The Second Floor
#215
Sheridan is a tall brunette. Her hair is very short and never styled. She tries to always wear make-up, sometimes there is just no time to put it on though. Other women admire her for her courage to disdain fashion but also take pleasure in mocking her for it. Somehow it makes them feel superior to her. She knows though, that she will always be smarter than them. They know it too.
She likes her eggs over easy. She uses her toast to mop up the last little bit of yolk. It feels disgusting in her throat but it tastes better than any other kind of egg she can think of so if she has to eat eggs that is what she orders, either that or an omelet. She eats out as often as she can. It's not that she doesn't like to cook, she doesn't have time.
She takes long showers, half cold, half hot. She read once in a magazine that washing your hair in hot water was bad for it. Besides the cold water is somewhat invigorating and refreshing in the sumer time. But on any day she will take the feeling of having hot water pour over her body over anything else. She will stand in almost scalding water for up to 10 minutes at a time. It feels so good. She has been known to lose all of her senses when she does that. The rest of the world doesn't exist at that moment. It's like being in her mother's womb again. It's quiet, she closes her eyes and she is comforted by the hot part of her shower.
She dries off with only one towel. She knows it takes her mother two towels to dry off. She thinks that it's easier to just dry off really fast than to have to fight multiple towels.
She is slightly ashamed of her body. Now it's easier. She can at least look at herself. She used to get dressed right out of the shower because being naked for longer than she had to made her feel dirty. Now she will lie around the house when no one is home spending hours on the couch naked as can be. She doesn't look at herself but she likes the feel of being naked.
She would eat cereal every meal of the day. Since she eats one or two meals a day, that isn't really an issue. She drinks whole milk because she likes the full body taste. She like dark chocolate for it's full body taste.
She will tell you she likes men with blonde hair and blue eyes. You know those hunks you see all the time on the cover of magazines. She is always intrigued and attracted by dark haired men who have tendency to shave their heads. She likes men with smooth chests and smooth dark skin. She likes men who are tatooed. She loves to give them massages. It relaxes them and she has never had a man say not to a massage. The ones she is attracted to usually end up being bad boys. Most of them respect her standards. They know that somewhere in the past someone has hurt her in a bad way. Not emotionally but physically. They don't have to ask her, they can just tell.
There is something in her eyes that is comforting. They can't say just what it is but i makes them want to wrap up in her arms and stay in her embrace all night. When she looks at them they feel special. They feel different than they have with any other girl. The feel they are ready to conquer the world just because she is standing there with them at that moment. They fear her like no other woman. To be cut off from that amazing intense empowering look makes them realize they have to have her to feel that way. She is like a drug for them. They can't explain why but they can't quit her. They can't leave her alone.
She doesn't know this. If she ever really knew her power it would be a dangerous thing. She knows that she has the capacity to love like no one else but she feels that she has not been given a chance to prove it. Nothing is ever half way. That is what fuels her loneliness. She knows what she is capable of but afraid to go through with it. But so are the men in her life. They know she is capable of so much more. They know she has a strength and intensity they are not sure if they can match. They are afraid of letting her down. They are afraid of telling her what they know and they aren't sure what she expects from them. They are also afraid to ask. She doesn't love any of them. Not truly.
She owns several pairs of shoes. Most notably the two pairs of running shoes. One pair she bought for work and the other pair are for running in. The pair designated for running are slightly too small, but she rarely ever runs in them anyway. The other pair are slightly too big. They were not meant to be stylish, just functional. She wears them more than the others.
She has a book shelf full of books by Poe, Doyle, and Heller but she is too busy to read them. Maybe in a few months she will be a recluse and devote all of her spare time to reading. Not today. She only makes time to write.
#216
Someone is controlling my body and it isn't me. I am standing in the doorway. It is 23 degrees outside. My toes feel blue. The cold breeze whips past my legs and stings them. Normally this would hurt but today it is an answer to prayer. It tells me that I am still in here somewhere. I am not standing on my legs. My legs are standing here with my body and Someone is inside. One knee is locked and the other is bent sot that I don't pass out. I am teetering back and forth anyway.
I can hear the cars as they rush by on the one way street in front of my place. A loud car, a quiet car, a car turns down my street. The car is not well maintained because I can smell gasoline and burning oil. I can hear a misfiring piston. The car pulls into the gas station, it pulls up next to the pump, the driver gets out of the car and opens the tank, takes the cap off, and puts the nozzle in the tank. The nozzle clicks twice and then begins to fill.
I am standing half in and half out of my apartment. I am waiting for nothing in particular. it looks like I am waiting for visitors to drop by. My hands are resting at my side but I cannot feel them. One is holding a black clove cigarette that is smoking itself. I took the first drag but Someone has been letting it burn without tending it. The sweet smell of cloves dances around me with an intensity only surpassed by the pressure pounding in my head. The wind is blowing and the world is turning normally but everything I am is in slow motion.
It is almost night. The shadow from the mountains behind me has crept slowly up the hill in front of my house and now lingers at the half-way point. It is an odd feeling time of night. The time when no one is really outside and everyone who is, is crazy. It is the time of day that drives normal people to do ludicrous things. It is because the sun will not hurry and go down. It is this time of day one develops insomnia.
Another car turns down my street. It is not stopping at the gas station. It is not turning into my drive. It goes to the next corner and turns left. Other cars turn the other direction into the parking lot across the street. One honks, probably at some pedestrian who ignores the car to gain the right of way. A semi carrying a heavy load goes straight past the building and I can feel it shake the floor of my apartment.
