In His Own Eyes

Gypsy startled in her sleep, bolting to an upright position in the soft, cozy bed. Her whole body trembled uncontrollably, layered with a thin sheet of sweat. She searched the dark room around her, trying to force her violet eyes to focus against the shadows. Her heart pounded heavily against her ribs with fear. She had had a nightmare, and though she couldn’t remember what it had been about, she was chilled to the bone.

The wind whistled by the bedroom window and a bolt of lightning momentarily lit the room like day. Glancing around her, Gypsy groaned, her stomach churning with dread. Just as she thought. She had no idea where she was. Without even looking next to her, she knew there would be someone in the bed beside her. Another crack of lightning split the black sky and she took that opportunity to look at her companion for the night. He was sprawled out on his stomach, his right arm dangling off the edge of the bed. His back was to her, so she couldn’t see what his face looked like, but the rest of him certainly was pleasing to the eye. He had shaggy dark hair and a very nicely cut body. And, with a quick glance under the sheet, he had a very nice ass. Well, Gypsy thought to herself. At least tonight’s partner was a male.

Lightning flashed again and this time a rumble of thunder followed it. She swung her long, slender legs around, her feet hitting the cold cement floor. Cement? What kind of apartment has a cement floor? she thought to herself. She rested her elbows on her knees and cradled her throbbing head in her hands for a moment. Every inch of her body ached with the abuse she had subjected it to that night. Again, without the need to look around her, she knew there would be some kind of drug paraphernalia somewhere in the room. By the dull pain in her arms, she guessed the flavor of the night had been heroine.

Disgust rolled around in her gut and slowly rose to burn her throat as she stood up on shaky legs. Using the lightning that was coming more and more frequently to see, she padded around the messy loft, looking for her clothes. Yanking her tiny, black, leather skirt up her legs and over her curvy hips, she stumbled through the darkness to find her shirt and shoes. Dismissing the futile search for the shirt after a few minutes, she grabbed one of the strange man’s shirts draped over the back of a chair. It was large enough for her to tug it over her head without unbuttoning it, saving her a few seconds. In her haste to flee the man’s apartment, Gypsy lunged for her shoes next to the coffee table, knocking some of its items over in the process. Her heart skipping a beat, she froze and watched the man in the bed. He groaned and rolled over, his face suddenly visible to her.

Wow, Gypsy thought to herself, still hunched over her shoes. He was beautiful. She couldn’t see too many details through the hazy shadows, but what she could see made her breath catch in her throat. She almost decided to crawl back in the bed and forget about leaving.

Shaking her head, she shoved her feet into the black stiletto heels and rushed for the door. As quietly as she could, she unlatched the locks and slid out into the building’s hallway. She paused and leaned against the wall for support, the lights blinding her and swirling her mind. A nauseous wave swam over her and for a second, she thought she was going to pass out.

Thunder pounded the silence and startled Gypsy. She stifled a scream by slapping a quivering hand over her mouth as she staggered down the hallway. By the time she managed to stumble out of the building, rain was falling in thick sheets. The icy November temperature and rain cut into her skin painfully like needles. Braless, pantyless, and hung over, Gypsy swayed back and forth as she sauntered down the empty street.

Three blocks from her unknown lover's apartment, Gypsy's beautiful eyes rolled into the back of her head as she willingly succumbed to the blackness that enveloped her. When her body crumbled to the ground, her cheek scraping against the cold, wet pavement, she was blissfully unconscious, feeling no more pain.

FIVE YEARS LATER…

Gypsy stared at the file in front of her with a frown, her violet eyes shading over with sadness. She shook her head, her wavy black hair bouncing around her thin shoulders. Closing the folder, she handed it to the woman next to her and said, “She will have to be transferred. She can’t stick to the program. This is her third time here and she disrupts the groups all the time. She’ll have to go somewhere else.”

“Are you sure you can do that?” the woman asked, her dark brown eyes peering over her bi-focals at Gypsy.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Biting on her bottom lip, she nodded her head. “I have to, Frieda. I can’t be impartial to anyone. She either goes somewhere else or she will have to go to jail.”

Frieda sighed heavily, her large body waddling back to her desk only two feet away. “I’ll let the courts know. I’m surprised you’re turning her out, though.”

“Why? Because we used to party together? Those days are over for me. I’m not the same person I was five years ago. As far as I am concerned, after the first couple of times trying to help her, she doesn’t deserve favors. She has to learn like everyone else in recovery. Besides,” Gypsy added as she sank her petite body into the old, wooden chair at her desk. “She is never going to change unless she wants to. She’s only here because she violated probation. It was either us or jail.”

Frieda scrunched the side of her mouth up as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. It never ceased to amaze her how much the young girl had changed since she was dragged into the rehab center five years earlier. She had been soaking wet and shivering. Someone had found her passed out in the middle of the street half a block away. The people who brought her in didn’t know if they should have called an ambulance or taken her to the clinic. They had opted for the clinic. Probably, Frieda thought to herself, because they were underage and drunk and didn’t want to deal with the authorities.

