Young Writers Society

Roger and I made our way back from the car, though my palm was sweating like it was eighty degrees, and his fingers were unintentionally crushing mine. The snow crunched beneath my old, worn out black boots that I had taken from a small, family owned store back in September three years prior.

“Samantha and Brian won’t be happy to see us rather empty handed,” Roger spoke to me in a soft, broken voice. I nodded briskly. My heart was pounding out of my chest and I could feel diminutive droplets of sweat on my forehead as we leisurely made our way through the hectic streets of a swarming New York. The noises were mute in my head. All that could run through was a void train of thought that didn’t belong.

“You don’t suppose-”

“You could shut up now?” I whispered inaudibly under my breath as a young, wealthy couple draped in black leather and overpriced glitter skipped past us giddily.

“Yes darling, I would love if you would cook again tonight. Maybe that cheese and broccoli dish? You know the stuff I so enjoy. Maybe we should stop by the market?” His eyebrows raised and the way he scrunched his nose made me cringe. I left the smile that had been plastered on my face all morning on my freshly-cleaned, ash colored skin as it was.

“Of course dear,” I snipped like an irate wife.

“Oh or maybe just some bread and cheese concoction. I would love some lasagna even. Such a cold night like this, it would be perfectly lovely.” He stretched out his arm and extracted from his pocket a few coins. “This is all I brought, though.” It was more money than we could have manifested in a year. Not many people were aware if our existence, luckily, and the market owner was barely aware of our presence. We were just brilliant.

“I’ll fetch just the bread and broccoli, you fetch the cheese.” The market was small and hidden in the shadows under a small collapsible roof for just the fresh produce. The rest of baked goods and snacks were inside, under a dim light like a restaurant. This was our favorite place to go.

While he snaked his way through the crowd inside, I stayed out. After all, I was much better at this then he, and I was the pretty girl here.

Looking around, I finally caught sight of the owner. There were few people out here, some couples rambling on the sidewalks and admiring the fruits, but that was essentially it. A few people here or there were purchasing peaches and pears. “Excuse me, sir!” I waved the owner over and gave him a prize winning smile. He was young and quite striking and swiftly made his way over to me.

“What can I help you with, miss?” He said in a prominent London accent and a wink.

“Oh, I just cannot seem to locate the broccoli. Do you think you could show me the way, sir?”

“It’s just Shawn. You can just call me Shawn.” He had just taken over the market, almost a week ago now. We had our eyes on him from the start. The first owner was quite rude. This made me feel even worse, like a whisper in my ear had sunk to my stomach and wanted to eat me through, and then develop in my lungs where it could catch my breath just in that way. He winked again, finishing his flirt with a “Follow me.”

I did just that, though I also looked around for anyone approaching down the street besides speeding cars. Knowing the broccoli was closer to the back, in the obscurities, and it was beyond the apples and oranges, I was careful of where I stepped to make little noise. I grabbed two apples and an orange, and then a handle bursting with grapes. I carefully slipped each handful into my bulky, forged leather bag that all prosperous people carry around the city, just begging to be pick pocketed. He turned and gazed at me a moment before smiling, his blue eyes shallow and careless. As he turned around again, nearly at the broccoli, I took as many kiwis as I could hold. These were even more of a delicacy to my family then to the city. Right as the last one dropped into my purse, he turned and extended his hand to display the broccoli.

“Oh goodness you are just a darling, thank you so much!” I smiled at him warmly, almost desiring I could mean it. I took the broccoli in a small paper bag and without meaning for it, a slight tear ran down my face slowly and steadily. No matter the size of the tear, Shawn saw it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked cautiously, gently touching my arm. A searing sensation spread from where he touched me, even over the coat, and Roger turned to see me just in time, bread and cheese in his hand. He rushed over angrily and, shoving money into Shawn’s hand, he seized my arm and drew me onto the sidewalk.

“We are leaving now, Miranda.” I hated that name. I hated the fakeness of it, the way it wasn’t mine and the way it rang out for God to hear my lies echoing in my future.

