the quiet pitter patter of the rain didn't ever stop calming her down. it was soft. delicate. considerate at night.
when she was little, the storm didn't ever scare her. the thunder was her favorite song, and she could listen to it all day. her big sister told her that she was struck with lightning when she was little, and that's why her skin was so pale and her hair was so yellow. she would come in her room before bedtime, and make up these adventures about the small girl. she didn't know who cinderella was, but she knew of stargirl. that was her superhero name, given to her at the age of seven. she hasn't forgotten it, and not one day passed without it being in her thoughts.
"stargirl the magnificent!" her big sister would exclaim, "fighting crime and saving lives!"
she believed it then. maybe somewhere inside her, she still does. she wants to.
the television was on, but she wasn't watching. she was still looking outside her window. the leaves of trees were drooping and frowning, and the cement sidewalk grudgingly welcomed the water falling with its arms. it was poetic. maybe even sad. she hummed in delight of the cold season. another thing she didn't mind.
"one, two, three." she whispered to herself, her left knuckles hitting the glass.
she does the same thing, except with her right hand.
"are you or any of your friends suffering from an addiction? if so, call this hotline. we can help make your future brighter and addiction free."
she looks at the television. an advertisement played for some alcoholic anonymous meeting. even though she has never tasted alcohol, she thought about calling the number on the screen.
she was not an addict, she doesn't think. her throat does not burn of vodka, and she wasn't itchy to get another hit or another round of anything. though she could not get enough of certain things. this, she will admit.
she checks for the fifth time this afternoon the volume of her television. 28. just the way she likes it. she watches reruns on some sitcom from the nineties she hasn't heard of before. after the fourth episode, she shuts it off and walks to the bathroom.
she flicks the light switch on and off until it felt right. she would normally count, but she her body did not cooperate with her mind at this time of day.
slowly but surely, she grabbed the fluorescent yellow bottle on the counter. her name was labeled neatly on the body, along with instructions.
take once every twenty four hours.
she drank one this morning already. would another one hurt?
she stares at the small pill between her fingers. reluctantly, she puts it back. today is not the day to screw up. maybe tomorrow or the day after that.
she walks out her house. the raining had stopped, and the sidewalks were once again dry. the rubber on the sole of her shoes rubbed against the rough cement. she had an interview today. some company in the city, not that she really cares unless it pays the bills and puts food on the table. maybe she should not have worn sneakers today.
she grabs her bike, the one she used to use for hiking. she picks up her helmet and strapped it on her head. three times she checked that it was secure. she pedals her way to the local coffee shop.
she locks her bicycle by the pole outside, and tugs on the metal chain. good. it was locked. she looks at the front of her destination.
in neon lights, it reads out "the java shop, open twenty four seven".
she liked it here instead of other coffee shops. the baristas knew who she was and her order. it was nice having that sense of intimacy, even if it's just somebody who serves you beverages and the occasional scone.