Gypsy had been enrolled in a ninety-day program at the center. At first, she resisted their help, denying that she had a problem. Six weeks into her stay, however, she discovered she was pregnant. Something inside of her broke down and by the time her ninety days were over, she asked to stay a little longer. Normally, when the program was over, it was over. But the director at the time had been rather fond of Gypsy. So, she had made an exception for her, stating it was because she was pregnant.

Gypsy left three weeks later with an aura of hope surrounding her. She never once looked back onto her past and never once came close to falling back to her old ways. She went to stay in a halfway house, enrolled in a few classes at a local college, and came back a year later, wanting a job.

This is where Gypsy has been ever since. And Frieda had been there since the night her wet, lifeless body was dragged in by the drunken teens. Frieda was now the director of the clinic and Gypsy was the hardest working, most loyal employee she had. When she retired in a few years, she knew without a doubt that Gypsy would be the perfect one to take over her duties.

Frieda smiled as she watched Gypsy for a moment. She was sitting at her desk, staring at a picture of her four year old daughter. Frieda knew what she was thinking. “Still don’t know who he is, do you?”

Gypsy took a deep breath and sighed it out loudly as she leaned back in her chair. She traced the curves and lines of her daughter with the thick, black hair and bright, sapphire blue eyes. She dug the heels of her palms in her tired eyes and said, “I know who he is, but I don’t. I know his name is Cal and he has cement floors in his loft. I also know he has to be the most gorgeous man I have ever seen…that is…if I can even rely on what my memory tells me. I was a little high at the time and it was dark, so who knows. That narrows down the list, doesn’t it?”

Frieda chuckled softly. “Don’t worry about it, honey. You’re a great mommy. You’re doing just fine on your own. Besides, for all you know, this guy is still out there drugging and drinking.”

“If he is even still alive,” she groaned in reply. “If he is anything like I was, it would be a miracle if he’s survived this long.”

“Don’t matter,” Frieda said, picking up a stack of papers on her desk and tapping them to straighten them out. “You don’t need that kind of man in Elsie’s life. You’re better off without that kind of daddy.”

Gypsy rolled a shoulder with a casual shrug and began nervously chewing on her fingernails. “I guess.”

“Stop that,” Frieda shrieked, reaching her hefty body across the small gap between them to slap her on the hand. “You’re going to have nothing but nubs left when you’re done.”

Smiling, she glanced at her mentor out the corner of her eye. “It’s not like I need my nails anyway,” she said mischievously. “I’m not scratching up anyone’s backs these days.”

Frieda threw back her head and roared with laughter, her large bosoms jiggling with merriment. She looked at Gypsy and said, “You should get out there and find yourself someone, girl. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

Gypsy gasped, trying not to smile. “You shrew! Like you have any room to talk.”

The phone rang and Frieda turned her attention back to business. She picked up the receiver and began chatting away, leaving Gypsy to sink back into her thoughts of Cal.

****

“Can I help you?” Gypsy asked as she approached the welcoming counter upon hearing the bell. She closed the metal clipboard and set it on the counter to gaze up at the person before her. Her heart skipped a beat and her stomach flipped over inside of her. She stared at the bright-eyed man in front of her, swearing she knew him from somewhere.

The man smiled warmly, his dark blue eyes scanning her body up and down. “Well hello, ma’am,” he said in a warm southern drawl.

“Um, hello,” she answered, excitement growing within her. Could this be him? she asked herself with hope. After all these years, could this actually be him? No, she told herself. What were the chances of Cal strolling in off the streets after all these years, asking for help at her clinic? The fluttering feeling died down in her belly and she forced a weak smile. “Can I help you?” she asked again.

The man physically shook himself and chuckled under his breath. “Yes, I’m here to check my friend in. He has a bit of a drug problem.”

Gypsy's eyes darted back and forth, looking for the man’s friend, but found no one. “Your friend, huh?” she said, figuring out “friend” was code for himself. “Well, could you get your ‘friend’ to fill out this form?” she replied, handing him a clipboard with a few sheets of papers on it.

The man sucked in his breath, clucking his tongue against his cheek. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Sighing with renewed aggravation, she propped her hand on her hip and glared at him. Why do the men always have to be so difficult? “And why is that?”

“He’s passed out on the sidewalk out there,” he said simply, tossing a thumb over his wide shoulder to the entrance.

Gypsy's face dropped, her mouth opening in shock. “Why did you just leave him there?” she snapped.

“He stinks. I don't know where he's been! And he’s got…puke all over him,” he said with a shudder. “It’s just gross.”

Gypsy snatched up the phone underneath the counter and yelled into it, “Gerald to the front, ASAP. Bring a wheelchair.” She hung up the phone and eyed the man with anger. “Some friend you are,” she hissed at him.

The man frowned, tucking his thumbs in his belt loops. “Some friends deserve what they get,” he commented with as much bitterness, his accent disappearing with his anger. “There’s only so much someone can do for one person before they have to let go. But I guess you wouldn’t understand that, would you?”

