Chapter 5: The Aftermath
Randi is not happy when she wakes up in her bed. In the other room, her phone is going off. From the ringtone it is obvious that it is Tracey. If it is Tracey, then it is time to wake up. Like before only with more dexterity, she lifts her legs and uses them to propel herself into a seated position on the edge of her bed.
With resignation and some exhaustion and depression, she stands and trudges into the next room, the living room and dining room and kitchen combo. Her eyes go straight to her front door where she drops her stuff as she steps in, but no, the spot is empty and the sound is coming from elsewhere. There, next to The Chair, she spots her phone on an end table. I have an end table? Oh right. That’s where I stack my used dishes until I take them to the sink on Sundays. A quick glance confirms the sink is more full than its usual overfull-ness. Her attention returns to her nagging phone. Beneath it on the floor sits her cavernous purse empty. Empty? Ug. Deal with it later.
She reaches for the device and as is the usual signal, she hangs up on her friend.
Blurry eyes, finally getting a chance to wake up and focus, notice the time on the phone. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me. Why would she wake me up this early?” She looks at the carry all at her feet again. ”Oh no. Now I’m going to have to find everything. Why would she do that?”
A quick glance at the massive stack of collected papers and quizzes she calls Mount Grade-a-lot on her dining room table verifies that it has a new foothill. Well, that’s where all the quizzes went. The thought fills her with a hair of joy that Tracey figured out her system but also dread for the dreaded week long Grade-apaloosa. She glances around the room trying to locate the various items. “Eh. I’ll get to it on my way out the door.”
Dropping her phone in her purse, she plops into her padded recliner. On pops the television. A familiar muscular sailor fills the screen as he chugs a full can of spinach. Ripples flow from his neck down his body to his biceps which bulge bigger. In fact they transform into anvils and his fists into sledgehammers that pound on them. As the powered up music plays, Randi turns away in disgust, “Traitor.”
A familiar ring tone plays again. Randi glares at the cartoon one last time and uses the phone call as an excuse to turn the show off. This time she answers it, “’morning Tracey.”
“Morning Sleepy Head.”
“Why’d you wake me up so early?”
“I think Ben Franklin said it best. ‘Early to bed and early to rise –’”
With a roll of her eyes, she joins in Tracey’s oft repeated statement, “—makes Randi healthy, wealthy, and wise.” That done, she tries again, “Okay, seriously, why’d you wake me up so early? I could still be sleeping.”
“Yeah, I know. I wanted you to have some time to get ready instead of racing out the door running late like normal. Speaking of getting ready, what have you done so far?”
Uh oh, she’s getting close. “Uhhhhh, I’ve been doing … stuff …”
“You’re sitting in front of the TV with the sound muted, aren’t you?”
Randi stands despite that the television is off. “No.” Not at the moment.
“You just stood up, didn’t you?” Zing. Randi collapses back in the chair.
“Come on, Tracey. I’m about to go shower …” She leaves it hanging.
“Right after you watch another show, right?”
Sigh. “Fine, fine. You got me. I’ll go shower right now.”
“That’s my girl. Now get yourself ready to be the best teacher you can be for these kids. Talk to you in a bit.”
“Yeah, yeah. Talk to you in a bit.” They hang up and Randi heads to her shower back in her bedroom.
On her way, she lifts a few towels off the towel pile on the floor to test which is the driest. Claiming her prize, she wedges herself into the tiny bathroom and rinses herself off due to the lack of cleaning materials. Note to self. Buy soap and shampoo.
After drying herself, she searches the scattered articles of clothing hanging off all surfaces or laying on the floor. Each receives the sniff and wrinkle tests until she finds the least used pieces. Note to self. Do the laundry.
Properly attired, she heads to the kitchen careful not to bump the dining room or Mount Grades-a-lot. Opening the refrigerator does nothing to quell her rumbling tummy. An almost empty jug of milk and the cube of butter are for dinner; she reminds herself not to eat them now. Besides that, there is an egg that she’s not sure how old it is. Near the front are assorted lunch makings. Note to self. Go –
The pieces click together in her mind. Using one of the many clean knives, she shaves just a sliver off the butter to save the rest for later and she drops it in one of the last clean mugs. After coating the inside, she adds a bottom layer of bologna which covers most of the inside, then layers the other ingredient for her lunch, American cheese. Next she cracks the egg into the cup hoping it’s good. It is. She slides the whole concoction into the microwave. A couple of minutes later, the cup is dumped into her upturned mouth and forced in with the flat side of the same utensil as before.
