Adolescence 2.0 The Blue Bird's Song. Part 2

Click HERE for previous installment. 

"It's the friends you can call up at 4 a.m. that matter." Marlene Dietrich 

via http://md.fpemad.com/ 

       Trinity Events occupied two offices in an old four-story brick building situated between an indie coffee shop called 37 Drops and an arts supply store, which made for an ideal location. After she picked up a large cup of coffee and a packet of dried apricots, Trinity climbed the familiar steps to her offices, as she never bothered for the elevator.

A hair salon, Amazing Cuts, took residence in the first floor, and its owner was a sweet lady named Annabelle who never opened before 11, so Trinity usually greeted the middle-aged woman at her lunch break. Up on the second floor were several paper and copy services; third floor, a travel and real estate agency among others; and the fourth floor hailed her events business, along with a couple of environmental grassroots organizers and premium kitchen knife salespeople.  

            She wasn’t the only one who came early thirty minutes before show time. Someone had turned on the main lights of the offices, and Trinity had a good guess about the early bird’s identity. She opened the door and wasn’t surprised to see Acadia Jyung in one of her many spring dresses, her long auburn hair curly at the ends. She sat at the large semi-circle reception desk with a croissant in her petite hand and brown eyes on the computer screen. She looked up.

            “Trin! Good morning,” she said, covering her mouth, but her eyes smiled.

            “Morning Acadia.” Trinity leaned over the tall desk. “You know you don’t have to be here this early, right?” The metallic square clock behind her friend said it was a little after half past eight.

            “And you know you don’t have to worry about me and time, right? Croissant? I bought a whole box for everybody to share.”

            Trinity jiggled the plastic packet of dried fruit. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

            “You can’t live on coffee and that every morning. Come on, take one. They’re delicious. You’ll make me feel bad if you don’t.” Acadia stood and placed the box of freshly baked croissants right under Trinity’ nose.

Trinity admitted the warm aroma was beyond inviting, and her stomach grumbled in approval. “Oh, alright. Just one.”

            “Very good.” Acadia grinned and turned her head slightly to the right whenever she got her way. “Our newest member is finally coming in today, right?”

            “Spiro? Yes, he starts today.”  Trinity knew that her friend had the date circled in red permanent marker on her calendar. She asked every day of the new member’s arrival just to make sure he hadn’t changed his mind. 

            Acadia sat back down and rested her elbows close to the computer screen. “Spiro Karimov…where did you find such an amazing beauty? I’m actually getting goose bumps at the thought of meeting him today. Seriously Trin, he looks like a model!”

            Trinity laughed. “Just between us, I got him just for you.”  

            “Ha. Ha. Nice try. Come on. You’ve been all secretive about it, and I want to know. There’s no use hiding it now that the day is finally here.”

            “Then wait a little longer. He’ll tell everybody his story.”

            “Ugh, why are you so mean?” Acadia stuck out her lower lip.

            “No no, missy. There will be no pouting in this establishment,” Trinity teased, and winked.

            “Heartless as always,” Acadia said.

Trinity chuckled and strolled away from the reception desk to her own desk situated at the opposite end of the room.

She organized the office space into four worker stations with a large conference table that cut through the middle of them. The walls were a warm olive green with orange accents such as the border of the windows and doors. Large high-definition framed pictures of past successful weddings, graduations, banquets, and other celebrations and ceremonies decorated the area. A collection of plush orange furniture sat in the corner with a refreshment stand for clients and guests. The second office space served as storage, and now, thanks to the addition of their newest member, a digital darkroom.

            Sterling Xing was the first person to trickle into the office after Acadia. Trinity’s handsome six-foot tall college friend responsible for finance, budgeting, and supplies chatted a little with Acadia, swiped three croissants from the box amid her protests, and sauntered over to Trinity with a croissant half down his throat. He took a banana from his leather bag and threw it at her.

            She caught it and shook her head. “Why does everyone have the need to feed me today?”

            “Have you looked in a mirror? It’s like you’re running for Ms. Anorexia or something. Here you can have my cinnabon too.” He placed it in front of her.

            “Not funny,” she said and raised her brows high.  

            Sterling half smiled and sat on her desk. Locks of his jet-black hair fell a little over his eyes as he leaned forward. “You broke up with her again, didn’t you?”

            Trinity unpeeled the banana and sighed. All these food offerings actually made her hungry. Sterling did well. This banana was ripe and succulent in her mouth. “This time is final. We won’t be getting back together.”