Gypsy bit her tongue, a stab of guilt slicing through her. She had said those same words, almost, to Frieda earlier that week when she transferred Suzie to a different clinic. “Don’t even begin to pretend like you know me,” was all she said.

Gerald, the orderly, appeared from behind a locked, employees only door with a wheelchair and grinned at her. “Where to Gypsy?”

“Apparently right outside on the curb,” she said.

The man slowly turned back around to gaze at her, an odd look on her face. “Gypsy? That’s…that is an unusual name.”

She shrugged nonchalantly, hastily gathering some papers together to start a file on the new patient. “And? Do you have something to say about that, too?”

He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth as he studied her face. “You look vaguely familiar to me. Have we met?”

Again, her heart skipped a beat in her chest, her blood turning to ice. Could it?…

“I don’t know,” she managed to say weakly. “I’ve met a lot of people in my life.”

“My name is Richard,” he said, extending his hand to her.

Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. The name on the company shirt she had taken that night from the man’s apartment said Cal. Cal the car mechanic. This wasn’t her daughter’s father. She grinned anyway and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“I know I’ve seen you before,” he breathed, stepping a little closer to the counter.

“I wouldn’t know where from,” Gypsy said. She glanced over Richard’s shoulder to see Gerald wheeling the unconscious man inside. “Take him to the observation room. Have Michael clean him up and get some basic vitals on him.”

“Sure thing, sugar.”

Slowly, she brought her eyes back to Richard’s, shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot. “Will you fill out as much of this information as you can?”

“Sure,” he answered hesitantly, taking the clipboard from her.

Clearing her throat, she returned her gaze to her own documents. In a trembling voice, she asked, “What is your full name, sir? I need to register who dropped your friend off for the ledger.”

“Yeah…It’s Richard Calvin. People call me Cal, though.”

The floor fell out from beneath her, the sound of gusting wind filling her ears. Her eyes widened with shock, her heart ceasing altogether in her chest.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Elsie cried as she bounded through the front door. She ran past the man, circled the edge of the counter, and threw herself into Gypsy's open arms. With a playful grunt, Gypsy lifted her daughter to plant on her hip, kissing her lightly on the tip of her nose. Despite her long and hectic day, she found herself smiling brightly as she felt Elsie’s tiny arms wrap around her neck.

Richard smiled at the little girl, his heart warming at the sight of her innocent beauty.

“Hi, sweetie,” Gypsy said nervously, her eyes darting back to Richard’s, the same eyes she had stared into every single day when she looked at her daughter. Would he notice? she wondered. If he saw her face, would he know she was his? Should she say something or wait and see if he recognized his own child? Don’t be silly, a voice yelled to her. He doesn’t remember you, much less sleeping with you. How on earth would he ever know this was his child just by looking at her?

Elsie turned her head to look at Richard, her face beaming with the sweetest, widest grin she could muster. “Hi!” she squealed. “Are you sick, too?” she asked. “A lot of people come to my mommy to get help when they are sick.”

Richard chuckled, something in his eyes scaring Gypsy. “No, sweetie. I got help a long, long time ago.” Something clicked behind his blue eyes, and Gypsy found herself sweating with apprehension. The smile on his face faltered and dropped, his color paling as his gaze came back to lock on hers. His eyes widened and he staggered back a few feet, mumbling something under his breath that she couldn’t hear.

“Elsie, where is Linda?”

“She’s next door. She said I could come over here and say hello for a minute.”

Kissing her daughter on the cheek, she set her back on the floor and patted her on the bottom. “Well run back next door and let me get back to work. Tell Linda I might be a little late tonight,” she added, looking up at Richard’s shell-shocked face.

Elsie nodded with her beautiful grin. “Bye, mister.” And then she ran outside.

Taking in a ragged breath, Gypsy sat up and locked her eyes with Richard’s. She tried to smile, but found she couldn’t. She wished she knew what he was thinking. His expression and his silence scared her.

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it suddenly, rubbing briskly at his chin. He propped a fist on his hip and turned his back to her, pacing the floor a bit.

“You work at Harry’s Garage, don’t you?” she finally asked, desperate to break the silence somehow.

“Yeah,” he said, swirling back around to face her. “How did you know that?” he asked, still unsure of his own thoughts and the fuzzy images in his mind.

“I took one of your work shirts that night,” she said slowly, forcing herself to keep eye contact, feeling the tears burning as they surfaced. “Cement floors?”

Richard nodded, unable to speak. “You’re her?” he finally choked out, his body visibly trembling by now.

It was Gypsy's turn to nod, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts for a moment. When he spoke, he was rambling, more to himself than to her. "Now it makes sense. When I told people about you, I had always called you my gypsy woman. Now I know why. That was your name."

Richard's body tensed and froze in mid-thought as he slowly turned around to face her again. She could see him counting on his fingers and mouthing each number until he came to the number five. His eyes wide with fear and shock, he stared at Gypsy. “And she’s…” he started, pointing over his shoulder to the main entrance.

Again, she nodded. “She’s your daughter.”