Crosswalk

         “Whitney!  Help!”  Her mother’s thin voice sliced through the hum of the hair dryer.  Quickly shutting off and dropping the dryer, the teenager rushed into the next room in time to see the frail woman slide off the edge of the bed.  Whitney dove forward, banging her elbow and knee as she absorbed the light impact of her mother’s body.  Despite the illusion of faded carpet, Whitney knew that the floor was as hard as concrete and could cause her mother serious injury.

         “Caught you, Mom.  No worries.”  Whitney laughed slightly as she cradled her mother’s upper body.  Her mom smiled.

         “Great.  Now can you sit me back up?”  Her eyes twinkled with laughter.  “Too much blood in the head.”

         Whitney shifted to a kneeling position and carefully lifted her mom back into the twin-sized bed.  Leaning her against the headboard, Whitney propped her mother up with the pillows that must have slipped.  Her mother’s arm jerked.

         “Want your arm on top of the pillow?” Whitney asked.  Her mom nodded slightly as the teen repositioned her.

         “Thank you.”  Whitney continued to fuss with the faded blue blanket that covered her mother.

         “Whitney.”  Blue eyes met her mother’s green ones.  “Your hair is still wet.”  Whitney glanced at the clock, and rushed back to the tiny bathroom.  The roar of the blow dryer filled her ears, but she still listened for her mother’s voice.

         Her hair now mostly dry, Whitney changed into one of her good pairs of jeans, and a Quietdrive t-shirt.  After putting on mascara and taking one final glance in the mirror that never seemed to get completely clean, she rushed back into the bedroom she shared with her mother in search of her shoes.

         The room was not very large, and felt even smaller with the presence of two twin beds and a dresser.  At the foot of her mother’s bed was a small TV stand complete with an equally small TV.  Although she could no longer walk or fully use her arms, her mother was still retained a fair amount of movement in her hands.

         Finding her shoes underneath yesterday’s shirt, Whitney picked the remote off the floor and sat on the edge of her mother’s bed.  She placed the remote in the hand resting on the pillow, and then put on her shoes.

         “How late do you have to work tonight?” her mother asked.

         “I get off at 6:45, so I’ll be home around 7:30.”  Whitney turned and looked at her mother.  The once lustrous blond hair was now dull and hung limp around her mother’s face.  The disease still steadily ate at the muscles so her mother’s tiny body became even more fragile.

         “I’m late.  I’ve got to go.”  Whitney hugged and kissed her mother good-bye.  “See you when I get home.”  The young girl ran the five steps down the hallway, through the tiny living room, and out the door into the main hallway.  She and her mother lived in a run down apartment building with other families who also fought with the poverty line.  If not for her mother’s government check and the little Whitney made at her various jobs after school, they would be drowning below that line.

         Whitney kept running down the stairs, and out the door.  She should have left ten minutes ago.  The young girl was in fairly good health, and ran all the way to the subway station.  She got through the gate in time to see the train pull away. 

         Catching her breath, Whitney moved closer to where the next train would arrive.  Her eyes stung with unshed tears of frustration.  By the time the next subway arrived, she had regained her composer.

         Taking her seat, Whitney wondered, not for the first time, at how different her life might be if her dad was in the picture.  Or even what it would be like if she had a brother or sister.  Whitney was born when her mother was only seventeen.  Her father, deciding that he was not ready for a family, left and never looked back.  Whitney knew his name, but never felt a strong desire to search for him when she was younger.  Now, if she did so, he would probably think that she was asking for charity from him.  Whitney and her mother did not need handouts.  True, life has been tough ever since her mother had been diagnosed with Becker muscular dystrophy a few years ago, but they still had their pride and dignity.  Whitney had never been one to make excuses for her behavior, so she was not about to use her mother’s illness as a cop-out. 

         Although being lost in her thoughts allowed Whitney to block out everyone else crowded in around her on the subway, part of her was still aware enough to feel when the train arrived at her stop.  She slipped into the current of people flowing out of the subway car, out of the station, and up onto the sidewalk.

         Her thoughts continued to remain on her mother as she walked down the street toward the diner where she worked.  Becker MD was hereditary, but usually only showed up in men.  Her mother had been on of the rare cases.  Because the disease had destroyed so much of her mother’s muscle strength, they had to hire a caretaker to be with her mother during the day when Whitney was at school or work.  Unfortunately, the caretaker had quit last week.  The woman had yet to receive her check that month because the government had yet to send their check.  She was forced to quit when Whitney and her mother did not have the money.  Now, Whitney was constantly worried about her mother. 

