The dark silky tendrils of sleep slipped from my eyes even as I desperately tried to hold on to it by squeezing my eyes closed. Two years had gone by and even though I was no longer at the shelter my body refused to sleep past 5 a.m. After only three hours of sleep, I was wide awake and my exhausted mind was screaming in defiance.
I spent a few more minutes with my eyes shut before sighing in defeat, rolling to the left, and slowly peeling them open to stare out my window. A blanket of darkness greeted me seconds before a flash of lightning lit up the sky. Then, the heavens opened up and poured out its sadness.
I love living in Texas but when I moved here, I only thought about the warm weather and summer glow of the sun-kissed skin I had seen on others. I never paused to consider the other seasons or even the possibility that it could get cold. These days, the weather was a mixture of rainy days and cold nights. The daily 75-degree weather I had chased seemed to have fled upon my arrival.
I spent another few minutes watching the rain, as it tried to get in, attacking the windows in a fierce dance of desperation. It was soothing and I hoped it would lull my mind back to sleep but no such luck. Sighing once more in discontent, I rolled to the right, faced my bedside table, and reached for the TV remote.
If the rain wasn't going to lull me back to sleep maybe some music would. Without looking, I clicked on the TV and keyed in my favorite music channel. The soft keys of Maren Morris' "I Could Use A Love Song" flowed through the room until it wrapped itself around my heart and soul; a well needed balm. Before I realized it, I drifted into a memory I had buried a long time ago.
Bright lights flooded the hospital auditorium. It was 4:50a.m. on the dot. The shelter had a strict routine. "Good morning ladies. Time to wake up!"
Forty-five women, sleeping on cots lined up in rows of nine, groaned and stretched as they started getting ready for the day ahead. Some had been doing this for more than ten years but for others, like me, it was a new experience. Three months to be exact and I hated it with every fiber of my being. I got up slowly, rolling my shoulder cuffs as I tried to warm myself up. My body had adapted to rising early; it was the freezing cold that was pushing me to the edge.
The colder it was outside, the fuller the shelter got and the surplus bodies had to be shuffled offsite. Luckily, the hospital around the corner was gracious enough to let us have its auditorium. However, as a part of their disinfecting process, every morning at about 3a.m. the temperature was dropped to about 30 degrees, regardless of how cold it was outside.
Every morning my anemic body struggled as it tried its best to warm up. I spent the first few weeks in a state of miserable desperation and empty desolation with half-frozen tears rolling down my cheeks, daily. With no one to turn to for help, I descended into a void of nothingness with no desire to do anything and a burning desire to cease to exist.
Like someone waking from a nightmare best forgotten, I blinked a few times using my eyelashes like a mini katana to slash through the painful memories. Flipping on my bedside table lamp, I drew deep steady breaths until the last of the memories dissipated.
There was a distinctively stark difference between three years ago and now and my apartment was a testament to that. It was a perk for achieving my dream job. A job that I excelled at as one of the most sought-after comic book illustrators in the publishing world. The thin, scared, little girl left to fend for herself at 17 years old who had ended up living in a shelter, was now, at 24 years old, head of an entire department.
Until I got this job, my life had been a revolving door of regret, pain, and disappointment but, the years following had been the complete opposite. This year alone had transcended my wildest imagination. I had accomplished so much, and the best was yet to come! Just a few days ago, Daniel Clarke, a 6'2" Jamaican who was as gruff as he was kind, heard that my favorite author was shopping around for a new illustrator and sent her to me. Favoritism was a huge no-no at our agency and as the President, he knew better.
When I brought up my concerns about how it would look to my colleagues, he just laughed and said that it wasn't his fault I was so good at my job and reliable to boot. I couldn't help but laugh with him. The truth was that I really wanted this author as a client, so I didn't complain too much. Ms. Jamerson, a New York Times bestselling author for the past four years, was my idol. I was ecstatic to work with her and after our meeting next month, I am sure that I will be the only illustrator handling her new series of children's books.
