by Lyn Michele Stevens

(image c/o secretnyc)

On the east side of Manhattan, Esther had been sitting on the couch for the past two hours stroking Sparkles when the envelope with the handicapped parking pass slid under the door. She knew it had been delivered by courier from Jack.  She looked down at the snow-white Persian cat in her lap. Underneath the long silky fur, she was skin and bones. Sparkles was in kidney failure.

“I have to leave for just a little..,” Esther said, but couldn’t finish her sentence because she didn’t want to cry.

The evening before, Jack had called eager to take her to see Shakespeare in the Park. Though Esther had always lived in a studio on York Avenue, she’d never been to Shakespeare in the Park (or the Empire State Building, or the Statue of Liberty). She was flattered Jack wanted to take her. It was only their second date. All she had to do was wait in the handicap line to get the tickets.

“But neither of us is handicapped. Isn’t that against the law?”

Jack snickered. “Against the law. That’s a good one.” Then in an apologetic tone he said, “Look, it’s the only way. I would go, but I have an important meeting with a client.”

Esther set Sparkles on the warm cable box. She fed her some treats before freshening her makeup and grabbing her Allure magazine. “I promise to be back soon,” she said, kissing Sparkles.

Jack had been right. The regular line was a snake with no tail. A park worker pointed her to some people waiting under the wooden awning of the Delacorte Theater in Central Park. The first was a severely handicapped guy whose limbs looked like branches glued together at odd angles, arms and legs both hooked in braces. What an awful tragedy, thought Esther.

Considering how horrible her own accident had been, Esther felt blessed. Thirty years earlier, at the age of 21, on the way to see her fiancé, she’d been in a near fatal car crash, resulting in a coma lasting three months while they sewed her together. The fiancé abandoned her during her recovery. (Another blessing in disguise; had it not been for the crash Esther might be married to that prick.) A dozen surgeries later, all that remained of the accident was a sunken eye and a metal rod in her femur.

A young person in a wheelchair plowed up the short incline, spun herself around and parked her wheelchair next to Esther.

“Fucking pain in my fucking ass,” she muttered, yanking the hand brake. She tugged the bandana off her forehead and wiped her face.

Esther tried not to stare. The girl was maybe 20, her hair, shamrock green, cropped an inch off her head. Her arms and chest were wrapped in tattoos of extravagant crosses, birds and dogs. In a black halter and red Keds, she had a tomboyish flash Esther noticed in so many younger celebrities.

 “That’s such a pretty robin,” she said, squinting at the girl’s collarbone. “Do you know how long the wait is?” asked Esther.

“About an hour,” said the girl.

“My new boyfriend said it should only take two at the most.”

“Then why are you asking me?” The girl looked so gloomy.

Poor skinny thing, with such a sweet face, thought Esther. “The only Shakespeare play I know is Julius Caesar. We read it in 7^th grade. I hope this one is better.” Esther smiled conspiratorially. “PS 130. Did you go to school around here too?”

Allie looked at the lady. She was old, maybe 40, possibly older, hard to tell with all the heavy makeup. Her platinum blonde hair ended in a flip and her grapefruit sized-breasts were popping the buttons on her flowery blouse.

 “I was homeschooled. Watertown, South Dakota. Ever heard of South Dakota?” she asked sarcastically.

“Of course, I’ve heard of South Dakota. Did you grow up on a farm?”

There was something definitely screwed up with the lady’s eye, which lent a certain vulnerability to her tacky sexuality, thought Allie. A ‘look how hard I’m trying’ quality. “My father sells insurance. No farm, just a plain white house, carbon-copy of all the other plain white houses. I was raised Jehovah’s Witness. Left that shithole seven years ago and never fucking turned around.”

The night she and Pete rode over the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan on his motorcycle would be forever etched in her heart. Underage, high on pot, clinging to the idea that if you had a good soul Jesus would want you to take your beliefs with you and see the world. Under the spidery bridge, a skyline of shimmery lights spread like a river, and ascended to the sky, giving way to that irrepressible thought she’d had about Judgment Day; Jesus bringing those asleep in death back to life again on earth. Back then, they’d told her red was blue and she’d believed it.

“You don’t celebrate birthdays. Right? That must have been awful having to leave the room during parties,” said the lady.

Her brother and sister warned her not to leave. But she and Pete hated the meetings, the rules and most of all, the isolation. Pete was a gifted guitarist. He deserved to be famous. So, they’d stoked each other full of courage, slowly filling their backpacks. But the night they left, Allie couldn’t face her parents who may have loved her but were so strict and verbally abusive, she couldn’t tell. She’d left a note and snuck off on the back of Pete’s motorcycle. Twenty-two hours straight, stopping only for food and gas. When she called home to say she was safe, her parents refused to get on the phone.  

“Look, I don’t mean to be a bitch but I don’t know you,” Allie finally said. The clouds had parted and now the sun was shooting daggers on her face.

