Audrey Hepburn's Pearls: Part I

Chapter 59.3: 1995, Ruiz

Chapter 59.3: 1995, Ruiz

 

The dawn looked different from my Mama's front steps. My body was aching all over from sitting here all night. The sky was overcast from too many rain clouds. I knew if I didn't get inside soon I'd be all wet, but I couldn't move.

Up the street, the sound of a truck backing up caught my attention. Slowly, I watched it come up the street. It was delivering newspapers. My Mama got a newspaper every morning, so it would be stopping here.

I shrank in on myself, watching it crawl up the street. It was getting louder. 

Ambrose. It was the same thing. What was he doing now? Should I have gone back? What had happened? 

Was he alright?

What about Miss Paula? When I'd known her...

Burning. I looked down at my arms. There were scratch marks again. I was scratching myself. It was something I hadn't done since I was seven years old, when... 

Caterpillar.

My nails dug into my upper arms and I let them stay there. I deserved it.

The truck crawled. It was approaching a vodka bottle on the road. Slowly, I found myself anticipating it getting crushed by one of the front wheels. My fingernails dragged over and over again, digging deeper. Maybe there would be blood. 

Blood. The image of Ambrose bleeding in the club. Me in the mirror, my back sprayed by his blood. The pristine white dress, ruined. The pristine white dress he'd worked so hard on. The pink dress I was wearing, that he'd worked so hard on. So hard, when he'd been out doing coke. 

When he'd tell me lies.

The sound of breaking glass and my head whipped around. I was too late. The truck left the broken glass behind and I'd missed it. Just like how I'd missed Ambrose being on drugs. How could I have missed it? Its not like I never saw people high. In my old neighborhood, there were...

Visions of people sitting next to the brick building around the block, but Ambrose sitting there, too, looking into the air, smiling. Did he ever do that? Where had he gone? 

Burning on my scalp. I opened my eyes. My hands were in my hair, clawing. From last night, my candy pink wig was behind me so nobody could see it from the street. Enough embarrassment, I didn't need to have pink hair, too. People knew my Mama here. They didn't need to know her son had pink hair sometimes. Her son. 

Its not like I hadn't thought about what coming back here meant. What she'd say. What people'd say.

In the light of the day, my dress looked ridiculous. The corset Ambrose had tried so hard to cinch was clawing at my insides like my hands were clawing at my scalp. I just wanted it off, go to sleep. But I couldn't bring myself to go inside. I had the key and everything, in my purse, but I couldn't.

When I got inside, if she'd let me inside, I didn't have any of my good clothes either. But like I could wear them here. She didn't like that part of me. She didn't like...me. I'd be wearing blue jeans and white tees, grubby sneakers, my hair tied at the base of my neck again. No make up, no anything. Naked nails. My nails raked my scalp. I was sweating.

The truck's wheels screeched and even though I was sitting right here the newspaper flew at me from the truck. It landed halfway up the walk. Without a pause, my neighbor's newspaper flew at me, too, but it landed near my feet to the left. The driver not looking at me, the truck continued to roll up the street. 

It felt good to be ignored. A little bit. 

My tummy grumbled. I hadn't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon, skipping dinner because I'd planned to eat after the event. It wasn't wise to eat before an event, at least not for me. I'd throw up too easy from the nerves. It always made me nervous, people coming up to me, wanting to dance, wanting to drink with me. But usually Ambrose would be there with me, taking the worst of them, spinning the girls who came in and taking over when guys flirted with me. He was always so good at being social. That smile of his could charm a million people. But me. I wasn't good at any of it, it was all him.