Releasing a gust of air, in resignation, I sat up and scooted until I was at the edge of the bed. I might as well get up and ready myself for the day since sleep had gone into hiding, flipping me the bird in the process. With all the manuscripts I had waiting on my desk, I had no time to chase after the fickle creature.
Hopping down off the bed, I groaned a bit at the jarring in my bones. When I originally bought my bed, I thought it would be cool to have it 10 inches off the ground so I would have to do a running jump to get on. It seemed fun at the time and, in truth, I still enjoyed it but getting down was a damn pain in the ass.
The gym was my first stop. I needed the flood of endorphins like a caffeine addict needs coffee. Luckily, there was a gym in the building only a floor below my apartment. It was fantastic! It had everything a lazy person like me wanted such as bikes and yoga mats for those days when I didn't want to exert too much energy. Thankfully, I only needed forty-five minutes for any lingering wisps of sleep to slither away.
Now that I was wide awake, the next thing on my mind was food! With a grin, I made my way back to my apartment. Chances are, something delicious would be waiting for me. I stepped off the elevator to the smell of cinnamon. It perfumed the hall getting stronger the closer I got to my door. I knew right away that my home had been taken over by my crazy best friend who also happened to be my personal chef.
Sarah Campbell came blazing into my life about eight months after I started going to the shelter. I had become a living zombie by the time we met; merely going through the motions of being human. Eating, drinking, sleeping, and performing basic hygiene. The only other thing I forced myself to do wholeheartedly was to attend college classes and only because I had promised my grandma.
After a while, not even that promise was enough to give me strength., I saw nothing, cared about nothing, and felt nothing. At first, I barely acknowledged Sarah with occasional grunts whenever she spoke to me. Later, I found out that my lack of response was why she made a point of saying something every time she saw me. It took months of coaxing on her part but soon we were inseparable. She had reminded me that being at rock bottom was not the worse that could happen to me. Better yet, I should take it as an opportunity to come back swinging.
Before I knew it two and half years had sped by with us supporting each other every step of the way. It worked until the day I got a job offer. Amici Degli Scrittori, one of the top ten publishing houses in the world, had decided that they wanted me. At first, I was thrilled! I had double stacked my classes and worked hard to graduate early just for this one chance. When it became clear that I would have to leave behind the person who had played a huge role in making it all possible, I balked. I couldn't see past leaving Sarah and had come dangerously close to turning them down but, I knew she would never forgive me. Worse, I would be throwing away my grandmother's vision for my life.
I spent five agonizing days vacillating between happiness and sadness before finally accepting the position. I remember walking out of their Boston office, tears of joy and despair streaming down my face. Amici Degli Scrittori (ADS) was giving me a new life: a home, a job, and a company car, if I wanted it but…I was giving up Sarah; the only family I had! With my heart shriveled up in my chest, I went to the shelter that night and silently bawled into my pillow; merely two inches away from the person I was about to lose forever.
The next morning, consumed by the guilt, I overcompensated by laughing at everything she said and did. Naturally, she wasn't fooled for a second. Five minutes into breakfast, she demanded to know what was going on and why I had been crying the night before.
Surprised that she had overheard me, I began to cry again as I muddled through the good news. Sarah, being the happy ball of sunshine she was, laughed and congratulated me even going so far as to hitting me over the head for hiding such excellent news from her. I'm sure she knew what this opportunity meant but her smiles and the glee beaming from her eyes were genuine.
I lasted all of two days at my new job and house before I broke and decided I wasn't going to do it without her. On that second night, I pulled into the shelter's parking lot in my company issued 2016 Hyundai Genesis and waited until I saw the familiar queue of ladies lined up to go to the hospital.
Maneuvering up to the sidewalk I flung open the door, stuck my head out and called to her. "Hey, how much for the night?" With a shriek of excitement, she ran over to the car and hopped in. "Did you really think I would leave you?" Sarah let out her signature, contagious, laugh, shook her head, and told me to gun it. I did! My life was evolving and it terrified me but, with family by my side, I had no doubt I would conqueror it.
Within a month of living together, it quickly became apparent that Sarah was a talented cook. She would spend her days making me the most succulent lunches and dinners. I constantly told her cooking as good as hers belonged in a restaurant. She always waved me off telling me it was how she relaxed. She had a talent and I hated that she was wasting it on me.