         She was jolted out of her thoughts as she realized that she was almost to the diner.  And she was late.  Again.

         The bell on the front door jingled as Whitney walked in.  Mrs. Bailey, the owner of the diner, met her as Whitney walked
behind the front counter.

         “I’m sorry, Mrs. B.  I missed the first train, and had to wait for the next one.  I live 30 minutes away, with the subway.”

         “Girl, I’m sympathetic.  I really am. But you have got to be more punctual!” Mrs. Bailey said, her normally cherubic face creased with foreign frown lines.  “I’m sorry, but you’re on probationary status for the next week.  Get your act together, or I’m going to have to find someone I can count on.  Now get to work.”  Whitney glared at her boss’s plump, retreating back.

         “I’m doing the best I can,” she muttered under her breath as she pulled her shoulder length, light brown hair into a ponytail, and tied the small black apron on over her jeans.  Grabbing an ordering pad, she pushed her worries into the back of her mind and hurried to her first table.

         Smiling big, she greeted the couple.  “Hi.  My name’s Whitney and I’ll be your server today.  What can I get for you?”  After a month, her introduction finally sounded and felt natural.  Had she already been here for a month?  She prided herself on being a quick learner, but sometimes she still felt as if everyday were her first day.

         After filling the drink orders for tables seven and nine, and turning in the food order for table twelve, Whitney again tried to apologize to Mrs. Bailey.

         Wiping imaginary sweat from her palms on her jeans, Whitney approached her boss at the cash register.

         “Mrs. B?”  The older woman glanced over and smiled at Whitney.

         “One moment,” she answered.  She finished counting the bills in her hand, and pulling a pencil from behind her ear, wrote down some numbers on the small yellow pad beside the register.

         “Yes?” Mrs. B turned, tucking her graying auburn hair behind her ear.

         “I just…well, I just wanted to apologize for disappointing you this past week.” Whitney wrung her hands as she spoke.  “I know you went out on a limb hiring me since I’m just a high school kid without any waitress experience.  I’m just really sorry that things have gone so bad lately.”

         Mrs. Bailey studied the teenager for a moment.  Whitney was about average height, a pretty girl, but with eyes both too wise for her age and still incredibly naïve.

         Mrs. Bailey sighed.  “You’re a bright girl, but you have to be more on top of things when you’re here.  At the very least, keep me informed and let me know as soon as you can when you’re going to be late, okay?”  Whitney nodded.

         “Good,” Mrs. B patted her arm again.  “Now go take care of your tables, and don’t worry about all of this.”

         Whitney gave her boss a small smile and went to the kitchen window to grab table nine’s meal.  The door to the diner jingled again as she placed the last food order with the cook.  She turned to see a handsome man, probably early thirties, sit in a booth on the very edge of her section.  The word brown instantly came to her mind.  His brown hair blended in with his tan complexion.  The tan corduroy jacket he wore on his slender frame did nothing to break the monotony of his color scheme.  Even his khakis and brown shoes merged with the rest of him.

         “Welcome.  My name’s Whitney and I’ll be your server today,” she said, as she handed the man a menu, and set of napkin wrapped silverware.  “What can I get for you?”

         “Coffee’s all, thanks,” the man replied.  He handed the menu back to his waitress.  Andrew glanced down at his watch.  Only a few more minutes, and his heart would be legally broken.  He stared down at his hands, absently spinning his wedding ring around his finger as he usually did when thinking.  When had it all fallen apart?  It slowly slipped away, until Andrew woke one day to find that he had been holding only the corpse of his marriage.  He had known that things were tense between them, but he had not realized that it was terminal. 

            Even if he had, would he had done anything differently?  Tenure was so close Andrew could almost taste it.  Or so he had believed.  That had been his focus for the past few years.  To have tenure at the most prestigious university in this part of the country would have been a dream come true.  All of his time, energy, and focus had gone into hopefully securing a more permanent place for himself.  But things had never been more uncertain. 

            Kimberly’s face came unbidden to mind.  Wisps of her dirty blond hair fell from her normally stern bun.  The frame they created softened the angular lines of her face, drawing attention to her deep brown eyes.  She could never be described as a beauty.  She would never compare to his wife.  Ex-wife.  His marriage had already died down to nothing more than two strangers sharing a bed.  Andrew had forgotten how intoxicating it felt to be truly wanted.  All this combined to make his colleague’s offer irresistible.  Even as Andrew tried to blame his failed marriage on his wife’s coldness, he knew that it was actually his fault.  He had become addicted to work.  Over the years his focus had narrowed until his only concern was seeing the fulfillment of his dreams.  Eventually Andrew forgot that his wife had dreams of her own.