            “Yeah, sure. Maybe you two should go see a therapist.”

            “A therapist? I don’t think so. Like I said, it’s over.”

            “For you and Val, it’s never over. Just another hiccup in a series of many. Trust me. See a therapist.”

            “Thanks for the advice, but it’s not necessary. So, how’s Olivia doing?” Trinity asked, switching the topic to Sterling’s wife of one year. Conversations about Valerie always ended up in a spiral to nowhere.

            “How come you never ask me how I’m doing?” He crossed his arms.

            Trinity smiled and threw the banana’s peel into her trash bin. “That’s easy. I like her a lot more than you now.”

            He laughed. “Liv is peachy and happy. Should we still expect you for Saturday?”

            “Of course, you know how much I love your wine collection.”

            “Yes, unfortunately I do,” Sterling said and groaned.

            “Hello, beautiful people! And how are we this fine morning!” 

            That was Rhett de la Cruz, the queen of social media and marketing and another college friend of Trinity’s. The three of them started the events company a few years after their college graduation and recruited Acadia soon after its inception. Her presence always brought the energy of the room to overdrive, which Trinity loved and appreciated for when they had to be on the grind.

            “We’re contemplating whether we can jump from the roof and successfully die thanks to your voice,” Sterling said dryly.

            “Sterling! What are you doing here?” Rhett marched over. Her medium brown layered hair bounced with each step. “I thought I told Olivia to hide the key to your cage.”  

            “Nothing can keep me from seeing your beautiful face naturally,” he said.

            “Too late. Damage done. I hate you.”

            “I’ve been getting that a lot lately.” Sterling turned his attention to Trinity who smiled innocently.

            “I didn’t say I hated you. Only that I liked you less than Olivia.”

            Rhett reached over to pinch her cheeks. “Sweetie! What happened to your face? You look like you made out with Death and she slapped you around a few times.”

            Trinity burst out laughing. “Are you serious?” She honestly did not know what she would do without her friends, her second family.  

            “Take this,” she gave Trinity a small bottle of Ensure drink. “I was going to give this to my grandfather later, but I can get him another one. You need it.”

            “She broke up with Valerie again,” Sterling said like a first grade tattletale.

            Rhett clapped her hands in ear-popping fashion and widened her brown eyes. “Again! Ay dios mio. When will it end? This can’t be healthy for a person’s heart, especially you honey. I’m so sorry.”

            Trinity smiled sadly. “It’s okay.”  

Rhett de la Cruz - outside work :)

She remembered when she briefly dated Rhett when they were juniors in the middle of Trinity and Valerie’s second break-up. They had a wonderful time together, but Trinity reconciled with Valerie, and crushed Rhett’s heart. But Rhett forgave her and later met a nice girl named Holly who she married a few years ago. Nearly all her good friends were hitched now, and it made Trinity anxious to start this new part of life.

            Acadia screamed.

            Trinity jumped to her feet, alarmed. “Acadia, what’s wrong?”

            “He’s here. Mr. Spiro Karimov is here!” she said, gesturing outside the office window.

            Trinity sighed in relief, and then shook her head.

            “And here I thought someone had finally kidnapped her and spared us of our misery,” Sterling said.

            Rhett punched him in the shoulder. Hard. “Oh, you wicked man.”

            “I’m ashamed to say that actually hurt,” he said, rubbing his shoulder.

            “Okay, you silly bunnies. Let’s be sure to give Spiro a Trinity Events welcome,” Trinity said.

            “So. Where did you find this guy?” Rhett asked with her eyes on the window. “It’s like Men’s Fall Season in Milan is walking straight for us.”

            Trinity took a sip of her coffee. “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

to be continued...

Adolescence 2.0 © 2013 C.S. Severe All Rights Reserved. 

Adolescence 2.0: The Blue Bird’s Song. Part I.

Click HERE for previous installment. 

"Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell." ~ Edna St.Vincent Millay 

Early mornings followed a ritual at the Itou household. Trinity dragged her reluctant body from the warm, cozy hug of her blankets, pillows, and queen-sized bed to step into the prickly cold arms of the mistress called five AM. Once she cleared that most difficult hurdle, she switched into a comfortable, familiar rhythm: opened the dresser, grabbed her exercise garb, socks, and dropped her knees to the floorboard to reach under the bed for her sneakers. 
            She combed her cropped hair, but nothing too serious since she was headed out for her usual eight mile run. On the way to the stairs, she walked past her mother’s room, its door always flung wide open. Her mother, Miranda, sat in an armchair facing the window, and she rubbed her fingers back and forth against the upholstery. She stared outside as if the most interesting show in the world was on display.  

