Edward Lazellari - Awakenings

While crossing the street, the old whore was hit by a garbage truck. Her body landed in the middle of the intersection. Traffic stopped. A crimson army marched outward from her broken body.

“My God!” Joe screamed. He grabbed a blanket off the couch and ran from the apartment.

The whore had solicited Seth on his stoop once. Her teeth were rotted, her eyes bloodshot, and she smelled like piss. Seth wondered if she was better off dead.

A man in a long leather coat and Dalmatian-print Stetson elected himself to be in charge. Joe handed him the blanket. Seth chuckled. Joe, a transplanted Californian, was the only one in the crowd who came out of his home to help. He never got over his small-town habits.

The doorbell rang.

Seth was surprised to find the redhead with the map waiting on his doorstep. She was taller than he was, filling the door frame. A tan suede coat ran down the length of her body. A leather satchel hung over one shoulder. Her hair was long and unnaturally bright against her swarthy complexion. Random blond streaks gave the impression that her head was aflame. Her eyes, set far apart, were the color of moss under a full moon.

She held up an index card, and in what sounded somewhat like an Eastern European accent, stated, “You are Seth Raincrest.”

“Yeah…” Seth took a drag on his cigarette. “You’re answering the ad?” he asked, licking his lips.

“No.”

“Too bad.” Seth exhaled smoke slowly while he studied this Amazon beauty. “Look-I’m not interested in joining any cults, even if you’re a member.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not buying.”

“I’m not selling.”

“Do I know you?”

“We have met before. Are you going to invite me in?”

Seth was suspicious. Relatives of the girls he photographed sometimes blamed him for their disgrace and tried to hold him accountable, especially when a model OD’d on drugs. The dope was inevitable when you did that kind of work, but it aged them to where they weren’t even useful for sets. Finding new girls was easier than trying to save one. He merely chronicled one stage of their downfall. He wasn’t their friend and certainly wasn’t their analyst. Seth was concerned he’d someday be the target of a family’s vigilante wrath.

“Sorry, but I’d remember you if we met.”

She peered at him. “My name is Lelani. We met long ago. A place called Aandor.”

“And-or? That’s in Canada, right?” Seth took another drag.

“It’s complicated. Are you going to invite me in?”

“What’s complicated?” he asked.

“Really… have you no sense of etiquette?”

There was a glimmer of condescension in the way she spoke to him. She had an air about her. An image of Lelani, naked with her head between some girl’s thighs, entered Seth’s thoughts. How’s that for etiquette, he thought. Sensitive due to his vocation, any buzz or whisper often gave Seth the impression he was being talked about. He dealt with perceived slights by imagining the offender in a compromising situation. This time it didn’t work. Lelani came off so confident, so superior, that the thought of her nude only made him more insecure.

“I flunked finishing school,” he said. “And, you’re weirding me out. I wouldn’t invite you in if you offered to jump my bones.”

“That will not happen.”

“Then I’m real busy. B’bye…”

Lelani braced the closing door with her foot. “You were put into foster care when you were thirteen. You have no recollection of your life prior to that year.”

Seth felt a tug of curiosity, but suspected this was a scam. “I already know that, honey. My parents got turned into crispy critters in a fire. There’s nothing mysterious about amnesia induced by trauma.”

“Yes, but you don’t remember anyone from before that time.”

Seth’s oldest memory was of sitting on the curb outside his burnt home, breathing with help from an oxygen tank. A medic placed a blanket around his shoulders and told him lies about how everything would be all right.

Seth’s instincts were telling him she was trouble, but he couldn’t figure out her angle and curiosity got the best of him. There was also the chance that he might convince her to pose. He released the door. “You knew me before the fire?”

“Give me a chance,” she implored. “I assure you, my intentions are not malevolent.”

Thirteen years ago his case had stumped everyone from police to social services. No one, not relatives, friends, neighbors, or teachers, came forward to claim him. Social services concluded that his family had just moved to New York. The fire destroyed all evidence of his origins. They could not trace his next of kin. He was placed into foster care until someone claimed him.

On the eve of his eighteenth birthday, Seth had prayed that someone would come for him before midnight. It was the last time he ever made a plea to a higher power. The next day he was discharged from the foster home. His disappointment festered until he wanted nothing to do with the people who abandoned him. Now, someone was laying claim to a part of his past he had put to rest.

“Are we related?” Seth asked.

“Definitely not.”

He was pleased to hear the news.

“A cup of tea would be appreciated,” Lelani prompted. “It is freezing outside.”

“This is New York. You might be psychotic for all I know.”

“You would be dead by now,” she said, calm.

Seth wasn’t sure if she was joking.

Joe returned from the street, shivering.

“Poor lady-the paramedics said she isn’t going to make it,” Joe said. “That guy in the Stetson took it really hard. I think he knew her.”

“The only thing that guy’s upset about is his lost income, you yokel. He’s her pimp. Are you even living in the real world?”

“What’s the real world, Seth? One where you never lift a finger to help someone else? You barely help yourself. You’re the most negative… Who’s she?” Joe asked, pointing to the girl.

“Joe, meet Lelani. We met in Canada a long time ago.”

“It was not Canada…”

“Look Seth, we need to finish our talk-” Joe said.

“Sorry, dude. We were just heading out for some tea.”

“Tea? You can’t just-”

“Lelani came a long way just to see me, and I won’t be rude. We’ll talk later.”

“But…”

Seth grabbed his coat and led Lelani down the stairs.

Fresh snow rushed from the sky to join its graying counterpart on the streets of Alphabet City. People huddled in their overcoats, trying to keep nature’s cold bite from their collars. Seth tried to lose the girl, but she kept pace with him.

“Is it far?” Lelani asked.

“Is what far?”

“The cafe.”

“Cafe?”

“The tea?”

“We’re not going for tea. I just said that to get Joe off my ass. I’m picking up some… uh, supplies.”

They arrived at a tenement on Avenue C. Two young girls were building a snow wall around the stoop.

“Hey, Mr. Picture Man,” one of them said. She raised her hand for a high-five slap.

“Hey, Ms. Sassafras, what’s happening?” Seth obliged.

“When you gonna take my picture and make me famous?”

“Caitlin, you don’t want to be famous. You want to read books and work in an office. And don’t tell anyone you have money or they’ll all come a-borrowing.”

“I already got a moms, Mr. Picture Man. What I need you for if you ain’t gonna make me a star?”

“Just keeping you honest. Building a fort, huh?”

“Them stupid boys from the projects come ’round and throw snowballs at us. We just minding our own business.”

“Why are you even out here in the cold?” Seth asked.