          The affair also impacted the dreams he had worked so hard to make reality.  Relations between colleagues were not exactly encouraged at his university.  Fortunately, Andrew was a wonderful professor and everyone there knew it.  With any luck, that might be enough.

          Now he was left with a divorce, little hope that he would be asked back come fall, and no one to talk to about all of this.  The few friends that he once had were as distant as his soon to be ex-wife.  Most of them had stayed with her anyway.  This increasing feeling of isolation further depressed him.

          “Here you go.”  The waitress set his cup of coffee down in front of him.  Andrew glanced at her name tag.

          “Thank you, Whitney,” he said as he gave her a small smile in answer to her own.  The diner’s front door jingled again as another patron entered.  Andrew glanced up to see Michael, his lawyer scan the room, looking for him.

          Raising his arm, Andrew caught Michael’s attention.  Whitney stepped back as Michael slid into the booth across from Andrew.

          “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

          “Uh…” Michael glanced at Andrew’s cup.  “Coffee will be fine, thanks.”  Whitney walked off.

          “At least you got a cute waitress.  Why did we meet here again?” Michael asked as he settled his athletic frame in the seat.
Andrew shook his head.  Michael had always been distracted by women, especially attractive ones, no matter what age.

          “When I lived here, this was one of my favorite places to go.  I guess, in a sense, it’s a kind of safe place for me,” Andrew said.

          “Well,” Michael sighed, “I hate to bring bad memories to your safe place, but you need to sign these papers.”  He opened his brief-case, and pulled out a few papers, all wrapped in a light blue cover.

          With a heavy sigh, Andrew pulled his pen out of his shirt pocket.  With Michael’s prompting, he signed, signed again, and signed for a third time.  Swallowing the last of his coffee, Andrew signed the last line on the divorce papers, next to his ex’s name.  His thumb gingerly smoothed over her signature.

          “That’s it,” Michael said.

          “It’s officially over, I guess,” Andrew agreed with a sigh.  He closed the light blue cover and slid the papers to Michael.  Placing a few dollars on the table, he stood up.  He had not removed his jacket, so he simply tugged it back into place.  “I’ll be seeing you, Mike.”

          “Are you going to be alright?”  Times like these were the only moments when Michael disliked his job.  To make matters even harder, he knew that he was one of Andrew’s few friends, and Michael worried about him.

          “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Andrew said.  “I just want to be by myself for a while, that’s all.”

          With that, Andrew pushed open the diner door, held it open for an attractive black woman dressed in a smart business suit leaving with a take out order, and walked out.  Glancing down at his left hand, he made a tight fist just to feel the solidity of his gold wedding band.  One day he will take it off, but not yet, not today.  With his head down, Andrew started to wander the streets of his old hometown.

          The woman had thanked Andrew when he held the door for her, and, when she did not receive a reply, glanced up to see him staring down at his fist.  She wondered for a moment what he was thinking, and then mentally shrugged off her curiosity. 

          Turning away from the man, she began her short walk home, her high heels clacking on the sidewalk with each step.  The diner always had cheap sandwiches once a week, so it was a treat for herself and her children that was not too much of a burden on their bank account.  With the bag of food from the diner in one arm, and her purse pressed close to her body in the other, she awkwardly opened the front door to her apartment building. 

          “Good evening, Mr. Turner,” she called to her landlord as she ascended the steps to her second floor apartment.

          “Hello, Ms. Hatcher,” he called back.  “Don’t forget, rent’s due next week!”

          Once out of earshot, she mumbled, “How could I forget?” 

          The condition of her apartment door was enough to convince most people that the inside was in the same shape, but the interior that greeted her when she unlocked and opened the door was at odds with the rest of the building.  The two bedroom, single bath apartment was bright and had an instant welcome feel to it that she worked hard to maintain.  There was no doubt that this place was lived in, but that was to be expected when two young children called it home. 

          Placing her keys and purse on the small table in the doorway, the woman walked into her living room.

        “Anyone home?” she called with a smile.  A chorus of ‘Mommy! Mommy!’ greeted her right before she was attacked with hugs.