            An enemy of inane idleness, Trinity disapproved of how her mother focused on nothing before every sunrise. However, she knew enough to leave her alone. For nine years, the woman refused to talk to her only child, and as far as Trinity was concerned, the only person who cared about her existence. Her father, Henry, divorced her mother when Trinity was in high school, and he later married a beautiful blond woman named Julie Andrews (no relations to the amazing, real Julie Andrews). 
            They moved to Washington State forever and had three beautiful children that she had yet to meet, but had seen in pictures when she spied on her father through facebook. He looked happy with his beautiful family. His parents had died before Trinity was born and, unlike her mother who too was an only child, he had four siblings, all scattered in different states. Her mother never cared much for them and vice versa, but while Nana was alive, Miranda had recovered and been okay. With her grandmother in the house to mediate between them, Trinity almost forgot her mother’s silence toward her.

You shouldn’t have died so early; You shouldn’t have left us alone, she said to her grandmother’s picture that sat on a round, three-legged Mahogany table at the base of the stairs. The elderly woman with the broad warm smile said nothing of course. Nana had always loved her even when Trinity came out in the first year of college.

            “So you fall in love with women, you’re still my Trin Trin, strong and kind. I thought something was strange when you didn’t bring any boyfriends home. Oh dear, was that best friend of yours actually your girlfriend, then?” Nana had laughed, holding her belly, and Trinity had laughed along with her, giving her a tight hug, tears of joy in her eyes.  

The news zipped Miranda's mouth shut, and she stopped talking to Trinity altogether since then. Her father had bombarded Trinity with a series of offensive rhetorical questions, and worse, blamed her sexuality on her mother. At present, they held sparse communication with an email here, a facebook message there, and phone calls on major holidays. Her father had yet to invite her to his home because they both knew Julie Andrews, a staunch Evangelical Christian, would not accept her presence at the house, and heaven forbid, around the children.   

Trinity went to the kitchen to fill out her mini water bottles to snap around her hydration belt. When Nana was alive, this house breathed and lived with her laughter, old jokes, bustle and movement, sizzling aromas of meals she cooked, and commotion from the game nights that she hosted for her friends from the YMCA where she exercised and swam every week. 
          Nana loved to exercise. She had always been an athlete since her younger days. The autopsy dryly reported she died of natural causes, but nothing natural could explain the way she died at seventy-two. It was shocking and cruel like a kidnapper killing his victim even with the ransom paid.

Nana took the life of the house along with her death last year. Trinity’s mother shrank further into herself and stopped teaching English at the local high school. At least she still wrote her poetry and occasionally played the piano in the living room, but nothing more. She hardly left the house except to go grocery shopping or have her hair cut in the same chin length bob she had after the divorce. 
           Her best friends were that armchair in her room and whatever happened outside her window. When was the last time Miranda cracked a smile? If she did, Trinity was never there to see it. All she saw and felt now was emptiness. Emptiness transformed this four bedroom Victorian house into some arctic castle in the middle of nowhere, tucked far away from all life, joy, and hope.   

She stood frozen with a bottle in her hand. She half-expected and half-wished Nana to walk into the kitchen and begin making steamed white rice, grilled fish, miso, and omelet.

“Don’t want you to eat that miserable bowl of cornflakes before going to work. I know you. That’s depressing. A real meal is better,” she would say.

 No one made her breakfast now. Miranda had stopped that when she was in college.

            And that’s why Trinity wanted a life long partner, someone who was in it for the whole journey, not just a joy ride. She had enough of joyrides. She wanted someone by her side to love and love her back, someone to share this home with her and hopefully, raise children together. She wanted to resurrect this dead house, to again feel something close to the life that Nana kept alive.  

            She thought she could have that with Valerie, but her ex-girlfriend’s uncertainty blocked any progress. Maybe this final break-up would give Trinity a chance to meet someone willing to grow with her. Valerie. Although she said she wanted some distance, she still hoped they could remain friends. Nana had loved and treasured Valerie like her own granddaughter. She remembered how they would sing and laugh together while Nana played the piano…

Trinity eyed the clock in the kitchen and realized she was twenty minutes behind schedule.  But for the first time in the past year, she didn’t care. Instead of rushing out the kitchen door like yesterday and the day before, it occurred to her that ever since her grandmother died, she had never made it out to her runs on time. Maybe without knowing she too did what her mother did alone in her room. 

