Before I Begin

By: Octavia Kuransky

Before I begin, there are a few things you need to know. 

I am average. Average weight – hippy but average weight. Single.Not young. Never spent a night in jail. But in 1993 – I killed a man.

I was never caught. Questioned but never brought to justice so to speak. And with that in mind, I can begin. Why am I telling you this? Because I am thinking to do it again.

See, the first time I killed a man it was really an accident. We were standing on his veranda, leaning on a thin wrought iron rail that was really too fragile for the job. I remember, he really had a great view. Up there on the 23^rd floor. We had been drinking. We were there to receive some news. We were both up for the same job and we had agreed to meet at his apartment and wait for the call. The board of directors was to call. We were actually having a good time. I was thinking it was going to get even better when the call came in. I knew I had the job.

I had been with the company longer, had worked on larger accounts, had brought in more money. I was engaged in telling him one of my funniest stories when – I don’t know – perhaps there was a shift in the moon, and I could see just the tiniest change in his face and a line showed itself in the jut of his jaw and I realized that he was not really amused by my office stories. He was pretending. (Also, I was a fabulous reader of micro expressions of the face. It was a skill that had assisted me in my success.) I asked him what was wrong.

“Wrong?” he said looking out over the city skyline. I did love his view.

“Yes. I mean nothing has to be wrong. I just thought I saw – I mean – I just –“. He remained quiet. Only continued to regard the skyline. Up here, above the noise of neon, one could see the stars. And then I thought – perking up a little – perhaps he is going to confide something to me. Like perhaps he has a secret crush on me? That he’s glad I’m here? Perhaps? I mean it’s never happened before, but I do have certain attributes some men find attractive. I am for example very intelligent. I dared to smile a little. I place my hand on his shoulder. It is a broad, muscular shoulder. The kind of shoulder I like in a man. I regard his thick neck. His black hair. Perhaps after I get settled in my new position, other and more possibilities might emerge.

“Don’t do that!” His voice isn’t right. It is not in the right range for sensitive confidences. “I have something to say. And you won’t like it.” I hear bells ringing. No, it’s more like a buzzing. It is cutting my brain into little pieces. I know this place. I know this moment. I brace and suit up. I’m a soldier on the front line now.

“I’m sorry, Darla.” He never looks at me. “I’m sorry.” He sips from his wine glass. “I’m sorry but I was informed this afternoon that I got the job.” Suddenly my center of gravity drops to zero and there is no ground beneath me.

“You mean we are not waiting on a call?” It sounds stupid even to me. “You mean there is no call coming?” I feel confused. In this groundless limbo, it seems to me I am slipping from the familiar grasp of gravity and oozing into the unknown between molecules. An odd fire like burn in my lungs from lack of oxygen. I have stopped breathing. I am facing him, but I no longer see his face. I see nothing. And then – unbidden – air comes rushing in, muscles contract and I feel the contact of my fist on that handsome jaw. I see him fall against the railing. See the railing collapse under his weight. The crack! of the railing give way. The white of his shirt as he falls into the darkness. And a short sharp scream. I have never heard a man scream. Not like that. Not in fear. I am left standing on that veranda. Alone with the skyline and the stars. A new space has opened up. The space where he used to be.

Later, there were questions. Did we argue? Was there a disagreement? Did I push him? These questions bounced off the hard surfaces of an ugly square room painted gray by a detective in a cheap suit and highly polished shoes. He did, however, have beautiful hazel eyes.

“How long had you two known one another?” he asked.

“Not long.” I answered.

“How long is that?” he asked

“A few months.” I lied. Knowing no one would say differently. I had never mentioned him in particular. People came and went in the competitive world of my work. It was a world of teeth and claws and people as disposable as paper coffee cups.

“So, you say he leaned against the railing and it - just – gave – way.” We had been over this at least a dozen times. But really, I didn’t mind. I understood. Hazel Eyes had to do his job. I suspected that what he really wanted to know was what was a catch like the deceased doing with a Jane like me in his apartment.

“Yes, exactly so.” I thought to add that I had always thought that railing was too flimsy but decided that saying that would imply that I had cared enough to notice anything particularly anything as specific as a flimsy railing. Fortunately – for me - the railing did show a break just at the joint with the concrete. It was consistent with a man of the deceased’s height and weight leaning against it. 

“It was a cold night to be out on the veranda.” The detective was saying now.

“Yes.” I said. “Yes, it was.”

“What were you doing out on the veranda on such a cold night?” And it was cold when I left the police. A squad car took me home. It wasn’t much warmer in the car. But I didn’t complain.

All that was 9 years ago. Nine years. I remember it like it was yesterday. Sometimes midnight finds me eyes wide open with the tail end of that scream. I hear it in passing police sirens. Screaming inside emergency broadcast system tests. That metallic scratch of nails on a chalkboard. But may I confess something here to you? It’s not all bad.

That scream - that sound - shakes me awake. It says I am alive! At first, I hated the feeling. It was – uncomfortable. But now, nine years later a second sight has presented itself to me within the scream. It has compressed itself into a message. I am no longer average. I can leap tall buildings in a single bound. 

