The Brighter Side

“Get out of the way lady!”

Jolted, I take an awkward step back, spilling the over priced coffee I waited fifteen minutes for all over my pale pink blouse. “Watch it, asshole!” I yell back while leaning forward, futilely attempting to blot the stain. The careless bicyclist waves me off with a dismissive hand, already turning the corner.

“Great, now I’ll have to stop home to change” I mutter to myself just as my phone rings. I lower my large tote bag from my shoulder to the crease in my elbow, pushing around the stack of papers, tissues, chocolate bar, and tampons until I see the phone. As I take it out, I see CINDY in big letters flashing on the screen. Figures, my daughter always seems to know when someone talks about her. I swing the bag back onto my shoulder and slide my finger across the screen to answer. 

“Hey, mom! It’s 5:30, are you on the way over yet?” She asks as I hear a faint beeping of the oven in the background. 

“Yes darling, I just stepped out of work. Some jerk made me spill my coffee, so I have to stop at home and change. I might be late.” I say in an annoyed tone, I hope she doesn’t think is for her. 

“No way, mom. Just come straight here, I have plenty of shirts you can borrow. “ She says, as I hear a bowl drop in the sink. 

“Alright, but nothing low cut, only button downs!” I say, apprehensive at the selection of shirts she has in her closet. 

I can hear her smile as she says “ Sure, whatever you say mom” 

“Cindy I’m serious, absolutely nothing low cut. If I take the Franklin Bridge, I can be there in 35 minutes” I say as sternly as I can, knowing my daughter lives to push me out of my comfort zone.

“Uh huh. Bye, mom. Be safe, love you!” She yells as the call ends. 

As I toss my phone back in the bag, I step off the sidewalk right into a puddle, squish. I look down to see my right leg, shin deep in a pothole filled with murky water, and a used bandage floating around. The unexpected drop made me lurch forward, sending all the contents of my purse spilling out onto the street. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I yell as I step out of the puddle, shaking my leg. Instead of the crisps off white, it was a few minutes ago, the bottom of my pants leg is now colored a nasty brown. I start to collect my things scattered in the street, hastily stuffing everything back into my bag, noticing I haven’t found my phone yet. I drop down on my hands and knees, scanning underneath the cars parked on the street. I spot it under a silver Lexus across the street. Stretching my arm as far as it will go my fingers just barely graze the phone. I fish a pen out of my purse, using it to flick the phone closer to me. 

Standing up, I brush the dirt off of it and my heart drops when I see several angry cracks running across the top of the screen. It drops lower when I notice the warning red battery bar in the top right corner. I curse to myself as I head into the parking garage, desperate to get my car and finish this already tiresome journey. 

I’m relieved when I hear the familiar chirp of my car. I unlock it, sitting down in the driver's seat I push start and reach to click my seat belt in. My relief instantly slips away when I see the ‘Check tire pressure’ light up. I begrudgingly get out of the car and start checking each of the tires. The two on the driver's side were in perfect condition but as I squatted next to the back passenger side I notice it’s completely deflated, much like my attitude.

I push a hiss of breath out and return to the driver's side, picking up my phone intending to call a tow truck. The screen is black and the home button is unresponsive. “Of course, the battery is dead Just my luck!.” I curse while kicking the front tire. I grab my purse, slam the door and make my way out of the garage. 

As I start walking down the street, I see a taxi speeding toward the light. I recklessly step off the curb into the street, flailing my arms, hoping the driver takes the bait. He does, and the taxi screeches to a halt, the brakes barely managing to stop the 2 tons of metal. 

After sliding in, I notice the driver’s steely blue eyes staring at me in the rearview mirror, his gaze unwavering as if he’s contemplating something. “26 Felicity Ave, please,” I say, quickly looking away. He grunts and the car lurches forward. I sit back, closing my eyes, happy that my luck seems to be turning around. We’re heading towards the Franklin bridge, and I think about how I’m 25 minutes away from a hot shower. My eyes suddenly pop open, “Sir can I use your phone to call my daughter, she’s probably worried sick about me.” I ask. 

“Nah, I don’t let customers use my phone,” he says, without looking at me

“Please, it would only be 5 minutes tops. I’ll pay you an extra $10 bucks!” I say urging him with the saddest look I could conjure. 

He looks at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes unblinking. “Sure if you really need to use it, you ca-” he’s cut short as the taxi starts jerking violently forward.