Esther knew how to take a hint. She took out her Allure magazine but as soon as she opened the pages, her mind drifted to Sparkles. She forced herself to think of Jack.  For their first date he’d taken her to a pricey Greek restaurant.  When dinner was over, he kissed her on the cheek and sent her home in a cab. Good manners were important. Jack worked in digital advertising and loved the theater, which meant he was both smart and had money. She didn’t mind that his cheeks were too pouchy, though she couldn’t imagine having sex with him. She’d decided to see if he was worth breaking up with Freddy because Freddie was lazy. Also, Freddy drank too much. Now that he’d retired from his security guard job, he had no ambition whatsoever.

“I’m sorry if I insulted you,” she said to the girl.

“You could roast a pig out here,” said the girl.

“They say it’s going to be a hot summer.” Esther closed her magazine. “Jack says the show’s a comedy. I’m glad. These days, I only want to hear happy things.”

When Esther was 18, her much older sister had been murdered. The only thing Esther’s parents told her was her sister had gotten in with the wrong crowd. Esther was fearful the girl in the wheelchair might end up in the wrong crowd but told herself it wasn’t any of her business. “Remember Shakespeare in Love with Gwyneth Paltrow?” Esther asked. “I read in a magazine that Gwyneth said the rhythm of Shakespeare is the same as your heartbeat. I think that’s so beautiful.”

Allie hadn’t seen the movie. Except for the lame Friday night cartoons at Kingdom Hall, most movies were forbidden because of the swearing or sex. 

“Are you okay?” said the lady. “Your face is breaking out in red blotches.”

Allie touched her hand to her inflamed cheek.  The Elavil made her especially sensitive to the sun.

“Merchant of Venice is no comedy.”  Allie couldn’t spell but she could memorize. When she was 15, their neighbor, Mr. McKenna, had come over and taught her, her siblings and a few other JW kids a class on Shakespeare. She’d had a crush on Mr. McKenna so she’d paid attention. 

“My God, you look terrible. Do you want a drink? There’s a concession over there. I could use a Diet Coke myself.”

“I guess. Sure,” said Allie, reaching for her backpack.

Esther looked at the backpack. “Wow, that’s a lot of pins!  They’re so interesting and colorful!” she said, not sure if she even liked them.

“They’re for sale. Do you want to buy one?” Allie made enamel pins of flowers and animals to supplement her disability checks. Her mom’s love of homemade crafts was the only thing she hadn’t left behind.

“Oh my God, I’d love to but I only have $6.00 with me.”

“Why are New Yorkers so glib about God?” She opened the flap and pulled out a zippered pouch.

Esther didn’t know what glib meant. “I believed in him but when Ellen died and now with Sparkles… I better get that soda before one of us melts. Keep your money, sweetheart.” Esther checked the time. She’d been here for 45 minutes.

She and Freddy bought Sparkles from Pets on Lex. Sparkles had been with her for 19 years. Sparkles kept her toes warm, even when Freddy stayed over. She couldn’t fall asleep without the comforting weight of the cat on the blankets. If they didn’t hand out the tickets soon, she would leave.

 “Can I ask you a personal question?” asked Esther, returning with the sodas.

Here it comes. You don’t die from MD. But I’ll need a plan if I get to the stage where I can’t lift my head or move my arms, thought Allie.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

Allie snickered. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.” Sweat slid down her forehead and under her arms. She felt it in her crotch. At least she could feel down there.

Esther rifled in her pocketbook and produced two pairs of oversized sunglasses. “I always carry two of everything. Take them, it’ll help.”

The two women slid on the sunglasses.

“Now you look like Gwyneth. Well, except for the hair. You’re better off not having a boyfriend. Freddy, my ex, gets peed off if I don’t get ‘all dolled up’ when we go out. I think that’s rude.  He wants me to move to Costa Rica so he can lounge on the beach and do nothing. I told him no thank you. I have a good job at Bloomingdales and I like working. You know, having something to do every day, making my own money. He’s coming in from his cousin’s in Flatbush next week to see an eye surgeon I know. What could I do? I couldn’t say no. A few years ago he moved in with me but after three months, I had to kick him out. He never had rent money. We had this huge fight and he called me a cheap Jew. Can you believe that! He was drunk and didn’t remember saying it, but still.”

“Shylock,” said Allie.

“Huh?”

“The guy sounds like a dick. Dump him.”

“I will. I am. Definitely. As soon as he gets the surgery. I told you I’m going to the play with Jack. You think that’s okay with Freddy coming over next week to see my doctor?”

“It’s none of my business, but you’ve got to break it off with the first guy. A clean fucking break.”

Esther sighed. It felt good confiding in a stranger. “We were together twenty years. Freddy Ramos. It’s really true Latins are the best lovers.”

Allie leaned forward looking interested.

“Did you ever?” said Esther, in wonder.