Think of Nana.   

To be continued...

Adolescence 2.0 © 2013 C.S. Severe All Rights Reserved.

               

Adolescence 2.0 The Eyes of Dusk

Click HERE for the previous post.

"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." ~ Dorothy Thompson

Jean flashed a confident grin to the full-length mirror in her room and fixed the collar of her maroon blouse while music from La Roux played on her computer. She brushed away the stray hairs in front of her face to follow the path of her bangs that she parted to the left. Her brown eyes lit up with the application of black liquid eyeliner and a light kiss of golden eye shadow. She finished her look with a creamy nude lipstick and smoothed out her black slacks. Despite having to cover an assignment on a Sunday night, an upbeat rhythm guided her steps.

Trinity had invited her to dinner over the phone. Dinner! She expected a simple lunch at a café somewhere, not a full-blown meal at a Pakistani restaurant in Brighton Wednesday night. Was this a date? Wait, what? No way. Of course not. Jean laughed at her reflection. We’re just two acquaintances about to know each better so we can become friends, yes? She wanted friendship; maybe even a new roommate so she could live someplace more decent, but it was wishful thinking to believe Trinity needed a roommate too. And would she be comfortable sharing an apartment with a gay woman?

She bit her inner check, ashamed by the thought. It shouldn’t matter of course, so why did the awful question pop up in her mind? Culture and upbringing, she answered even if it was a poor excuse. Her eyes jumped to her loose, silver watch bracelet. Time to go! She picked up three silver rings from her makeshift jewelry box and put two on her right thumb and one on her forefinger. Jean grabbed her midnight blue pea coat in lieu of her favorite leather jacket. She slipped on her business flats, grabbed her bag from the hook, and bolted for the subway. Calculating the commute time in her head, she frustratingly accepted that she might arrive fifteen minutes late to the benefit. Why did time hate her so much?

via flicker.com/briburt

Jean reached the entrance of the banquet hall twenty minutes after seven. In the lobby, she approached a young woman who sat behind a table covered with flyers, the ceremony’s programs, and a myriad of inserts full of information about domestic violence, prevention, and support services. The plastic nametag dangling from her neck read Amanda typed in big block letters.

            “Hi Amanda, I’m Jean Noble,” she said and extended her hand. “I’m here on behalf of Utopia Magazine. I’m actually covering for Claire Reyes…”

            “Let’s see, I do remember seeing her name,” Amanda said as she looked through a box with plastic nametags. “I wondered whether she was coming at all. Here we are!” The young woman smiled and gave Jean the tag intended for Claire.

            “Um, do you have a sharpie I can use to write my name in?”

            Amanda shook her head. “I’m sorry. We prepare all of these before hand.”

            Obviously. Jean took out the piece of paper with Claire’s name and turned it over. She used her own pen to write in her name as dark as possible. Unfortunately she started out in cursive and ended in print. She sighed and wrote Utopia Magazine underneath. It was far from professional but it would have to do. She inserted the paper back into its plastic pocket.

            “What a shame. Your tag won’t have our logo on it,” Amanda piped.

            “Yes, darn shame.” Jean prepared to enter the hall, but the young woman stopped her.

            “Oh wait. Wouldn’t you like to donate to the domestic violence shelters in the greater Boston area? We would appreciate it very much.”

            Jean swallowed the negative answer that swelled in her throat. The month ended in two days and she needed whatever little she had to purchase a bus pass for the next month.

            “Uh, sure!” She reached into her bag and scrounged for her pocketbook. Inside sat a lonely, but hefty twenty-dollar bill. She had her ATM, but doubted a debit card would work here. And her checkbook was forgotten and tucked between books back at her apartment. She stared at the bill and all the magical powers it held: a seven-day subway pass; four lunch meals; more purchases of apples; paying her dinner at the Pakistani restaurant on Wednesday...

            “Is everything okay?” Amanda asked.

            Jean raised an eyebrow at the impatience. “Why would anything not be okay? Here you are.” She bit her tongue to stop any acid from leaking out and put the twenty on the table. This donation would serve as her church offering for the week.

            “Thank you very much. We appreciate your donation.”