“Crap! Not now, come on Suzy baby not now.” The driver pleads with the car, rubbing the dash to soothe it. Suzy’s had enough, she comes to a complete stop with smoke rising from the hood. 

“Fuck” He says. He’s about 50 pounds overweight and it shows as he struggles to grip the steering wheel pushing himself out of the seat. As soon as the hood is propped open, a nasty cloud of smoke escapes it. 

“Hey, lady you gotta get out!” He screams over a hissing sound. “This ain’t getting fixed no time soon. You owe me whatever’s on the meter. 

I sigh, squeezing my eyes shut, fighting the urge to scream. “But sir, I have to get across the bridge to see my daughter.”

“Ain’t my problem. There’s a train station, thataway.” He grunts and points a thumb behind me. 

I look in the direction he's pointing and realize that he decided to take a different, longer route to the bridge. One that passes several alleys and abandoned buildings. I brush it off that cabbies sometimes take the long way to run up the meter.

“I’m already late if I take the train I don't know when I’ll get there. Isn’t there something you can do? Maybe call another cab for me?” I plead. 

He looks at me annoyed. “Lady, what the hell do you think I am, some kind of car service?” 

“Yes, that’s exactly what you are!” I yell, unable to keep my composure. 

He hesitates, his eyes traveling the length of my body, lingering on my shirt where the coffee has made it slightly see through. He finally says “Ain’t my problem. Pay the meter.” as he starts to aggressively prod with Suzy’s engine. 

Ducking into the cab to grab my purse, I see the meter is blank. He never started it. I toss a $20 bill on the seat and rush away.

As I descend into the train station, I’m assaulted by the smell of urine and vomit, the smell is almost as sour as my mood. Gagging I pull a tissue out of my bag, holding it against my nose. I lean against the wall, eagerly waiting for the train, praying that this will be my last misfortune of the night. It’s taken me over an hour to get here and I’m still a 30 minute train ride away from Cindy’s house. 

Hearing the sound of the train thundering down the tracks gives me a sigh of relief. With the luck I’ve had today, I half expected it to be out of service. I take my seat across from a young mom and her daughter. 

As the train flies through the underground tunnels, I sit back with one question on my mind. ‘Why was I so unlucky today? Why has this happened to me?’ I like to think that I’m an optimistic person, but today has drained me. 

I rejoice as I climb the steps out of the train station, the train ride albeit disgusting had been uneventful. I check to see where I’m at, Leon St, great only a 10 minute walk to Cindy’s. 

I’m almost tearful when I climb the steps of Cindy’s brownstone and ring the doorbell. The door flings open and Cindy cries “Oh mom, thank God! You’re alright!” She wraps me tightly in a hug and doesn’t let go. 

I knew she would be a little worried, but she’s almost hysterical as she leads me into the living room. Rick, her husband, and Martha & Martin, the twins are seated in front of the tv, the news playing quietly in the background. 

“Cindy calm down, I know I’m late but we can still have dinner,” I say trying to soothe her. 

She looks up at me, tears running down her face. “You don’t know what happened? It’s all over the news. Look for yourself” she says between sobs. “I thought you…” her voice trails off as Rick turns the tv volume up. 

“We are all devastated by the unimaginable events that took place today on the Franklin Bridge. At approximately 5:50pm today the bridge’s support beams began to break and the bridge collapsed. We're told the casualties are in the hundreds. Rescuers are on the scene searching for survivors.” the newscaster says in a solemn voice. 

I’m shocked, now understanding why Cindy was crying. I was supposed to be on that bridge when it collapsed. Tears swell in my eyes as the newscaster gives live updates. Then a gasp escapes my throat as I slap a hand over my mouth. I stumble backward onto the couch, stunned. At the bottom of the screen, it says “ Midtown rapist and murderer apprehended by police today. He was arrested while trying to fix his cab that had broken down near the Franklin Bridge. Police found duct tape, Rohypnol, a blood soaked blanket, and a knife in the trunk. More information to come” and next to it was a picture of the cab driver, his blue eyes staring straight at her. 

Cindy appears by her side, calm now , firing off questions.

"Mom, are you okay?"

"What happened to your clothes?"

"Why didn't you answer your phone?"

"Why weren't you on the bridge today?” she asks. 

I look at her, still stunned, a weak smile forming, and say “ I guess it was just my lucky day”