“Of course. I wasn’t always a gimp.” She and Pete had first done it when they got to New York. They were staying at the YMCA. That first time it hurt so much she’d had to clap her hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. After that she was always afraid of getting pregnant. Sex aside, the rush of freedom was exhilarating. Everything was a dare. Allie landed a job as a receptionist. Pete played open mics all over town. High on weed and booze, they went to concerts on the pier, museums, the zoo. Anything for free. A year later her body turned on itself.  Bladder dysfunction, numbness in her legs. The vertigo was the worst, this wild pulsating city spinning out of control. Pete stayed on, blending protein shakes and snorting coke laced with speed but once she started using the chair because her balance was so unpredictable, the disease took over life. While Allie worked hard to stay sober and tough–minded, Pete got deeper into the dope. He was shooting up meth by then. She had to kick him out. She could only save one person.

Two months after he’d left, Pete OD’d. There was no service, no funeral. His parents had his body cremated.  She didn’t believe any of the rhetoric, not anymore. But if there was a Judgement Day, she hoped there was a way Pete would be resurrected and brought to earth to live free of suffering. He certainly wasn’t going to the fucking Kingdom of God.

“How much longer do you think it’s going to be?” said Esther.  “I’m worried about Sparkles. She has kidney failure.” Esther felt her eyes welling up. “She seems okay today but she could go into convulsions. My vet says if she stops eating, I have to put her down. I can’t do it.

“I won’t do it!” Esther yelled so loud everyone turned to look at her.

A young kid with a Shakespeare in the Park Staff T-shirt appeared in front of her. “Are you okay, ma’am? Will you need any assistance tonight?” he asked.

Esther was still crying as she dug in her pocketbook for the handicapped parking pass. But the kid didn’t ask for it. “If you need anything, let me know. Here are your tickets. Doors open at 8.” Then he walked over to Allie.

Allie’s hand was trembling. What the fuck was she doing here without Pete?  Trying to relive the past when he was dead and she couldn’t take any more than a few steps without crashing to the ground.

“Let me do that for you. I have really good handwriting,” said Esther.

“Why are you being so nice to me, lady?” said Allie.

“Maybe you remind me of my sister. She was murdered, in case you wanted to know.  Ellen’s dead and my cat could be dying. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said and bolted out of her chair. She lurched down the hill, hid behind the bathroom building and sobbed.

Allie lifted the sunglasses and rubbed the sweat off her nose. She sat there watching the line of people below her begin to move like a lazy herd of cows.

Why did she have to be such a jerk? You can’t always see a disability and on top of that the old lady had a sister who had died. She unlatched the brake and wheeled herself down the path to the bathrooms.

Esther was huddled against the stone wall of the small building, crying. Allie paused at the entrance, unable to get down the four stone steps.

“Hey, your sunglasses,” she said, reaching out her hand.

Esther didn’t respond.

“You should ask your vet for sub-Q-fluids to hydrate your kitty. It could help. And dump the cheater. Dump them both, but come tonight. The summer after we got here Pete and I saw Twelfth Night.  Shakespeare under the stars. It’s pretty fucking awesome.”

Esther staggered up the steps. “Thanks,” she said, snatching back her sunglasses.

“Hoping I’ll catch you later,” said Allie. “Peace out,” she added but Esther had already slipped by her.

It was too warm to stay outside. Allie propelled herself out of the park, managing to get to a Starbucks on Columbus Avenue. In the smelly bathroom, she rinsed her face and swallowed eight pills. She killed an hour sketching cats for her pins, then spread them out on a table hoping someone would notice her artwork. She pictured the glossy black enamel cat brooch, pinned on Esther’s blouse. If the lady showed up tonight, she’d give her a pin for free. There was no plan for the rest of the afternoon. Later she sat by a dog run and watched a Chihuahua pick a fight with a Border Collie.  The sky turned pigeon grey but the humidity lingered. Allie headed into the park, new beads of sweat seeping through her shirt onto the cracked leather seat of her chair. Halfway down the path to the Theater she was overcome with fatigue so she rolled her chair under a tree between a park bench and a patch of buttercups. She would take a short nap before moving on.

At home, Esther prepared a mix of steamed rice with some chopped salmon and a little water for Sparkles. She set the cat down in front of the bowl, spread out a bed sheet and knelt beside her. After nearly an hour of trying to coax Sparkles to eat, Esther felt completely spent. She lay down on the sheet, nudged Sparkles closer and shut her eyes. A ringing phone jarred her awake. It took the whole conversation to realize it was Jack calling. Still in a daze, she picked up Sparkles and set her back on the warm cable box. She wiped off her runny mascara, reapplied her lipstick and changed into a low cut dress, but seeing Sparkles reflection in the mirror, she couldn’t bear leaving. When Jack arrived an hour later, Esther handed him the tickets. Then she called Freddy, weeping into the phone.  Freddy rushed over. They sat on the couch as it grew dark, drinking their usual rum and cokes, Freddy’s arm around her, Sparkles nestled between them.

THE END

Lyn Michele Stevens’ short stories have appeared in Greensboro Review, American Literary Review, The Saturday Evening Post and a dozen other literary magazines. She is a lifelong New Yorker. Visit Lyn at her website: lynmichelestevens.com