            “Yes, you’re welcome.” She grabbed a program and several other reading materials and entered the banquet hall, notepad and pen already at hand. Luckily, the introduction of the night’s keynote speaker had not ended. She found a seat in a table at the back and listened intently as she put together a story from the night.

Many in-depth interviews and friendly chats later, Jean retired to a chair as people slowly filed out of the hall. Overall, it was a successful night and she met several high impact people and friendly college and grad students who in were attendance as well. She gave away all her business cards that had taken shelter in her bag. Surely one of them needed a roommate, right? She half-smiled at her desperation. Anyway, their bright faces and passion brought back nostalgia of her media study days at NYU. The combination of living in Harlem and commuting downtown for school gave her two years of experiences she would forever cherish.

            A beautiful woman arguing with a man at the corner of an emergency exit intruded her act of remembering. Jean piqued her ears even though she knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but as a writer, she was always on the hunt for new material.

            “You’re sick, you know that. You waited until now to tell me this? Why now? Tell me,” the woman said. She wore a form fitting, sea green sleeveless dress that stopped several inches below her knees and were accompanied by black pumps. Light brown, curly hair spilled below her shoulders. The blues eyes set against her smooth brown skin intrigued Jean. Were those contacts lenses or authentic?

via weheartit.com

            “It just had to happen now. I’m sorry, Charity,” said a gorgeous dark skinned man in an expensive black suit.  “I really am, but tonight I finally reached my limit.”

            Wow, these two look like a power couple, Jean thought. She almost wished she could snap a picture of them. Too bad it appeared that they were breaking up.

            “Get out of my face. Now, before I…” Charity pushed both palms against the air. “Go. We’ll talk about this later.”

            “There won’t be a later. This is it,” the man said.

            “Say what you want, but it’s not over until I say it’s over. Now, please, just get out of my face.”       

            The man shook his head and walked away in resignation.

            Charity pressed her fingers underneath her eyes and breathed deeply. She turned her eyes at Jean.

            Jean almost fell off her chair from the sheer anger and hate sent toward her direction. This woman’s aura was powerful! She marched toward Jean.

            “I saw you staring. Do you usually do that? Sit and listen to people’s conversations while watching them like some damn movie? Did you find that entertaining?” Her blue eyes widened after each question.

Jean searched for the faint lines of contact lenses. They were none she could see. Those really were her eyes. Interesting.

            “I’m Jean.” She offered her hand, but the woman did not accept it, so she retrieved her hanging fingers. “I’m sorry about listening in on your private conversation. That was rude. But let me make it up to you. Want to talk about what just happened?”

            Charity crossed her arms across her chest and scoffed. “You have got to be kidding me? Who the hell do you think you are?”

            “Just a concerned stranger who wants to help.”

            “You can help by minding your own business next time. Some people.” She shook her head and turned for the opposite direction.

            “Charity.”

            “I didn’t give you my name, so do not use it,” she said, spitting ice cubes.

            “I’m sorry. Look, why don’t I give you…” Jean remembered that she had no more business cards as she looked through her bag. Damn. Well, this was painfully awkward. What should she say next? Reason said to let Charity be on her way, but instinct didn’t want to let go.  “Listen, I’m very sorry. I had a really long night and was just resting before taking the commute back home. You two were talking and looked so gorgeous together that I stared like some five-year old without manners. I truly apologize and meant no harm.”

            Charity finally relaxed her tense shoulders and sighed. “Apology accepted. We were pretty loud so I don’t blame you too much,” she said. “I’ve been having a pretty rough week myself so I’m sorry if I came off as too abrasive.” She held out her hand and Jean accepted it with her signature, soul-snatching smile.

            “No, not at all. Anyway, without coming off as very strange, do you mind if I have your contact info? I’ve run out of business cards to offer.”

            “Here, you can have one of mine.” Charity took the green feathery clutch from underneath her right arm and opened it to unearth a card, which she offered.

            Jean glanced at the card in her hand and learned that Charity was a resident physician in the field of child psychiatry. Pretty amazing.

            “I treat childhood trauma and maltreatment,” she said. “Thus why I’m here. Well, Jean, although we didn’t meet under the best circumstances, I hope you have a good night. I really should be going now.”

            “Of course. Thanks. Have a good night, too!”

            Charity nodded and walked away.

            Jean realized she and the janitor were the only two people left in the hall.

            “Good night,” she told him with a wave.

            He smiled and waved too. “Good night.”

To be continued….

Adolescence 2.0 © 2012 C.S. Severe All Rights Reserved