Someone adjusts my body by taking a small step to the right, unlocking that knee. Standing straight legged was making my body tired. My body now feels suspended in the doorway. Even if I wanted to leave I can't. Isometric isolation holds me up, breaking its force will make me fall over. I wouldn't be able to catch myself because Someone is controlling my arms. Someone would let me get hurt.
There is music playing loudly from my apartment. Tori Amos is singing, wondering why we crucify ourselves. I usually sing along but Someone is not singing a single note. Despite the volume, the boosted bass is barely registering in my mind. I can't really hear the words anyway. This sort of disturbs me but Someone doesn't want to turn it up. Someone cannot be moved. Someone is in a trance and can't snap out. I can feel the reflection of what is left of the sunlight bouncing off the hill an hitting my face. The light is cold.
In my apartment the blinds are shut. The light has not been invited in all day. My body has been sleeping. Up until just a little while ago I couldn't make my body move from the bed. Someone wanted to keep sleeping so I gave in. I should be jogging or writing or painting or making something. I should be visiting friends. I should be finding new friends so I can visit them. Someone says other people aren't all that important, Someone and I only need each other. Someone just takes over and decides what is best for me.
I hate Someone. Someone is not me. I am nothing like Someone. Someone is selfish. Someone stands in the doorway on a Tuesday night and won't let me out. Someone is mean to everyone I know.
Someone doesn't really care about personal hygiene and will convince me I can forgo showering just to sleep a little longer. Someone sleeps too much. Someone thinks it is okay to skip a class if it is possible to make me sick enough to stay home. Someone has gone as far as to try to make me pass out to keep me home.
Someone will not let me do my homework. Someone does not value my education and is ruining my grades. Someone would rather live in filth than clean the apartment. Someone only cares about two things, sleeping during the day and keeping me up all night.
I can feel one of my neighbors walk past me in my doorway. I can't open my eyes. How foolish I must look but Someone doesn't care. The neighbor puts the key in her door and unlocks it. The door opens, the door closes. More cars go by. I can hear the stoplight changing color. It is odd not to hear my music. It usually comforts me but Someone is blocking it out. Eight more cars go by. None of them turn or stop at the gas station.
The special at Mc Donald's today is the Filet 'O' Fish. The air has been filled with the pungent odor of fish most of the day. Someone tells me that eating isn't really important. Someone makes me want to throw up when I see food. I can usually control that but the smell of the fish is making it difficult.
The heater clicks three times then spews warm air into the room. Someone likes the cold. Someone will leave the door open when it is snowing outside. I feel my body shiver. I can't make it stop shivering. I cannot move from the doorway.
Someone is not a good friend. Someone makes me think bad things about people I know. Someone wasn't there when I lost it the other night. Someone abandons me when it is really important to have Someone to talk to. It is like being forced to fly an out of control airplane when you've never been in the air before. Someone has been making so many changes that I don't feel like me anymore. I feel like Someone. It bothers me.
I think I need to see a doctor. I think this whenever Someone is controlling me. Someone thinks that sounds crazy and doesn't want anyone to think I am crazy. Someone lets me tell the doctors about my cough, my headaches and my sleepiness. Someone won't let me tell them that Someone made me that way. I get the feeling that Someone doesn't like me any more than I like Someone.
It is amazing to me that no one else can tell when I am not in control. I scream from in here but Someone won't let it come out of my mouth. Someone is the only one who knows me well. Someone has been with me for a very long time. I don't even remember how it happened. One day I just noticed that Someone was there. Someone is a sneaky bitch. Someone tried to be friendly at first but it has all gone down hill.
Someone is desperate most of the time. Someone needs me more than I need Someone. Someone is trying to break me. I may be losing right now but I cannot be broken. I will not be broken. I will find a way to make Someone go away. My only advantage is that Someone cannot read my thoughts. When Someone is in control, I have lots of time to think. One day soon I am going to break out and Someone will have no one.
#217
She is Sadie, a twenty-four year old mother of twins. That is who she is today. Sadie tries to keep milk in the house for her babies but her husband keeps selling the formula to keep himself in drugs. Sadie feels strung out sometimes. She blacks out for days on end and wakes up to find her babies crying. She is afraid that one of the others will kill her babies. Sadie thinks she can't stop them.
Yesterday, Sadie's husband, Frank was home. He is 25 and can think of nothing he likes better than to use cocaine, in whatever form he can get it. He doesn't care about those stupid crying babies. They might as well not exist. He might kill them one day. After all they are probably not his anyway.
Sometimes Mrs. Sanford, the 65 year old woman, finds the babies and tries to turn them in to social services. They won't take them with out the consent of the parents. Social service workers have been to the house but can never find anything worth taking the babies over.
Carl, 12, likes to play basketball. Those babies are a nuisance but when Sadie leaves milk in the house he doesn't mind feeding them to help her out. Sometimes he takes a little of the milk for himself. There isn't anything else to eat. Carl plays pick-up sticks in the alley behind the school by himself because everyone calls him names.
Sadie lives in room 217 on the second floor. Her neighbors are Sheridan, from across the hall and Selena from next door. Sheridan and Selena never hear the babies cry but they cry for Sadie all the time. She wishes she could just throw them away.
Sadie's name is Justin Rivers. Justin has no children. Justin lives on the second floor. Sheridan and Selena live next to Justin. Sheridan and Selena can help Justin no more than Justin can help them.
They all attend church once a week. The minister stands in front of the church, they repeat their chants, and then they quietly file out of the church. Redemption, forgiveness, healing what are they?
Mrs. Sandford, please call the doctor. The babies are crying. Sadie can't get them to stop.
at 1.99 each pack are the glue sticks on the right ($8 worth) on the right are 4 packs of 24 crayola crayons (self described as "the ones teachers prefer") ringing in at 2.99 a pack. Total paid for all of it? $1.69. 
