From Staccato to Polyrhythm

Her heels click a staccato on the asphalt. The wet breeze is crisp, spreading goosebumps along her exposed skin. The sheet of water on the street reflects the lamplight. The moon, intermittently exposed between clouds, hints that the storm is over. The streets are empty and quiet. It’s only a nine block walk from Hillcrest End, where Bridget resides, to Starr’s loft on the corner of 132nd and Bay Avenue.

Work was grueling. Starr tries to put herself in Bridget’s shoes; a ninety-two year old woman with arthritis whose family refuses to come visit. She is bitter and cold and complains as if nothing Starr does is good enough.

Starr is halfway home when she stops before 141st. She leans against the wall of Linsey’s Carpet Shop and scoots to the edge. Tonight she is hoping to get a glimpse.

As slowly as humanly possible Starr leans around the corner of the historic, brick building. She gasps. It isn’t there. She hadn’t realized that every muscle in her body had been tensed until they relaxed. Perplexed and confused by the strange turn of events, she pulls her phone from her pocket to check the time. Same time as always. Every night she gets Bridget to bed at ten and is leaving the building by 10:15 PM. It takes her about five minutes to get to this spot. So every single night for the past five days, at the end of this street, at this exact time, there is a figure standing right there. 

The first night she had been walking home and was halfway across 141st when she saw it from the corner of her eye. Her strides had slowed and in an automatic response she turned her head and looked directly at it. Her heart skipped a beat and her feet went numb. Starr started walking and one block later she was running, fueled by panic. She was encompassed with the feeling that someone was right on her heels. She had fumbled with her keys at the door of the loft, only then realizing that she was alone and no one had been chasing her. 

The second night was very similar, except this time she didn’t turn her head to look at it, nor did she run home. She did spend the entire rest of the walk glancing over her shoulder. Day three and four she just kept walking by, seeing without looking. She finally calmed down and decided that whoever they were, they must have a routine which involved standing there every night and probably didn’t even notice her. 

It plagued her each day. She tried to imagine why someone would stand on the street every night. This neighborhood wasn’t known for drugs or prostitution, and there were no businesses open at this hour. Most of the street here is lit by lamps, with the exception of that one specific shadowed  spot. 

Starr shrugs and starts across the street. Half way across, she stops and turns her head. There, in the middle of the road, which was just empty, stands the figure. It looks masculine in shape. His hiding place looks darker than usual. 

Starr isn’t sure what to do. Seeing him stand there like that makes the entire situation seem even stranger than it had when she spent the week contemplating why someone would do that. There is no good reason for a person to stand in the middle of the road. She cannot tell if he is facing her or facing away.

Her stomach knots up and the urge for flight instead of fight takes over. She turns and starts walking quickly, overcoming the desire to run. It doesn’t matter that she is wearing heels because women like Starr live in heels. 

Locking the three bolts on her front door, she tries to catch her breath. “That’s it Lucille, I am taking a different route home from now on.” Her rust colored roommate rubs against her legs. Starr steps over the feline and heads for the kitchenette where she splashes cold water on her face. Water dripping from her chin onto the front of her already damp blouse she opens a can of sardines and shares it with Lucille. Pushing the thought of the nightly figure out of her head, she vents to her dinner date about her long ten hour job of being a slave to a rich, entitled, lonely, old lady.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Hold on!” Starr drags her comforter across the floor trying to get to the front door. The sun is streaming in through the only window of the twelve foot wide loft. The blanket catches on the corner of the couch, which sits in the middle of the floor between the television and the stove, causing Starr to trip and land hard. She untangles her feet from the blanket and gets up. On the way to answer the door she assesses the damage done to her body. Her hip will bruise but that seems to be all. 

“What?!” She snaps as she opens the door with more force than necessary. The bottom corner of the door catches her second toe and sucks it under. “OW!” 

“Sounds like you are having a terrible morning.” Lacy squeezes past Starr, who is trying to balance on one foot with the injury in her hand.

“Well, if someone had done as she was told and waited until afternoon to come by on my one day off, maybe I would still be safe and sound in my bed.” Starr’s toenail is still intact, but there is a tiny amount of blood where the door split the skin. She limps over to the kitchen sink to get a wet paper towel.

Lacy grabs the blanket and tosses it on the bed. “It is afternoon, sleeping beauty.” She proceeds to the designated closet corner and pulls a pair of flare denims and a half sleeve v-neck from their racks. “Come on! I want fried Oreos, and I want to beat the crowd.” 

