Little Ditty Bout ...

Queen & Roncesvalles

Ancient house looks like it might collapse in mild gust of wind, boards falling off, covered in grime. Cindy's new home with Donnie, the eldest birdseed brother of Newfoundland. Not the one with the wavy blonde hair to his shoulders that I have secret (or not so secret) crush on, quiet David of the honest living that I sneak away with under a bridge on the Lakeshore for shy handholding walk. But the other one with black hair and curling mustache, who knows how to make a good gravy but danger to turn back on him when alone in the kitchen.

This house is rotting, boarded up, is it even legal to live here? The stairwell is dark but Donnie meets us with a flashlight, shines the light at our feet so we won't fall through the holes in the steps as others have. All the way to the top, attic-like, turn left and into too bright room lit by bare 100 watt bulb dangling from ceiling. One room. Two double mattresses side by side on the floor. For sleeping? For sitting? They are unmade, naked, stained with spilled drinks and . . . ? A half dozen two-fours Ex opened in varying stages of emptiness, three seagrams forties uncapped, no glasses, excuse the backwash. A cardboard box with Cindy's clothes. I see the yellow sweatshirt, aqua gym pants that used to be part of my laundry, fringed jacket that hitchhiked all the way from North Bay, almost safely. No bathroom. No running water. What did I expect? No jobs.

Cindy perches on the edge of one mattress, an unlit cigarette clenched in her huge smile, twitching, "Gotta light?" A scuzzy guy on either side of her, hair greasy with dirt, eyes circled in darkness, fingers and palms stained yellow, hands touching her thighs, arms draped around her behind. Familiar. She laughs in that hollow throaty way she does when she's been partying for weeks, flipping her long blonde hair like Cher but looking more like Goldie with those big blue eyes and full lips. Smoke thickens the air, hazing the room that smells of beer, cheap perfume, hash, body odor, cocaine cigarettes, decomposing Pizza Pizza slices. Is this love? Whitesnake on cassette in silver ghetto blaster with black speakers.

I feel overly concerned about the legality of this space, ironically, given leather jackets layered with bricks. None of my business. Cindy notices me and tries to get up for greeting but legs won't straighten, won't strengthen. I scoot scuzzy guys who ogle me but don't touch, settle into the mattress with Cindy, hugging her, swigging from a forty, smiling, singing, whispering . . . don't need to stay, bed is still empty, come home with me, listen to me Cindy Lou, listen . . . she can't hear me, but Donnie can or senses, comes to sit beside me, a little too close, filling in a D & C sandwich, protecting his investment. If I push he'll beat the crap out of her again tonight, he'll probably do it anyway, but we've come alone, outnumbered, for money matters not humanitarian crises. It's none of my business. So we drink and I smooth her hair and we laugh and when I can I whisper and look for a spark in dull eyes.

We leave as we came, just the three of us, Cindy's phony laugh trailing us down the stairs.

Three weeks later Donnie bursts into our house looking for Cindy. She's run away (again). He can't find her anywhere. I don't know where she is and he won't believe me, runs through all the rooms looking for clues, for a hiding girl in a closet. I really don't know where she is. "I'll kill her!" And he's serious, I believe him. He's got it all figured out, the how-to part. Through the neighborhood I learn she ran away with one of his friends (one of the scuzzy men at the apt?), someone with a trade, job prospects, the ability to make an honest living and take care of her, who doesn't beat women. I smile.

Eight months later I'm walking to my work when I see Cindy on the street, stop, excited to find her, hugs. She lives in an apartment above a store two doors down from the place I've been working for almost a year. It's a wicked coincidence to find her. She's straight, sober, and working as a cashier at a grocery, still with Donnie's ex-friend. She invites me up for tea though she seems fidgety, nervous. Catch up on old neighborhood gossip. Learn new boyfriend has steady income, works in construction, but they've been on the run from Donnie, a few near misses, and she's thinking of leaving the city altogether, going home, thinking of her dad and the north. As the afternoon stretches toward evening and the return of the boyfriend she practically throws me out. He wouldn't understand me being there, would spook him about Donnie, they'd have to move again and they've just got settled, I have the feeling he is not as non-violent as I've been led to believe. She makes me promise that I will not tell anyone where they are. I promise. I promise. I promise. And we promise to get together again sometime soon for coffee or lunch. A big hug and I'm off to work.

Two weeks later a For Rent sign lives in the window of Cindy's apartment and I never see her again.

Mood: achy
Drinking: tea
Listening To: Whitesnake, Here I Go Again
Hair: perfectly ponied