Quite a few puffy cheek chews later, she races around the house trying to remember and find what was in her purse before Tracey hid it all. At last, she burst from her apartment and scrambles toward her car. “Please work the first time. Please work the first time,” she chants in time with her feet thumping on the stairs. The elevator is not an option as it would be too slow.
The car starts on the third attempt. She will definitely be late unless all the lights on her way are green. Sure enough, she is late.
In the distance is a nice, silver Cadillac parked at the curb. In the driver’s seat is a gray haired woman whose straight locks cascade to her shoulders. From the shade of her skin, Randi thinks the woman is from some Spanish country. Turning to face the young teen standing just outside of the closed passenger door, the mother, or perhaps grandmother, shows her slim frame decked out in gray almost silver suit.
The teen, on the other hand, looks nothing like her matriarch. Her black hair is pulled up into two pig tails. Combined with her oriental heritage, she fits the image of Japanese school girl except for her bored frown. Well, not a frown exactly, more of an impassive expression.
Randi takes all this in as she pulls into the last spot of the teacher’s lot. In rapid, memorized motions, she turns and pulls the key from the ignition, and drops the set into her purse. Then she scoops up her bag as she pulls the door handle and throws her weight against it. It groans in protest as it opens. Slipping out, she spins, kicks the door, and uses the force to start her sprint across the parking lot toward the woman and child.
Her car has a similar idea as it continues to idle without power.
As Randi draws near the curb, she hears the woman in the car say, “— biblioteca hoy. Te recogo despues la escuela.”
The girl replies, “Sí, Mama.”
As Randi passes them, a loud gunshot fires. The student looks up for the source startled and then to the passing teacher before saying goodbye to the woman in the car.
Randi, who is used to the antics of her temperamental vehicle, continues racing up the up the entry walkway without looking back. Nearby a bush rustles and a notebook falls out behind her. The student turns and chases the teacher and scoops up the pad as she passes.
After the car drives away, a man slips out of the bush and follows them into the school. He fumes a little while dusting off bush remnants off his suit.
The morning classes pass like usual, the miserable annoyances begging her for answers instead of working for them and for her to make their lives easier.
At lunch, after she finishes scarfing her bologna and cheese sandwich and gulping water from the drinking fountain to ease her indigestion, her mind begins to wander. A bank scene begins to form in her mind. Anticipating what’s to come, she shuts it down. “No, I will not think about THAT.” She emphasizes that last word to drive the point home to herself. To combat those thoughts, she forces her mind to think about other things.
While meandering in the forced wandering, her mind slips this morning to the surface like a ninja. What? Where did this come from? At least it’s not THAT.
So, she lets it play.
That’s when she notices the girl’s incongruity. She’s an Asian speaking Spanish. What? How? I should ask her about that. When I see her. But who is she?
Randi looks around the room for the girl and finds the classroom empty. Oh yeah, she is older than my class. And she’d be outside anyway.
In the yard, she finds all the kids talking or playing except one, the one she is looking for. Towering over the seated girl is a fellow teacher in his suit.
As she approaches, she hears his slippery, slimy tone that makes shivers run down her spine, “I’ve heard that you have something that doesn’t belong to you.”
“I do,” she asks with an ever so slight accent that conflicts her appearance.
“It’s a teacher’s notebook if I remember correctly. I’d hate to –”
The girl’s surprised face shows it all. She remembers. Guilt starts to fill her features. Randi uses this moment to join in. She picks a piece of bush off his shoulder. “Mr. Strictman, what seems to be the problem?”
Mild irritation momentarily surfaces before sinking below the placid calm. “Nothing’s the matter, Miss –”
Again he is interrupted. “Miss Tendere! I’ve been looking all over for you. Here’s your notebook. You dropped it on the walkway as you came in to work today.”
Randi takes the gift, confused. This is not my notebook. I don’t even use them. If anything, it should belong to the girl, since she was the only other one out there. But if it’s not mine and not hers, then whose is it?
“Miss Tendere,” the voices of the other two people draws her back. Oh well, I’ll figure it out later. The slimy one and the nameless one both look at her waiting. I’d rather not talk to Mr. Strictman if I can possibly help it.