We walked home without speaking, but somehow the silence brought us closer together. Though I knew his anger had also been false yet due in truth, I was relieved to be reentered into his slight world of personal emotion and thought.

Of all the lies and guilt I had lived on through, his consistence in love and the truth of him proved to me that not all my life was a failure.

Three miles later, we spotted our little family’s alleyway, and were motivated once more.

In a few minutes, we entered the dark passageway that was guarded only by a segment of tin we found with another. We moved the sheet and progressed forward. Our alleyway was decently sized and well lit. The entrance to the home was covered by a thin sheet that we has hung from the second sheet of tin that served as the makeshift roof of our home. The tin was attached to card board boxes stacked one on top of another as the left and right walls, about two feet in width and a foot in height. Four stacked up with four stacks split on either side of the alleyway, and the stacks progressed backwards like pillars.

After replacing the doorway, I called out “It’s Miranda!” Almost flinching again at the name. The sheet pushed itself aside and Roger shadowed me into our house.

The six children were congregated at the front, each on their knees except for Tom, my three year old baby brother, who was accompanied by Charlotte, Roger’s eleven year old sister.

“We brought dinner,” I spoke soothingly to the kids, whose faces lit up in delight. While I took out only one apple and one orange, Roger took out an entire loaf of bread of the three I knew he had taken. He did not bring out the cheese, or any of the other unknown foods he had slipped into his brief case and pockets. Martha, my fourteen year old sister, pulled out a small cutting knife while my brother Cameron left to fetch a bowl. When he got back, Martha had finished splitting the fruits into eight pieces, one for each of us.

“These are so fresh… Mmm …. How did you get the money to buy them?” Questioned Elise, my eight year old sister. Martha gave me a warning glare. I had only slipped up once and yet she still brought upon me the blame time and time again.

“Honey, Roger got extra money from working so hard,” I smiled sweetly at them all collectively, and Martha looked content. She was the only one who knew.

“Yay Roger!” shouted Roger’s brother Ben. Only four years old and still so aware of our economical circumstance. After each of them finished eating, they headed back to whatever it is they chose to do. Martha crafted skirts and stockings from old thread she found thrown out. She would sell them to help pay the bills. Charlotte would sometimes find little metal trinkets and sell them on old necklace chains or as rings. Ben and Tom were always being watched either Charlotte or Cameron, but Cameron carved wood statues with a knife Roger had given him for his birthday the year before, so he was often off hiding behind a box doing his work.

Roger and I cleaned up the scraps and dumped them in a small bag. I rinsed my hands in a large bowl filled with water and crawled into the back quarter of the house, followed by Roger. There were several old blankets and folded cloth used as pillows spread everywhere. No one was in here except us.

Roger folded up his coat and gave it to me. I tucked it under my head and positioned myself near the back wall made of concrete. Out of the folds he had pulled out a wad of money as well as a sack of change where he sat down and tallied it.

“Nearly fifty dollars,” Roger whispered, barely audible. My heart leapt out of my chest.

“Are you sure no one saw us? Roger…I… I can’t do this anymore. You have to get it back. I can’t go on living like we do.” The tears came without welcome and without questions. Roger slipped the money into his father’s old wallet and back into his jacket, under my head. The intense pain forced me to sit up, driving me into a dizzying spiral.

“Hey now,” Roger said, wrapping me into his warm arms. “You’re okay. We’re safe. I’ll protect you.” I wish he would say my name. The real one.

“Just get it back Roger.” I was curt but honest.

Roger’s hand caressed my left cheek as he rocked me back and forth. “I’ll get a new one, I promise. Honest, I will. I try so hard sometimes, El, you know how it is. They never trust me.”

There is was. El. I was feeling more ordinary by the minute. I shrugged him off and pushed my back against the wall once more. “I know, I try to, I swear it. But then they ask me… you know Roger. I can’t answer the way it forces me to. I just can’t do it.”

“That’s why I do it.”