          “Hi.  How was work, Rachel?” asked an older woman.  Her light gray hair was pulled back into a bun, a style that matched the conservative dress she wore.  She sat in the recliner, rocking as she knitted something.  Every week she had a new project.  Her large body filled the chair, and her plump arms rested on her stomach as her wrinkled hands finished knitting a row.

          “Pretty normal.  Typed up a few legal papers, filed even more.  The usual.  Thanks again for watching the girls, Beth,” Rachel answered as she smiled at her neighbor.  “Were they good?”

          “Perfect dolls, like always.”  Beth gathered her things, and stood to go.  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”  With a smile, she let herself out of the apartment.

          “So what did you do today?” Rachel asked her daughters.  She walked over to the kitchen, and, while listening as her children filled her in on their day, she placed the sandwiches on plates and took them to the dining table.  Both of her girls had inherited her coloring and her dark hair, but only Sarah had their mother’s green eyes, while Megan had gotten their father’s brown ones.

          “No, Meg.  The napkins have to be folded into triangles first!”  Sarah was the oldest child, through and through.

          “Okay, Sarah,” said Megan.  “Is this better?”  She only wished to please both her mother and her sister.  Rachel smiled with pleasure at her children.  This was her favorite part of the day.  While she was answering phones, and taking messages at the law firm thirty minutes away, her girls were always on her mind.  Then again, how would that be different from any other parent who loved their children?  If only their father had lived to see them.  She glanced over to his picture on the wall above the television in the living room.  Other than their family picture, it was the only picture of him left out.  As her heart had healed over the years, Rachel had been able to put away the things of his that reminded her of him. 

          The first to be packed away was that purple heart.  Perhaps she would treasure it more if it had not been what killed him.  The girls, though, loved the medal.  They would brag to their friends about how their father was a military hero and had died saving another soldier.  Despite the pain of his death, they were all proud of him.  She would never forget him and had left that picture out so that their children would always be able to see their father, but she needed to move on, and eventually she had.  Rachel smiled sadly at the picture, comforting herself with the belief that he was watching them from heaven. 

          The shrill ringing of the telephone startled Rachel and made her jump slightly.

          “I’ll get it!” yelled Sarah.  “Hello?”  A slight pause.  “Mommy!  It’s for you!”  Her childish enthusiasm made everything seem special and adventurous. 

          Laughing, Rachel took the phone from her daughter.  “Thank you, sweetie.  Now go eat.  Hello, this is Rachel.”

          “Hi, this is Wendy, from the pharmacy.  I was just calling to let you know that your daughter’s prescription is in if you’d like to come pick it up.”

          “Thank you.  How much longer will you be open?”

          “We close at 9, ma’am.”

          Glancing at the clock, Rachel thanked the woman, and hung up the phone.  She had two hours to get to the pharmacy to pick up the medicine.  Megan’s ear infection had kept her out of school for the past two days.  The pharmacy was closed yesterday, so Rachel could not get the prescription filled until today at lunch.  Picking the phone back up, Rachel dialed Beth’s number.

          “Hello?” Beth answered.

          “Hey, it’s me.  I need to go get Megan’s medication.  They just started eating their dinner.  Can you come sit with them until I get back?”

          “Sure thing, honey.  Let me get my dinner, and I’ll be right over.”

          “Thanks.  Bye.”  Rachel hung up the phone and walked over to the table.  “Girls, I have to run get Megan’s medicine, okay?  Ms. Beth is on her way over here to stay with you.  I’ll be right back.” 

          Kissing her children goodbye, Rachel walked to the front door, picking up her purse and keys.  She opened the door for Beth.

          “I keep telling you,” Beth said.  “We should simply knock down a wall and connect our apartments.  It’d make things so much more convenient.”  Rachel laughed.

          “Maybe one day.  Thanks.  I’ll be right back.”

          Once out in the street, Rachel regretted that she had not changed out of her work clothes, and most specifically, her shoes.  With a sigh, she continued down the sidewalk.  Rachel loved Beth, but knew that watching two energetic little girls put a drain on the older woman. 

          Her thoughts inadvertently shifted to the contents of the top drawer of her work desk.  The letter she received last Tuesday still sat inside.  The bank had accepted her job application and would like her to be their branch manager in another part of town.  After realizing that this was a genuine offer, Rachel had yet to take the time to seriously consider accepting the position.  The idea of such a change both terrified and excited her.  Rachel pushed the thoughts out of her mind.