She turns to the girl, “Yes?”
“Is that –” The school bell rings ending lunch. Students stop what they are doing and trudge back to the building like doomed prisoners. Randi continues to focus, waiting for the girl to finish her question, but she doesn’t.
The girl heads back but not like the others. It’s like there’s a spring in her step, but how could this bored student with her expressionless face be happy? Belated, Randi realizes she still doesn’t know the girl’s name. Or her grade. Or anything to track her down.
Randi shakes it all off with a note to self and heads back across the playground. She looks around for the other teacher and finds him nowhere to be seen. Huh. I guess he went back while I was thinking of that student.
More-annoying-students-begging-for-the-answers-so-they-can-be-lazy later, the last bell of the day rings. Without the excitement of what she now dreads, Randi sways and staggers down the hallway. The events of the day are almost forgotten. She only wants one thing, to go home.
Behind her, Mr. Strictman swaggers toward her with predatory eyes. His prey is in his sight. He speeds up his steps closing the distance between them. A smirk plays on his face as if he were thinking, “I’ve got you now.”
From a connecting hallway a black topped with twin tails blur latches onto her arm and drags her forward. “Miss Tendere! Was that your Dodge Dart out in the parking lot this morning, the one that idled and backfired?” Before Randi can reply, she finds herself back on the curb at the drop off, pick up, and teacher’s lot. The girl continues on, but it goes unheard, “I saw you after it…”
Maybe it’s the quick motion or the rapid fire barrage or words, but Randi is befuddled, “What?”
The girl tries again, slowed. She takes a deep breath and starts, “Was that your Dodge Dart that backfired this morning?”
Randi has to think back. Did my car backfire this morning? It does that pretty often. It’s probable. She shrugs, “Probably.”
“MayIWorkOnItPleeeeeeeease?” The child’s impassive face transforms into the most adorable, irresistible, pleading visage complete with folded hands and big puppy dog eyes.
The teacher is surprised by this young lady and stammers out a, “S-s-sure.”
“YES!” The girl seems to leap several steps ahead. Randi hurries to catch up. “Where are we going to get tools?”
The girl’s skipping slows and she twirls in a magical girl transformation spin removing her Hello Kitty backpack and pulling out a small, pink, plastic tool kit. With a grimace, she presents her treasure. “Can you believe she picked this color?”
Randi asks, “You don’t like pink?”
Her feet begin to bounce perhaps in excitement, “Nope.”
Pointing to the bag in her hand, “What about your backpack?”
The girl shrugs, “Who can resist Hello Kitty? Besides it’s mostly white.”
They arrive at the car and with a creeeeak, Randi slides in the door, but before she sits down, and image of her car engine dropping onto the ground and the girl giggling and skipping away enters her mind. “Wait. Who are you? And can I …” trust you? Randi’s mind reviews everything she knows about this girl that she just met today. All her memories show one thing, integrity. She detours her potential painful question, “Can you fix this thing?”
A sheepish smile splashes onto the girl’s face. “Ooooopps. Sorry. I’m Luz. I was so excited at the possibility of working on this classic that I forgot about everything else.” With a bit of pride and her hands on her hips, “And can I fix it? Yeahhhh, something like this is an easy fix.” Luz’s eyes go distant. “It’s probably in the rotor cap, but it might be the spark plugs …”
She keeps rattling on, so Randi drops into the seat as the words coming out of the girl’s mouth makes no sense to her. The hood pops silencing the student. Within a second, everything is in place and noises in the engine can be heard in the cab.
Randi hurries out to watch the progress even if she doesn’t understand. The only point of interest is a cup with seven cords coming out of its bottom sitting off to the side. Luz has her hand and screwdriver in another cup. The screwdriver-free hand reaches over and picks up a hammer shaped object Randi hadn’t noticed before. The girl with smudges of grease already on her face turns to the owner of the car, “Could you try to start it up?”
Randi slips back in and turns the key. “rrrrrr rrrrrrr rrrrr” like a hoarse dog.
“That’s good.” Randi starts to get out, but Luz calls for another attempt. They get into a rhythm of trying and waiting with the teacher getting comfortable in the seat.
The mindless job frees her mind to think about other things. Things like big, bare muscular pectorals. And the bandolier of pistol clips across his chest. And the belt of grenades that it touches. Mentally she unwilling steps back. It’s him, the bank robber! She tries to step again, but her back is against a wall. He closes the distance. His cold eyes judge and evaluate her as useless. She can do nothing to stop him.