“Isn’t that the point though?” I raise my eyebrows and give another shrug. “I’ll go back to the market tomorrow. I feel bad about that man. He looked so worried.”

“That’s the point El. Just don’t get yourself into a mess we can’t clean up. You have to worry about them too.” Roger gestured backward with his head.

“Of course I’m thinking about them! That’s why I do this damn crap, Roger it’s for them!” I raise my voice too high as I point in their direction. The kids start appearing out of nowhere.

“Are you two fighting again? I thought you promised you would stop that, last year, remember?” Cameron emerged from the shadows with a grim look smeared on his clear, innocent face. Why them?

“We’re not fighting, El is just stressed out. It’s past her bed time. See what happens when you’re over tired? All of you wash up and go to sleep, now, we’ve got to get up extra early to say goodbye to El when she goes to work,” Roger shooed them all away while I sat there, silent, and slowly mumbled, “Good Night,” and leaned back against the wall as Roger’s arms wrapped around me like a shield.

Upon waking up, I noticed the sun was already up and there were noises at the front of the house. Walking slowly there, I pulled out my knife. Only Martha and Roger remained in the bedroom.

As I approached the entrance, I saw Ben and Tom wandering around and Charlotte and Cameron dicing an apple they must have taken from my bag without asking.

“Good morning, beautiful,” I heard from behind me. I turned my head while kneeling and Roger planted a kiss on my forehead. “Almost ready?”

I walked to the bowl full of water and splashed water in my face, scrubbing a bit to get out the grease and dirt.

“Yeah,” I spoke quietly, nodding. Grabbing a piece of apple on the way out, I mumbled “Cya,” but Roger followed me. I was about to remove the tin guard but Roger shoved a coin in my hand and gave me another peck.

“Be careful,” he replied to my silence and returned to his safe house under the roof.

I smoothed my nice dress and repositioned the pins in my black curly hair. It took me a while to walk all the way to the market again, but when I got there, it was quite busy. I went straight to the back, somehow managed to fit four more loaves of bread and a box of blueberries into my bag, and carried only an apple with me. Shawn saw me standing in line, waiting to pay. His expression turned from a smile to a worried crinkle. He rushed over to where I was standing, and wrapped his hand around my forearm.

The searing pain. The deep, horrifying anguish that went through my bone and into my heart and burned me from the inside. I could only just withhold my gasp. The panic rose in my throat. There was no Roger. No Roger, and yet I knew how to take care of myself. But I didn’t. It all just happened so quickly.

“Are you alright, miss? Did that man-“ he began until I forced his hand off me, but by then it was too late. That disease… it had settled. Not just in my lung, like a cancer it had forced itself into my mind and tore away at every sanity I knew.

“He tried to hurt you didn’t he?” Shawn continued on and those shallow blue eyes did everything but repel me away from him. I shook my head vigorously. It was too late. I had succumbed to the greatest evil that had existed within me. This whole time. This whole time I had known.

“Come on, come with me,” he coaxed me, trying to make me follow him to the back room. I shook my head again, my eyes were bulging from my skull, my breathing had stopped, and every word I could have otherwise spit out was caught there, in my empty lungs.

“Come on,” he repeated and pushed the small of my back there and shut the door. “It’s okay,” he hushed me, tears almost arising from my eyes, though not quite there. “You can tell me, you’re safe now.”

I pulled out my knife. My hand was a mind of its own; my mind became separated from everything I knew. I slashed at him, missing as he ducked away.

“But you aren’t,” I spoke quietly and the surprise on his face took my by the neck and propelled me forward, for another slash, nicking his ear. “I can’t…. I can’t live like this anymore, sir, I can’t keep doing this,” I begged and pleaded, knowing no other way. I couldn’t stop the searing. It had not come and gone, it was its own personal piece of death buried inside me, just waiting to come out when the time was right.

I slashed again, leaving a thin gash in his stomach, before finally regaining control of myself, dropping the knife, and retreating. He was bleeding down his face and through his over expensive shirt.

“My name is Elizabeth,” I admitted. “And this is all my fault.”