Starr limps over to Lacy, grabs the clothes and heads to the only separate room in the entire house, the shower, where the toilet is also enclosed. At first it was strange, but Starr adapted to it very quickly, after all, the rent here is unbeatable and Lucille and her didn’t require much space. On the wall above the toilet is a water-tight box, which Starr stuffs her clean undergarments into along with the outfit chosen by Lacy and a towel. 

It is too early for the crowd to be thick, which Lacy's grateful for because the line to get her year-long-awaited fried Oreo is short and sweet. “These things are amazing.” She doesn’t care that she has chocolate on her face. “What do you want to do first?”

“I don’t know. I think I want to look for a knife. Last year there were like three different booths for those.” Starr starts walking toward the flea market section of the derby. This shin-dig rolls through town once a year, full of carnival games and rides for the kids, food carts, vendors, foot trucks, and a whole lot of people trying to sell their wares.

Lacy comes for the food, but she has to admit that some of the stuff these people sell is pretty nifty. “A knife? Like a paring knife for your mini kitchen, or like a decorative knife that you hang on the wall?” It is interesting to Lacy that of all the neat things offered in this huge market Starr wants a knife.

“More like a weapon.” Fried Oreo forgotten, Lacy takes a close look at Starr’s face. She’s serious and looking very intently ahead, searching for one of those booths. 

“Why in the world do you need a weapon? Did that crazy old bat put her hands on you? I am not afraid to punch a grandma!” Lacy jests as she stuffs another delicious funnel-cake-battered-cream-stuffed-chocolate-sandwich-cookie into her mouth.

“No. It’s not like that. I just think with me walking home at night alone, it’s probably a good idea to keep some protection on me.” It’s sad how bad at lying Starr is, and Lacy sees right through it, but she lets it go, not wanting to pry. Starr will talk to her when she’s ready, and pushing the matter always causes Starr to clam up.

“Hey! Look! A psychic! Come on.” Lacy grabs Starr by the wrist and drags her across the street to a small black tent between a booth for plush blankets and one covered in bedazzled hats. There’s a sign over the entrance flap that reads, “Madam Mystery. $5 for the future” and sitting in a metal fold chair to the side is a young girl in a worn, white frilly blouse and a purple gypsy skirt. She holds out her hand never taking her eyes off of her phone. 

Lacy puts a ten dollar bill in the girl’s hand, which she tucks into a small pouch on her lap. The two friends exchange a look, then Lacy shrugs and heads inside. Starr hesitates then follows knowing that Lacy would just come find her, throw her over her shoulder, and carry her back.

The inside of the tent is dark and lacking color. There are three pillowed chairs, which are surprisingly comfortable, surrounding a round table made of a glass cylinder. Candles hang from the ceiling appearing to float in mid air. Starr and Lacy sit, while staring up at the candles trying to catch a glimpse of what’s keeping them suspended when suddenly a woman is sitting in the chair across from them. 

Starr and Lacy jump, and Starr says some unladylike words. Lacy laughs. “Wow! You scared the crap out of me! That was awesome. Good job!” Her exclamation is ignored.

The woman’s skin looks like it has been exposed to a lot of sun and her eyes are so dark that they look black. She doesn’t look like she could be older than sixty, but something about her eyes makes her seem thousands of years old. A shiver snakes its way from Starr’s toes to the top of her head, causing her scalp to tingle and the hairs on her arms to stand on end. 

“I am Madam Mystery. Today, I will tell you about your future.” Lacy lets out a giggle that she was clearly trying to keep in and Starr kicks her, annoyed with her childish behavior. Madam Mystery’s voice isn’t what Lacy expected. She just sounds like a normal person; no special effects or background thunder either. It helps alleviate some of Starr’s anxiety.

Madam Mystery pulls out a seven inch by four inch wooden box with some engravings on all sides and a small brown cloth sack that fits in the palm of her hand. She closes her eyes and lifts the two objects up above her head. After what feels like a long time, she finally brings them down, Starr and Lacy exchanging raised eyebrows. 

“YOU!” Madam Mystery suddenly opens her eyes wide and looks at Starr. “I have been expecting you! Give me your hand.” The lady reaches out and Starr hesitantly places her hand in the woman’s palm.

Lacy’s eyes are huge and she can’t stop smiling. This is creepy and fun and exciting, and Starr is totally freaked out which makes it even better. Madam Mystery turns Starr’s hand over and places the little bag in her palm closing Starr’s fingers over it and encases Starr’s fist with both of her own bony hands. “Do not look inside. This one isn’t for you.” She releases Starr’s hand allowing her to pull it back. “Do not look.” Madam Mystery reminds Starr again.