Later that year, I got a promotion and a transfer to the home office in Texas. It was then that I devised a plan, the slick mastermind that I was, that would inspire her to make a career out of her talent.
I called in a few favors and had the company that was catering my promotion party outsource the dessert platter to Sarah. The hardest part was convincing her to take the job. It took some time but the day before my party I came up with an awesome ruse. I told her that the dessert vendor that the caterer always used had gotten sick at the last minute and they couldn't find a replacement. It wasn't easy but after a lot of crying and desperate pleading for help she gave in and made her special cupcakes: red velvet chocolate with strawberry filling, vanilla with lemon méringue, and carrot with a decadent white chocolate that made even the coldest heart melt.
Sarah's desserts were a hit, like I knew they would be! Before we left the party that night, she had orders from almost everyone in attendance. They wanted to sample more of her desserts and her cooking too. I was like a proud mama bear that night laughing and needling her about ever doubting herself.
On the drive home, she nearly drove me crazy. She was a giggling goo of euphoria that left her useless and unable to follow the GPS directions. Fed up, I pinched her arm and at her shocked expression I dissolved into a giggling fit myself. We got lost twice but we laughed the whole way home. That night was one of the few happy memories of my life in Boston.
I was happy for Sarah and was resigned to the fact that our friendship would have to stretch over 1,800 miles but she surprised me a few weeks later when she packed up her new business and moved with me to Texas. She had laughed at my shocked expression when she had come tearing into my room one night demanding to know why I hadn't booked her a ticket yet.
Through stammering incredulity, I tried to explain that I thought she would have wanted to stay since her business was just starting to grow. She scolded me with scathing derision and explained in no uncertain terms that we were joined at the hip and moving away from each other was not an option.
Now, two years later, we lived in the same building separated only by a few floors. Not that it mattered because we often slept in the same apartment, typically on the couch or the floor. One of us would end up at the other's place after a rough day, because we couldn't sleep, or for no reason at all. She was the type of best friend people dreamed of and she was all mine.
"Hey sexy!" I yelled after bracing my body on the front door to force it open. I swear getting this door fixed was a monthly ritual. Making a mental note to call maintenance later today, I shoved it closed and made my way to the delicious scent that had awakened the bottomless pit that was my stomach.
Sarah's fiery red hair was all I saw before I got enveloped in a hug. At 5'10" she easily dwarfed my 5'5" stature and never let me forget it. Before I could give her a proper hug she danced away and started stirring one of the many pots that littered the stovetop.
"Babe you've got to get that door fixed, again. I almost hurt my shoulder trying to open it." she yelled over her shoulder as she leaned down to sample what looked like a stew.
I nodded in response as I took a moment to observe the woman who had been a mother, a sister, and a friend when I had no one else. She was every man's wet dream. Tall to my short, skinny to my curvy but with just enough curves to offset her boniness. Her mocha skin was a few shades lighter than mine. Her eyes were a melted chocolate color that sparkled and captivated, unlike mine that was a dull brown. Her usually raven colored hair sported streaks of red and orange highlights which I was sure would be different colors in a few days.
Sarah loved color and it was evident in the bright red and white polka dot shirt and orange skirt she was wearing today. It used to irk me that she would dress so out there with mismatched colors. When I asked her why, she told me that color was the spice of life and life was short so we should embrace every day like it was the last. So, she wore whatever she felt and colored her hair whenever the urge hit.
"What brings you to my home before the crack of dawn?" I inquired as I stepped out of my sneakers.
"Please chica! You and I both know that you were wide awake at 5a.m. Plus, I figured since I haven't seen you in a couple days, I'd come visit. Besides, I had an inkling you were almost out of food and it was time for me to do my chef duties."
I chuckled at her blatant lies. My new stove was installed yesterday. A professional style gas range with lots of bells and whistles. This visit was solely because she had been dying to try it out. "In that case let me know when you're done with your 'chef duties.' I am going to get ready for work." With one last look at the dancing chef, I went about my morning routine.