The cool Boston breeze hits me. It hits the flame bursting from my neck and calms it. I can breathe again. I walk down the street. I haven’t been in this part of Boston since I moved. The architecture calms me more. Though this city never treated me well, it’s appearance resembles a hug from a maternal figure. Familiar and inviting.
I continue walking. As my feet move, I get deeper into the city. The fire hits my liver and I urn for a drink. My feet lead me to the closest bar. I know that being drunk isn’t the thing I need right now but something has to numb my brain because nothing else will.
Fucking alcoholic.
The voices know me better than I do. The entrance of the bar looks like it was sloppily thrown together. Assorted signs advertise different beers; each taste more like shit than the last. The door frame is barely hanging on by loose nails. This place is the epitome of a health code violation.
I open the door and the smell of whiskey assaults my nose. I march forward. This is not my first time at the rodeo.
I sit on a bar stool. The bartender walks towards me.
“What’ll you have?”
“Give me your strongest and cheapest.”
“Looking to get shitfaced?”
“Who knows.”
The bartender chuckles and places a shot glass on the counter. He pours a shot out of a suspicious white bottle.
“Enjoy.”
I grab the shot and immediately throw it back.
When it hits my stomach I hear someone call my name.
“Oh my god! Ana Henderson?”
My head turns towards the noise. The voice is coming off a preppy white girl who has too much money to be in a shit hole like this. I don’t recognize her at first but she walks closer to me and I gasp.
“Tabitha?”
“Yours truly!” she replies.
“Holy shit,” I gaup, “how are you?”
She chuckles and without answering puts out her left hand. A huge diamond ring is placed delicately on her ring finger. A spike of nostalgia with a twist of jealousy rushes through me.
“Um,” I search for syllables, “wow.”
“I know!” She squeals.
She sits on the stool next to me and looks at me intently. Her eyes look over my attire then beg me to answer her question.
“What about you? How’s life?”
I begin to tell her the same old ‘nothing much’ until she interrupts my train of thought.
“What about Kane? Did that work out?”
I choke. I don’t know if it is the after effect of the shot or simply that she of all people would ask if him and I worked out.
“That bad, huh,” she says with slight sadness in her voice.
I laugh. Not because she is funny but the fact that she is acting concerned.
“Um, yeah,” I say, clearing my throat, “it didn’t work out.”
“I’m sorry, Ana,” she says empathetically, “I really am.”
I laugh again. She reads it as comedic laughing. She is about as sharp as a marble.
“Yeah,” I sigh, “I guess it was for the better.”
These people have no idea what Kane has become. They knew him as the shy guy who was also a slight player but they will never understand how much of a sex maniac he has become. I will never reveal that I am running from him even if my broken conscience begs to tell someone.
“How long are you in town for?” She asks, with a huge grin on her face. She acts like I have not lived near the city.
“Oh, not long.” I chuckle.
“Well, you should stay with me for a day or two!” she says this way too enthusiastically. I have changed so much since high school that I don’t even see why I was friends with her.
But then I think about the fact that I only have two places to go tonight: my fathers or back to square one at my own house. Though it may annoy the hell out of me, Tabitha’s may be the better option until I plan my next move. Hopefully I will find a new place to call home soon.
“Alright, sure,” I say, “would tonight work?”
“Oh sure!” She says.
I turn to the bar.
“Another shot please.”
The bartender looks from her to me and chuckles. Then he pours another shot.
I grab it and throw it back as fast as possible. I hope this alcohol hits me hard and soon.
I turn back to Tabitha. She is looking at me with sheer disappointment. I think she is just now realizing how downhill my life went after high school.
“Do you want to go now?” She asks looking at my empty shot glass. Perhaps she thinks that by getting me out of the bar, I will stop drinking. She is sadly mistaken.
I look at the bartender. He smirks and turns around. He busies himself cleaning out glasses with a dirty rag. I throw down a few dollars on the bar and get up off of the bar stool.
“Yeah,” I say, “let’s go.”
She smiles and stands.
“I live over in Brookline.”
I try to not snicker. Her husband must own Tom Brady.
“So you have an apartment there?”
“Oh no, we have a nice house.”
I try to control my face but I can’t help it and I look at her with pure confusion. Houses in Brookline go for easily a couple million. Tabitha grew up in the city, in a two bedroom top-floor apartment in Jamaica Plain with her struggling single mother. She did not come from New Money.
“Where did that money come from?” I question.
“Oh, Mark is a professor at Harvard.” she states matter-of-factly.
I deeply sigh. This should be interesting. I guess this is what I get for not going to out college.
She starts to walk out of the bar. I follow on her heels. Some of the sick chuckle heads in here will assume that I am going to hook up with the rich woman from the Brooks. Maybe if we walk fast enough, their slow brains can't comprehend what they are seeing until we are out of the door.
Then it dawned on me. Why is Tabitha in the bar? Perhaps her happy-go-lucky relationship is not truly as fantastic as she makes it seem. A part of me is happy about this. It makes my failure at life not as gaunting. I let the thought go and follow Tabitha into a taxi.
CHAPTER SIX: THE RIPPLE
Tabitha’s house is one that people dream of one day owning. The outside is a modest tudor but as I walk into the main entrance, I am greeted by a huge room. A loft sits above the room. The walls of the loft are lined with built in bookshelves. A spiral staircase flows down and into the room. The walls of the room itself match those of the loft. Hundreds of books cover them.
In the center lays a simple living room set. A white couch is accompanied by two matching arm chairs. This is truly the dream house.
“Come meet my family,” Tabitha says, gesturing for me to follow her. The doorway leads into a warm tan hallway that perfectly spills into a cream kitchen. At the counter stands her husband, holding a small toddler in his arms.
He is showing her the different fruits that lay on the cold marble counter. Her soft giggles bring a smile to my face. Tabitha’s husband hears our footsteps hit the tile and he turns around.
“Hey, Honey,” he says to his wife. He walks up to her and kisses her cheek. The simplicity is so beautiful. This small action is so easily thrown under the rug by lovers.
“Hi, Mark,” she says, returning his kiss.
She puts her hands out and the giggling toddler outreaches for her mother. Tabitha takes her from Mark’s arms. She pulls her close to her body and smiles at the little girl. She looks in my direction and walks toward me.
“This is Margaret.” Tabitha radiates pride.
She looks at the child's face and her whole faces relaxes.
“Do you want to say hi to Aunty Ana?” Tabitha says to the baby.