into the hall. I haven’t met any of my neighbors, not that I want to. Cherese is plenty for me.
“Do you want me to introduce you?” she asks, pointing toward the hall.
“Maybe another day.”
“Okay. Be ready to go at seven thirty.”
“That early? I’m not supposed to be there until nine. Didn’t you say work was close by?”
She chuckles. “I don’t know where you’re from, but L.A. traffic is the worst in the world. Twenty minutes in other places can take an hour or more here. Trust me.”