“Miss Tendere,” he says in a feminine voice. What? “Are you okay,” he asks in the same tone.
The man’s face dissolves revealing Luz’s features. Her joyful expression returning to impassive concern. Randi realizes she is hugging herself tight. She relaxes now the danger has passed. Luz repeats her question, “Are you okay?”
Randi gulps, takes a deep breath, and fakes a smile. “Yeah. Sure. That was nothing.”
“That was not ‘nothing.’ You should have seen the look on your face. What’s going on?”
I can’t get out of it now. “Well, uhhhh, I was in a” fight “situation wheeerrrrreee I tried hard and didn’t do so well” Nothing I did slowed him down “and –”
“And it ended in disaster?” Luz realizes she interrupted, “Sorry.”
Well, when you put it that way. “Yeah.”
Luz tilts her head to one side, “And that’s what you are afraid of? Or was it something else?”
“Well, it was such a” catastrophe “bad job that I’m afraid if I try again that it’ll –”
“Turn out worse?” She realizes that she interrupted again, “Sorry.”
Randi eyes the girl, “Yeaaah. Do you know something?”
“Yes. No. Well. I don’t know your exact situation, but I’ve been in a situation like that myself.”
How could she know about being defeated by a villain? Or know the paralyzing fear from being so helpless? Surprise mixed with doubt, Randi answers, “Oh?”
“Sure. It’s probably not as cool as your story, but I fail from time to time. Like once I was working on my remote control car. I was tweaking it to be the fastest one out there. I greased the gears and all that. I even put in a new spark plug to ensure that it would have maximum speed. And then I tried it out and the car wouldn’t budge. I searched the entire car, but it was all useless. I was helpless to figure it out. I gave up. It defeated me. And I was afraid that all my tweaks had broken it.” Luz leaves it hanging for a second.
Randi vibrates with recognition of the events. She got past that? How? “And then?”
“Well, my mama suggested that I take a day off and try it again. The next day after going over it all again, I found it! It was the spark plug. I had forgotten to put space between the tip and the end. I put the plug back in and Whooosh! It was off like fire.”
“So, what now?”
“Now we go back to fixing your car.”
“No advice or lesson for me?”
“No. I can see that get it now.”
Randi checks herself. Yeah, she doesn’t want to meet that guy in a dark alley, but she’s not as afraid of him anymore. She’ll just have to come up with a new plan. Hmmmm, he’s got rock hard abs. How am I going–
“Try it now.” Randi looks for the owner of the voice that was just in front of her but has now disappeared under the hood again.
She does. It rumbles to life and begins to purr.
|Clung!| The hood closes drawing Randi’s attention to the front. Luz’s mouth is moving but the motor drowns out the words. She waves the girl over to the window she rolls down. “What?”
“Could you take me to my house?” Randi looks around. The parking lot is empty. All the cars and people left the school while they were working on the car. “I told my mama that I might be a while and not to come andIReallyWannaRideInYourCar, please?”
A vision enters her mind of entering her apartment and turning on the TV to the late night cartoons. And then she looks at the girl who just fixed her car. “Sure. Where to?”
Luz slides into the seat and starts giving directions. The further they go, the closer they get to Tracey’s lab. “What street?”
“Remington.”
“That connects to N. West street, right?”
“Yeah, it’s right next to the old Large Buy store. Mom and my sister used to go there for some of our food.”
Tracey’s ringtone echoes, a little muffled, in the car. Randi hunches over the steering wheel in dread.
Before Randi can tell her not to, Luz answers the phone, “Miss Tendere’s phone.” A pause is followed by, “Okay.”
A button is pushed with a beep! and Tracey’s voice enters the car, “Randi?”
She forces a smile to her face as she replies with an artificial sweetness to someone she doesn’t want to talk to right now, “Yes, Tracey.”
“Remember you need to talk to that detective at the police station. You should stop by and change into R—” Randi clears her throat to stop her friend. “— a different outfit.”
“I’ll think about it.” Before Tracey can try to convince her, “I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
She looks over to her passenger and to the lab beyond that they are starting to pass. Luz’s confident eyes and nod say enough. She drives the half a block farther and drops off Luz. “It’ll be okay. I know it.”