This is the first part of a short story that I wrote as an exercise for a writing club that I've been attending this winter at the library in Kensington. I had so much fun with it. Hope you like it too!
On the Outside, Looking In
Olivia loved to look in windows. She had made the mistake last week of telling her friend Miriam about her new pastime:
“So, you’re a peeping Tom! No, wait, a peeping Tomasina!” Miriam had laughed.
“It’s not like that! I just glance, I don’t really look!”
“Looking, glancing . . . It’s all the same. You’re spying on people. Maybe you should buy a camera and get a job with the National Enquirer!” Miriam hadn’t been able to keep a straight face.
“It was just to pass the time, so I wouldn’t get creeped-out on my way home from work at night,” Olivia had insisted.
“Looks like it backfired on you!” Miriam had smirked.
“Maybe those guys were putting on dresses to go to a costume party!” Olivia had said. She had made a big show of digging in her pocket for her apartment key so Miriam wouldn’t know how embarrassed she was at the memory.
“Yeah, right! You are so naive, Olivia! You should have stayed in the country with your mommy!” Miriam had teased.
Olivia hadn’t been in the mood for teasing. She had swung around and stomped up the front steps, “Not all of us can be as worldly as you!”she had retorted, slamming the door in her friend’s face. Her eyes had filled with tears as she leaned against the door.
What’s wrong with me? she had questioned herself. Maybe she’s right. Perhaps I’m not ready for the real world. I’m such a baby! It’s no wonder they all think that I shouldn’t be living on my own. Miriam must think that I’m losing it.
Her mother’s words had come back to haunt her: “Why couldn’t you have waited until you were nineteen? You don’t see Beth and Angie rushing off to the city.”
“Don’t you dare compare me with them!” Olivia had fumed. As far as her mother was concerned, her brainy cousins could do no wrong.
“Well, you could have at least picked a safer part of the city to live in.”
“Mom, the West End isn’t like it used to be. It’s probably safer than any other area. Besides, all the cool, talented people live here. We’re all one big happy family, looking out for each other,” she had said. That wasn’t really true. There was a bootlegger next door to her apartment and some old guy had tried her door by mistake the other night. Harmless really. Then occasionally there was a scantily-dressed young lady hanging out across the street in front of the Army Navy store. You just learned to keep the locks done up, that’s all!
The walk home from the café was well-lit. It only took her about twenty minutes in good weather. She’d noticed the first week she’d moved that the majority of people didn’t close their curtains. At first she had just glanced in – televisions flickering, someone working out on a treadmill or pacing with a crying baby in their living room. It didn’t feel wrong to look. She likened it to watching a continuing reality show. Ordinary people, living ordinary lives . . . Or not so ordinary.
One night she had watched as a man ranted, throwing things against the wall in front of two little kids. Next thing, the mother stormed out the front door with the kids in tow and her bags packed, yelling to her husband, “I’m not coming back until you sober up!” Olivia would never forget the look of desperation on the woman’s face when she realized that she had witnessed the whole scene. That was Olivia’s first inkling that looking in windows may not be a good pastime.
Saturday night was a crazy night at the café. Miriam had called in to say that she wouldn’t be in for a couple of days. Probably getting back at me, knowing that I’d be stuck with doing a double shift.
The place was packed with people after the art show at the little gallery down the street. Olivia was waiting on tables, cooking food and trying to keep her boss, Donald, who had picked that night to get drunk, from embarrassing himself in front of the customers.
In the corner booth by the window slouched Roger Almon, looking as out of place in the chatty crowd as a twinkie bar on a plate of sushi. His gaunt figure practically disappeared inside his down-filled jacket and you could hardly see his eyes under the ever-present aviator hat. He’d been staring out into the parking lot since 7:30. Not that it was unusual for him to be there. He always stopped in for his supper – usually a couple of hungry-man sandwiches. And he never talked much. Miriam had told her that he lived somewhere in the neighborhood. Tonight he looked lost.
