Behind The Shadows (Complete)

Episode 6

SATIVA

Amazing things began to happen to me once I returned to Brooklyn. I hadn't forgotten the voice in my head that was Miss Tati. She told me to look to God, and I did.

The first thing I did was change my last name back to my maiden name. I snagged a Lead Interior Decorating position at Purple Cherry Architects. They paid me a comfy, six-figure salary for a job that never felt like work. I mortgaged a beautiful, refurbished brownstone and bought a small FIAT 500 that I didn't have to worry about being scratched or damaged on the crazy New York streets. Fear was the only thing I still had that I didn't want. It lived on the surface of my subconscious. The fear of losing the little piece of happiness I thought I finally had and the fear that came into my dreams each night.

I was hungry, and it was around 8:30 pm one night when I decided to throw on some sweats and run down to the Jamaican Food Truck at St. Marks and 4th Avenue before it closed. The wind was fierce and pushed against my back. Then came the drizzle. My ponytail whipped against my face, obscuring my vision. A cube truck honked me down; I'm sure it looked like I was about to blow right into oncoming traffic. I could see the lights on in the Food Truck ahead, and my mouth watered in anticipation for the delicious spicy patty and jerk chicken dinner I had been craving all day. Thankfully, only three people were in line. The light changed, and I struggled against the wind to stay within the crosswalk. The rain increased to a hard and steady pour, but my appetite for what lay ahead trumped any amount of downpour.

Three customers became two as I walked into the short line. I listened to the two Miami Vice-looking men in front of me place their orders, then fuss over who was going to pay. Then it was my turn; one of the two men did a double take on me. Probably laughing in his head at the wet rat I must have looked like. Or maybe he pitied the way I teetered against the wind, trying desperately not to lose my balance and look even more pathetic. I didn't care what he thought; I cared about the good food I was about to devour.I placed my order.

"$22.50," said the cashier.

"Sure," I replied, awkwardly digging down my pockets knowing damn well I didn't have the extra $2.50 in my pockets. I only brought a twenty.  It had always been a flat $20. 

"Uhm, I only brought a twenty, when did the prices go up?" I asked, biding time. 

"How much do you need ma'am?" Asked one of the Miami Vice duo reaching in his coat pocket.

"Two fifty," the cashier snapped in a raw, Jamaican accent.

"Thank you, sir," I shouted over the wind as he handed her a five-dollar bill. I grabbed my bag grateful and anxious to get home.

"Keep the change," he told the cashier before turning to look at me.

Our eyes danced against each other before they locked and pulled me in. 

I gasped and a sudden burst of wind hit me like a wall and I blew recklessly into oncoming traffic. I saw my dinner floating in slow motion away from me, my arms flailing and the sky falling, and someone, him, calling my name. Then everything went black.