It was the usual Monday morning staff meeting yawn. Sales numbers were being tossed around. Heads were being smacked, knuckles rapped, and butts spanked. My name came up. I was invited to stay after the meeting. I knew what that meant. I was low producer again. I had stopped caring about numbers and projections of numbers and averages of any kind. I felt I was being prepared for something bigger, more meaningful and had begun saving my energy for my daydreams about what that might be. So, I was not taken by surprise by the request. 

In the meeting after the meeting, the manager – a tall, underweight, elegant man – was running through the first layer of corrective rhetoric. In this organization, the sandwich protocol was used for this kind of tête-à-tête. Something nice was said, bad news delivered, polite dismissal. I am not sure what the trigger was – perhaps the white shirt he was wearing – but the very tip of the scream stabbed me in my right eye and I remembered. I had killed a man. I watched his mouth move not really hearing now. It looked to me like he was chewing food. I must have made some expression because he stopped chewing.

“Darla?” I saw my name being formed by his lips. “Darla. Are you listening to me?” And that’s when I became. The first time. That’s when I remembered my superpower. I could – I thought – if I wanted to – I could kill this man. I didn’t answer right away. I made him wait. For once, I didn’t cross the ugly beige carpet of social protocol to meet him. I would let him come to me. And he did.

“Darla?” he said again. “Darla, are – are you all right?” Ah glorious! So this is what it is like! He had said my name four times. Four!

“Yes.” I said. No need to say more. 

“Oh. Okay.” A question in his voice. His eyes were wide and focused on me. “Oh. Okay. Say tell you what. Why don’t we continue this a little later?” he glanced at his watch.

“Yes, let’s continue this later. He had been sitting on the corner edge of his desk. One hip on the desk the other dangling from the knee. Gently, elegantly he lowered his leg to the floor and stood. “Okay?” he said again.

“Yes.” I said and stood as well. “let’s continue this later.” As I left his office, I could tell he was still watching me. I liked it.

In the women’s room, I removed the scrunchy from my hair and shook it loose. I unbuttoned my suit jacket and shrugged it from my body. I moistened my lips and headed out to my desk. On the way, I passed the receptionist. A pretty, young blonde girl intern from France for the summer.

“Eugenie.” I said. “Eugenie run down to the café and get me a fresh coffee.” I said. “Get something for yourself and put it on my tab. And oh,” I tossed back over my head, ‘that coffee is black.” I didn’t wait for her answer. It wasn’t her job to get coffee, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did. I decided not to wait for coffee.

I picked up my purse and with my jacket over my arm left the office. I passed on the elevator and took the stairs. The fire exit door at the bottom of the staircase was heavy but I pushed it openand entered the day. I was surprised to find it was sunny and warm. A blue sky extended itself to me and I walked beneath it aware my legs were moving. I decided to run which I did stopping only to remove my stilettos which I flung into the street. I ran to a small park at the end of the street. I was winded and awake.

I lay on the grass and stared into that blue sky. And as I lay there feeling the hum of the earth beneath me. For the next week, I slept on park benches and drank from public water fountains and stole food from street vendors. I used gas station washrooms walked along sidewalks with my hands on my hips so that people had to walk around me.

“Hey bitch! Ya wanna watch where you’re goin’?” some guy called to me once.

“Bastard! You wanna make me?” I yelled back. For a moment there was a standoff, but the man turned and walked off. 

“Crazy bitch.” he yelled. It made me smile.

I avoided bars. I wanted nothing to do with dulling anesthesia’s and sense deflating cigarette smokers. I paid a visit to my apartment and changed from the suit skirt and blouse – filthy now anyway – to gym type bottoms and tops and shoes.

The bottoms of my feet were sore. I sat in front of my door to put on socks and promptly fell asleep there. When I woke it was dark and I had no idea if a day or two days had passed. I slept more. But when I woke again, I was ready. I drank some water and ate a carrot. I took some tools – I had a few from hanging paintings and such and stuck them into my belt. I pulled on a hoody and some gloves.

I slipped from the apartment building and into the night. I walked, watched, waited. People passed. No one of interest. No one seemed to notice me. I went into a couple of bodegas without incident. Sat on the steps of the police station. No one questioned me. I got on the subway, jumping the stiles but no one stopped me. What did I need to do? What did I want? I slept in the park and awoke the next morning with only a curious squirrel in the vicinity.

I returned to my apartment. I found a couple of messages from the office asking when I would be in. I did not return the call but laid out an outfit for the morning. At the office, next morning, Eugenie gave me her perfect smile.

“Oh you’re back.” Eugenie said. “We were worried.”

“No need to worry about me.” I said without pausing for further conversation.

“Hey!” my cubicle mate said with a grin. “Mental health stacation?”

“Hey you’re back.” Tall, underweight and elegant had tiptoed into the room. He leaned over my desk. “When you’re settled in, we still need to finish that conversation.” I said I understood.

“Well, til then. Have a great day.” As I watched him walk away, I decided this one I would pass. His shoulders were too thin.