The Shine Journal

No Heart Left

by

Eileen Elkinson

I awoke to thick smelly smoke, coughing my head off. The hammering thud of stomping footsteps grew louder. A soulful foghorn moaned in the distance, then came the shattering threat of breaking glass. As the air cleared I saw the San Fran firemen, their coats like shiny wet seals, flapping all around my room. People were gathered outside the door chattering, it seemed like the whole boarding house converged around me. One of them yelled, "That boozer in there could have burned down the whole building."

I didn't care.

Later, Rap-rap-rap, a very timid tapping on my door. I peeked through the spy hole and saw a young woman with thick dark hair, wearing huge black sunglasses, just like Holly Golightly's. I opened the door, crunching my head between it and the molding. "What?" I asked. She backed up a little.

"I'm Loretta from downstairs, that was really pretty exciting, huh?"

"Names Emily, I don't remember a thing, but I bet there's still smoke coming out of my ears," I grinned. She pointed at the little hotplate,"I think you were maybe cooking something and dozed off."

"Probably, yeah, could be." I mumbled, cupping my hands over my lighter to light a cigarette.

"Sit down, beer in the fridge," I bent over to get us a few. Loretta watched, I was embarrassed by what she saw. This old bumpy cotton sweatshirt, bell bottom jeans that fit too tight, and me, a twenty nine year old woman who looked over fifty.

Our friendship began by clicking Coors cans together, toasting to bullshit, and playing 100 rummy.  We were good company for each other, it was a lonely town, and we were unquestionably two of its loneliest denizens. I rented this cheap room as soon as I got into the city. A small pea green cube, furnished with a sagging single bed and beat up table and chairs. It also boasted a corner sink next to a single hot plate next to a single window that looked into another window, someone else's. We both got a kick out of that view.

My suicide trip on a cross country bus ride to San Francisco quickly came to an end.  One night after six too many, Loretta asked me to take a ride to the wharf on a big red motorcycle she called Killer. We were high as kites and could barely walk let alone ride that bike. So at record speed, weaving blindly in the dark we quickly wound up skidding over some railroad tracks. The wheels spun out, the bike fell, snapping my friend¡¯s ankle in half. My head, though badly banged up, felt numb. We pulled ourselves together and slowly rode back to the house.

I helped Loretta get settled in her bed, and we put lots of ice wrapped in a towel around her ankle. Our plan was to get her to a Doctor in the morning because we were still too drunk to do anything sensible until then.  I headed to my room and fell on my bed the minute I got in. I stared at the ceiling until my vision began to get weird. It was like looking at colorless fireworks, exploding in the sky, and then I signed off.

¢¾

Loretta was sitting on the edge of my bed when I woke up, her bad leg propped up on a chair. I was in a hospital gown and there were tubes hanging everywhere, most of them connected to me. I panicked and began yelling at her.

"Where, what is this, Loretta how...?" She placed her hand softly on my mouth and whispered."Shush, shush. I couldn't wake you this morning. I had to call 911. Don't worry, mild concussion, the doctors say you'll be ok. We spent the next hour or so in silence, there was nothing left to say. I realized that out here, we are sort of strangers.

When she hoisted herself up, leaning over to kiss me on the forehead, she smiled sadly and said, "You take care now, you rascal you."
I couldn't fight off the tears as I watched her hobble out of that white antiseptic room, leaving me, hurrying back home to safety.

A few days later, released from the hospital sporting a bandaged head, two black eyes and wearing the same torn up clothes, I found myself stuffed in the middle seat of a 747 flying back to New York City.

My sweet biker pal bought me the ticket. 

Bio: Worked as abstract artist in Key West for 20 years. Live in Asheville NC for past 3, and have been writing here. Published in
Bewildering Stories, West Carolina Womens Journal. and an editor for new e-zine called Mezzozine, debuts September.