          Passing the diner where she had bought the sandwiches, she pulled out the notepad and pen she kept in her purse.  She flipped past the pages of lists she had written, until she came to her poem.  Her secret passion was writing and reading poetry.  She did not believe herself to be more than a decent poet, and she would never claim the title in public, but she loved to write.

          As she waited at the edge of the crosswalk on 10th street for the light to change, she scratched out the line she had written that afternoon.  A wave of nostalgia crashed over her as she recalled what it was like when she and her late husband had fallen in love.  Her memories and lines of poetry separated her from the other people standing there, waiting for the light.

                                    *********
          Andrew had wandered aimlessly for most of the afternoon.  The city had changed, but this was the safer part, so he did not run into any of the trouble that some would expect from the city streets.  As the light from the setting sun faded, he glanced at his watch again.  It was only a little after seven, but his stomach was requesting dinner.  Andrew looked around in order to get his bearings.  He needed to cross 10th street, but the light was green.  Glancing around at the other people waiting for the light, a woman standing to the side caught his eye.  She was writing something, and seemed somehow familiar.  Puzzling over this, his glance fell to his hands, alighting on his left hand.  The pale ring of skin seemed worse than the gold.  An hour before, Andrew had removed his ring for the first time since the day it had been placed on there in desperate hopes of escaping his memories.  He looked down at his shoes, at the sidewalk, anywhere but at the hand he had tucked behind his back.  All other thoughts were pushed aside as his mind turned to all that he had been walking away from that evening.
 
                                    ***********
          “It’s after seven o’clock, Whitney!  Go home.”  Mrs. Bailey called.  Glancing up from the silverware she had just finished rolling, Whitney saw that she should have gotten off work fifteen minutes ago.  She hurriedly put up the silverware, and placed her apron and order pad on the shelf behind the counter.  Clocking out, she called goodnight to those still working.

          Walking down the sidewalk, Whitney’s mind could not but help turn her thoughts to work and money.  Mrs. B had told her earlier to not worry about the situation with work, but Whitney hated feeling like she was being pitied.  She just knew that Mrs. B would not give her more shifts for a while, not after she messed things up so badly.  Three lost orders may not have been that big of a deal had they not been two ten tops, and a seven top.  Add that to the fact that she had been thirty minutes late  and had run into the bus boy, causing him to spill dirty water all over the floor.  A few dishes had also broken.  No, Mrs. B was not happy last week.  What she needed to do was find a small, easy part time job of some sort.  Whitney had done a lot of babysitting in the past.  Maybe she could do that again.  Plus, perhaps she could take care of her mother at the same time.  That would make things so much easier.

          As Whitney joined the group of people waiting for the light at 10th street, her mind was working on how she could start babysitting again.  She glanced at the crosswalk light, but her view was blocked by a handsome man in front of her.  There was something about him, but she could not quite place it.  He was staring down at his shoes, but as he glanced up as if to look at someone, Whitney clearly saw his face.  He had come into the diner earlier.  That was it.

          Perhaps the community center down the street had an opening for some kind of childcare position.  She would be sure and check in the morning before class.
   
                                  *************
         Rachel finally figured out the last line of her poem, and put away her notepad and pencil.  She glanced over the people standing next to her.  Her eyes paused on the teenage girl standing on the other side of the crowd.  Did Rachel know her?  The girl ran a hand over her ponytail and smiled absently at some thought in her head.  Rachel recognized that smile.  Yes, that was it.  She was the waitress at the diner who gave Rachel the sandwiches.

         Her musings shifted.  Rachel once again found herself considering the letter she had received.  The job offer it contained tempted her.  Better pay, better hours, better part of town.  Yet this would be the first major change in the life of her family since she lost her husband.  Was she really ready for this?  Were the girls?

         Rachel smiled as she remembered Megan’s story about the pigeon in the park a few weeks ago.  Sometimes Beth would take the girls to various places around town after school.

         If she accepted this new job, Rachel could be the one taking her daughters to the park.  She would be able to spend more time with them.  Her spirits lifted at the idea of having time to enjoy her children instead of only being able to feed them dinner and tuck them into bed.

         The more Rachel thought about it, the more confidant she became.  They needed this.  She needed this.  She could not stay paused, waiting for someone to step into her life and press play.  Yes, it was time for a change.  Rachel lifted her chin a little higher.

         The light turned red.
 
                              *************
         Traffic slowed to a stop as the light changed.  People paused in their journeys for a moment or two as the group waiting at the end of the crosswalk traveled to the other side of the street.