The seer removes a deck of shiny metallic cards from the wooden box. They have pictures of characters on them and are all black, white, and gray, each with one color splashed in the pictures. “Do you know what Tarot cards are, my dear?” She starts to shuffle them gently.

“Yes. I-I’ve seen them in movies.” Starr’s voice cracks. Lacy feels like she is sitting in a theatre audience, in a front row seat, watching a really good play. As far as Madam Mystery is concerned, it is as if Lacy isn’t present at all. 

Madam Mystery allows Starr to cut the deck, then starts slowly flipping cards over in a pattern on the top of the cylinder glass tabletop. The first card is a star with a bird, the second card looks like an Egyptian pharaoh, the third is a man and a woman holding each other’s ankles, making a circle, and the fourth is a clock. 

“Your mystery will be solved very soon. Someone has been waiting a long time for you. He has been waiting, like you, for someone to love. I believe you know the time and the place.” Then she starts picking up the cards and putting them back into the box. 

“What does that mean?” Starr looks concerned, but Lacy can also tell that there’s something Starr isn’t saying. 

“I think you know, my dear. I think you know who and where and when. Take that and give it to him, but do not look inside. Do you understand? Do not look inside. That one is not for you.” She slides the lid back on the box as Starr and Lacy glance at each other, Starr looking more freaked out than Lacy has ever seen her. Then just like she appeared, Madam Mystery is gone.

Starr looks at the little brown cloth sack on her palm, it only weighs ounces. When Lacy reaches for it, Starr closes her hand and stuffs it into her pocket. “You heard the woman. Don’t look at it.” Starr heads out of the tent, Lacy on her heels wondering what in the world just happened.

“OK, that was the best ten dollars I’ve spent in a very long time, and I didn’t even get to hear my future! Hey Starr, what was she talking about? Who are you supposed to give that to?” The crowd is already building. 

“Nobody. I mean, I honestly have no idea who he is?” Starr is walking faster now. “Hey Lace, I really did enjoy this, but I’m just gonna go home. I’m tired, it was a long week, I just wanna hang out with Lucille and watch a movie or two. Thanks though.” Starr is half a block away before Lacy can finish her rant about how they were supposed to spend this day together.

“Fine! I heard Ben and Beverly would be here today anyway. I’ll see if I can find them.” Both girls go their separate ways, Lacy having too much fun to really be mad at Starr.

That night the moon is full in a clear night sky. It’s 10:20 PM on the corner of 141st street and Bay Avenue. Drawn by an explainable force, Starr stands in the middle of the road facing the tall, dark, mysterious figure in the shadow. It’s bright enough now that she can tell he is facing her, but she cannot see his features. She is shaking and terrified, because this is crazy, but she is driven forward against her will, the little bag in her hand.

Her heels click a staccato on the asphalt as she approaches the stranger. The closer she gets the more of his face she can see. He has a strong jaw, no facial hair except for perfectly shaped eyebrows. She cannot see the color of his eyes, but their shape fits his facial structure perfectly. His nose isn’t too big or too small, yet it may be slightly crooked if it isn’t a trick of the shadows. His lips are the most inviting lips she has ever seen. 

She steps into the dark with him and holds out the bag. She is prepared to explain how crazy this is, maybe even that some nutty old lady had put her up to it, but the words stop in her throat as he holds out a matching bag.

If his muscular neck and the deep intense way he looks into her eyes isn’t enough to make her knees weak, his voice is. It almost makes her fall to his feet in tears. “Did Madam Mystery send you, because I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to give this to you.”

Starr is embarrassed by how many times she chokes on her words before she can say, “Yes.”

“I’ve been waiting here for two weeks. I was told to stand here every night at this time until  someone comes for this. I was going to give up the night that I saw you, but then something made me keep coming back. I desperately wanted to follow you so I could talk to you, but that lady told me, ‘No matter what, do not leave the shadow.’ It sounds crazy but it’s like I couldn’t disobey her.” He took the little bag from Starr’s hand as she took his.

She completely understood what he meant. This was all too strange, yet she felt calm and it all felt right somehow. They emptied their bags into their palms. “Oh my gosh!” They said at exactly the same time.

“This is too much. It’s craziness.” They held the rings up to the light. “Engagement rings!? What is going on?!” Starr suddenly felt strange. The ring was brilliant, but why? Did Madam Mystery expect them to get married? She didn’t even know this man. But when she looked into his eyes and he into hers, it was like the world melted away.

“Would you like to get dinner with me?” He put the ring in his pocket.

“I think I would. My name is Starr by the way.” She put the ring in her pocket.

“I’m Lark, nice to meet you Starr.” 

Her heels and his boots click a polyrhythm on the asphalt as they head toward the Waffle House.