“Are you OK, Roger?” she asked, bringing him his third cup of coffee.
“What? Oh, yeah, sure, everything’s fine, just fine,” he smiled nervously, wiping his hands on his jeans.
Olivia knew he was lying, but who was she to question him, so she just smiled back. About five minutes before closing time he dropped some change onto the table and walked out. He seems so lonely, she thought, as she wiped off the counter and washed the last of the dishes in the sink.
“You’re a great girl, Olivi-ivia,” sang Donald, as he put up the “Closed” sign. He locked the door and lit a cigarette, even though there was already one smoking in the ashtray under the counter. He brushed against her as he walked behind her to the cash register. She shivered, hoping it had been an accident.
“Great job tonight, girlie!” He sauntered closer. “I might even give you a little raise,” he said, leaning in, his sour breath nearly curling her eyelashes.
“Oh, that would be great!” She retreated into neutral space. She wiped off the counter and threw her apron on the back of a chair. “Well, I guess that’s it. See you tomorrow,” she said, practically tripping to grab her coat. She didn’t wait to hear his reply.
Yuck! she cringed, as she flew out the back door and into the street. After a couple of blocks she slowed down, shivering in revulsion at the thought that Donald may have been putting the moves on her. He’s old enough to be my father, for God’s sake. I don’t know what I’ll do if he ever does that again.
By the time she got halfway home Olivia had come to the conclusion that she needed the job, no matter what. Perhaps I imagined it, she thought.
Too busy to eat at the café earlier, she had grabbed a sandwich and stuffed it into her bag. Her stomach told her that it couldn’t wait til she got home so she stopped under a street light, pulled off her mittens and rummaged for the sandwich in the clutter of her belongings.
Resuming her walk, she took a bite. The free food was the only reason she stayed at the café. Donald had assured her when she was hired that he would never charge her for meals. It really cut down on her grocery bills. She was determined to make it on her own, so every little bit of savings counted.
I will not look in windows, I will not look in windows, she chanted, as her boots crunched noisily into the snow. She could still picture those guys in the dresses.
“Can you spare some change?” murmured a man, who had been leaning against the wall of the liquor store on the corner.
“Sorry, I’m broke too,” she shrugged. “But you can have half of my sandwich.”
“That’s OK. Have a good night,” said the man, jamming his hands under his arms to keep warm.
Finishing the sandwich, Olivia crumpled up the paper bag, put it into her pocket and stuffed her freezing hands back into her mittens. She started across the street. Inside the small yellow house ahead of her, in the glow of one pale lightbulb, a man’s silhouette appeared in the window. He paced for a few moments, sat down on a high back chair and hopelessly leaned his head into his hands. Shoulders shaking, he was obviously crying. She tried to avert her eyes but obstinately they kept returning to the scene.
A car horn jolted her into awareness. She hadn’t realized that she had stopped on the street! By the time she hurried to the curb and glanced back at the window, it was in darkness. The poor guy! she thought.
It was like her mother was right there, scolding her, “Olivia, you could have been run over! You have to stop worrying about other people and start worrying about yourself!” She wondered if everyone carried their mother’s voice around with them like she did.
She fished out the old key, which she now wore on a chain around her neck,clumsily fit it into the lock and opened the front door of her apartment. Her glasses steamed up when she entered so she set them on the big rad while she took off her jacket and hat and eased her tired feet out of her boots. A hot cup of tea with milk and honey and a nice hot bath would fix everything! She loved her apartment. It was tiny but cozy and warm. First things first. Put on the kettle in the kitchenette, then run the bath water. She had been so excited when the landlord had shown her the bathroom. The old claw-footed tub with the slanting back had been the deciding feature.
She added a generous squirt of the apple-scented bubble bath that Miriam had given her for Christmas. Miriam. Damn! I shouldn’t have yelled at her. I’ll have to apologize tomorrow. She’s a good friend.
I will publish the second part soon!
