A Martinez - Divine Misfortune

The alarm blared.

She didn’t want to get up. She just wanted to lie here and wither away. But that was the goddess, not her. Bonnie was a happy person. She tried to stay positive no matter what. It wasn’t always easy. Not after her mom died. Or when she broke her leg and lost her dance school scholarship. Or that time her dog was hit by a car. And there was that car accident when she thought she might’ve had whiplash. And that other time when-

Bonnie sat up and blocked the negative thoughts seeping into her mind.

“Sorry.” Syph stood. “Would you like some breakfast? I can go make some eggs, if you’d like.”

“That’d be nice,” replied Bonnie insincerely. She wasn’t hungry, but it’d get Syph out of her hair.

After the tattered goddess left the room, Bonnie felt a little better. She was able to drag herself out of bed and get dressed. She couldn’t make herself take a shower, but she did run a comb through her hair and find the energy to brush her teeth. It was important to keep going through the motions, despite the weight bearing down on her. Bonnie couldn’t give in to the hopelessness.

Syph had a plate of runny eggs, burned toast, and a bowl of cereal sitting on the table.

“Don’t eat the cereal,” she said. “The milk has soured.”

“I just bought that milk,” said Bonnie.

Syph shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Do me a favor, will you? If you’re not going to leave me alone could you at least stop all the apologizing?”

It might’ve been a trick of the light, but Bonnie thought Syph almost smiled.

“Your eggs are getting cold.”

Though the scent of cooking was still fresh in the air, the eggs were ice-cold. Bonnie could tell just by looking because ice was forming on the plate. She didn’t eat them, didn’t even touch them. Accepting a gift from a goddess of heartbreak would only compound her problems.

“Thanks,” said Bonnie, “but I’m running late. I’ll grab something on the way.”

“No, you’re not,” replied Syph, “but thank you for bothering to make an excuse.”

Bonnie took the bus to work. Syph didn’t follow her out of the apartment, but the goddess still managed to beat Bonnie to the bus. Syph even saved her a seat.

A burly man with a permanent scowl occupied the seat behind her. His radio blasted out hard-core speed metal, where the guitarist played so fast the notes bled together and the vocalist roared. Thirty seconds after she boarded the bus the radio started playing twangy country songs about broken hearts and shattered lovers. He fiddled with the knobs to try to tune in another station and even changed the CD with no effect. Eventually he gave up and turned it off.

Syph didn’t get off the bus with Bonnie, but when she reached the bookstore, the goddess was already there, perusing the magazine section. Bonnie decided she would do her best to ignore Syph. Maybe if she was offered no acknowledgment Syph might push off and bother someone else.

Bonnie went to the break room and clocked in. Ms. Carter, the assistant manager, pulled her aside.

“I trust you are feeling better today, Bonnie.”

There was an accusation there. Carter was a stickler. Bonnie had been working at Books N’ More for four years now, and she’d missed only one other day. It had just happened to be Carter’s first day as assistant manager. Now Bonnie was branded as a slacker. Her nose piercing probably didn’t help, and she was pretty sure that her short hair qualified her as a potential lesbian in Carter’s estimation.

“Much better,” Bonnie replied.

It was a bit of a lie. She wasn’t herself, but she was adjusting. The goddess had been right. Yesterday had been rough. Last night, even rougher. This morning wasn’t so bad. She still felt the weight on her chest, the desire to surrender herself to oblivion. But that wasn’t her. That was the goddess’s influence. Knowing that helped her to work around it.

Carter frowned, but she was always frowning. “Good, Bonnie. I hope we can trust you to be a reliable member of the Books N’ More family.”

“Yes, Ms. Carter.”

Her boss walked away in her standard kick-step mode of walking.

Bonnie discovered it wasn’t so easy to ignore Syph. The tattered goddess didn’t speak to Bonnie, didn’t follow her around. She merely lurked in the store, walking down the aisles, having a latte at the in-store café, browsing the magazine rack, and otherwise killing time like any other customer. But there were problems.

A customer threw a stack of bridal magazines on the counter while Bonnie was working the register.

“I need to return these,” the woman said.

“I’m sorry, we don’t take returns on magazines,” Bonnie replied. “It’s store policy.”

“But they’re defective.” The customer opened the top magazine and pointed to a random page. “Look!”

At first glance, the photo seemed fine. A closer inspection revealed the anomaly. The beautiful bride wasn’t quite so beautiful. She had the perfect dress, the perfect hair, the perfect bouquet. But she was snarling, and the mascara around her watery eyes was smudged.

Bonnie flipped through the pages. It only got worse. Article headlines reading “How to Poison That Cheating Bastard” and “Top 10 Reasons You’ll End Up Dying Alone” filled the magazine. Perfect photo brides frowned, then in later pictures became slouching withered figures in frayed, stained dresses. The very worst was a two-page spread of a wedding where the groom had decided to forgo his bride-to-be in favor of the maid of honor. Bonnie could understand that, but she did think it was a bit much for the happy couple to consummate their love in the middle of the aisle while the guests looked on.

Modern Homes magazine was full of photos of burning and crumbling houses. All the plants in the gardening magazines were dead. Bonnie wisely chose not to open the Kitten Fancier magazine.

“I want my money back,” said the customer. “I don’t care what your policy is.”

“Yes, I see what you mean,” said Bonnie. “Just give me a moment.”

“Hey, Bonnie,” said Vince, “have you seen Carter?”

“I think she’s in her office.”

“Not there. I checked.” He leaned over the counter and rifled through the drawer beside her. “Have you at least seen the key that unlocks the store radio station? I’m getting sick of listening to ’Copacabana’ over and over again.”

Barry Manilow’s crooning tragic tale was stuck on permanent replay. Although it seemed that every ten minutes or so Lola’s end was a bit more tragic. Bonnie didn’t think that in the original version an earthquake opened up, swallowing the heartbroken showgirl, the Copacabana, and a troop of orphaned Boy Scouts who just happened to be in the nightclub asking for directions to a charity campout jamboree.

“Somebody at that radio station is going to lose their job,” said Vince.

She feigned ignorance.

After refunding the customer’s money and throwing the magazines away to dispose of the evidence, Bonnie sought out Syph, sitting at the café.

Bonnie spoke through clenched teeth. “What are you doing?”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but you asked me not to do that anymore.”

The café clerk placed a cup of coffee before the goddess. “Here you go, ma’am. I’m afraid that all our dairy products have spoiled, so it’s free.”

“Why, thank you. I prefer it black actually. Black like the endless night that inevitably engulfs and devours all mortal souls.”

Bonnie glanced around before leaning closer. “You can’t do this,” she whispered. “I work here.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“Go away. Go home. If you can’t leave me alone then at least go back to my apartment and wait for me there.”