Blackout
The weather's gone cold. Without wood to heat her rented room, the walls feel clammy. But the cough has weakened her and she can't face the four flights down to get wood. Besides, it costs to buy wood. It's easier to reach for the vodka. The instant warmth makes the world seem a brighter, less lonely place. Less scary and dark. Another swallow, ah, almost the sunshine on her skin again, like summer. Never mind that it costs as much for one bottle of vodka as a week's worth of wood. Confusion is a fine veil, shrouding her thoughts, preventing memories from slicing away at her. Another swig and the warmth makes her laugh again, like the child that was lost so many years ago. Giggling, she's brave. Now she can face the dragon in the stairwell, creaking at her. Wood she's after? Is there wood? Leaving the door open she tiptoes out. Light, yes she needs light! Turning her face to the light bulb on the bare wire she dances down the stairs swinging and humming with the stairs natural groan and sway.
Out of the street she's looking for the sun, it was warmth she wanted, yes? The urban jungle walls close in on her, cold like clammy fingers. Hugging herself, she doesn't know that her thin silky neon pink pajamas sticking out below her fuzzy jacket are making people turn and stare. Knowing glances make the women pull away, noses in the air, tisking. The men sulking outside the bar, however, are suddenly focused. It's been a few days since she's shown up. Soon they've got her at a table, where it's warm.
Waking with her head spinning, she knows the slicing cold of reality. The familiar stench of old breath and older vodka hangs around her like icicles clamoring at her ringing brain. Opening her eyes a slit, she's alone in a strange room. Suddenly awake she's terrified. Pushing hard against her headache she stumbles to the door. It's locked. Fumbling she finds a bathroom, a sink, and water to splash on her face. Cigarette butts and empty glasses lie scattered around. Suppressing panic she tries to think. Heavy curtains mask windows, but outside the barred glass is simply another brick wall. No light, no air, no hope.
"God!" she cries out, "Help me!! Please!" And suddenly the obscurity lifts a little and she has a flashback. Kiera and Marika smiling as they hug her goodbye at the church she visited by chance several weeks before. Genuine smiles, caring hugs. And the invitation to come again, and their phone numbers. Wildly she looks for her purse. She didn't bring it. Her clothing is crumpled and stinks. "Jacket." she suddenly swirls around. "Where's my jacket?" She feels a memory touch in against her mind. Kiera's number is in the pocket. Frantically throwing pillows, she finally finds it flung in a corner. Digging with shaking fingers she finds the rumpled card and calls on the hotel phone.
Within an hour Kiera and Marika are there. How they thought to bring clothing she never thought to wonder. Sobbing she rides with them, sitting in the back with Marika while Kiera drives. They go to her room, cold and clammy. The door still stands open, but then, there really was nothing to steal except her purse. But even that has been miraculously protected.
"Do you think God heard me when I cried out to Him?" she asks out loud, standing there in the room that has been both prison and remnant of all she has. "Of course," Kiera answers confidently, "He always hears us when we cry out to Him."
Photo by Luca Bravo on Unsplash