Tuesdays with Taya - First Day

 Location ; FINCH CITY,  CLIENT APARTMENT

Why did it have to be her? Of all the people in Finch city, in my district, in my county, of all of the chances to draw upon, I got… her?

Allow me to explain.

It started when I was seventeen. Rather, the one and only encounter I’ve had in my life was at that age. High school was never the extravagant set of years that many holds onto and often reflect back on. Now, that’s not to say fun memories didn’t exist; that’s not it at all. Rather than glorify or bash my time there negatively, I choose to just say they happened. Much like the memory that has confused me throughout my years.

 Picture this; a group of friends and I often dared each other to do reckless things, whether it would harm us or just make another passerby uncomfortable. Sometimes, it was both. Now, I’ll be the first to admit we were idiots, not funny enough to be the class clowns but not reckless enough to be the rebels of our generation. We were simply carefree. And with the dares came carefree pranks.

   The dare itself was simple; Run into the girl’s locker room during gym class. Repeating that, it’s quite stupid, I know. Not funny, I know. Creepy and perverted, I know. The plan was not to go while people were in, just run in while it was empty and come out with the knowledge that you trespassed on a sacred ground, an uncrossed boundary to many, not that many would care to do so anyway.

  But here was I, dumb and shaking with anticipation, my short body leaping with energy. With fire in my soles, I ran in at full speed, making it several feet inside. Empty, as I was told it would be. Seemingly, I’d soon discover as four hands leap from a blind spot. I was carried, my tiny body shoved into a surprisingly roomy locker as I was suspended from a locker hook, the door shut before me.  I struggled immediately, feeling the fabric of my shirt torn by the hook. I didn’t care if I’d walk around with a ruined shirt, anything would be better than being here. At best, my reputation in school would be ruined if I was found. At worst, I’d be expelled, and everyone would know of this, including my parents. So, I fought as hard as I could, making little progress through the intricately woven material, now using my legs to push myself to the top of the locker with the hopes of slipping from it.

  It was then that the door to the locker room opened again, two voices entering the room, laughing loudly, one shrill and one unable to speak without several swears peppering her sentences. Gina and Amarylis. Two of the Terrible Three, the girls that were unofficially exalted above the school’s social ladder. Few crossed them, the teachers included. In retrospect, teachers probably didn’t want to waste energy dealing with them, continuing the lesson they’d been teaching as one of the Terrible Three would simply stand up, decide that she had enough for the day, and walk out of the room in search of entertainment. It was basically a death wish to confront them as a student. Lucky students attended school the next day with bruises and money to be extorted. The unlucky ones were out for several weeks, refusing to speak about what happened in fear of getting worse if the Three were caught.

So, I chose to wait, going limp as I covered my mouth with my hands. I’d be okay only getting in trouble for missing my classes if it meant not getting caught. That would be heaven compared to what could be. At this moment, the two were talking excitedly about skipping the last period and going to the arcade, rambling on about the attractive guys and girls they’d meet. One tossed the idea of leaving at the specific moment and just ditching the day altogether, explaining that they’d been there for half the day already and that they could just chock it up to leaving because they didn’t feel well.

Yes! Please, go away from here! No need to stall!

These were the thoughts running through my mind all the while as they agreed on that being their set plan for the day and began audibly rising to their feet.

“You get what you came for?” One asked another.

And then, the locker door ahead, flew open.

And there she was.

Holding the door, the last of the Terrible Three towered me.

The Leader of the Bunch.

Taya.

To say I was terrified was an understatement, my heart sinking into my stomach and palms growing increasing sweaty. She’d been absent for days and weeks at time this year. Of all the days, places, and times to appear, why would she have to appear now? Damning my luck, I clenched my teeth and looked into her brown eyes.

Silently, they glared.

Analyzing.

Deconstructing.

Examining.

My body reacted instinctively, my eyes growing wet. I… felt the need to cry. I have no idea why. I’ve never been against crying, never kept myself from expressing my emotions. But this was confusing because I’d never done this before. I felt nothing but fear in this moment but never have tears been the reaction of choice.

Taya must’ve noticed this as she carefully reached below me and grabbed a pair of beaten sneakers. Just as the first hiccup was to escape my lips, she tossed her hand against the side of the locker, creating a loud noise, her eyes still glaring into my own. I went still then, nearly forgetting to breathe.

“You okay?” Amarylis asked.

“Yeah, hand just slipped a bit.” Taya responded, eyes still on my person. She then pulled the shoes away and quickly pulled a knife from her pocket. With ease, she chopped through most of the fabric that kept me suspended. With a slight tug, I’d be freed. Leaning forward, she lowered her voice. “In thirty seconds, go”

With that, she pushed the door to be slightly ajar and gathered her friends, exiting the locker room. I wasn’t sure why she’d said so at the time but with that kindness, I failed to find a reason to question it. So, I counted, taking the pause to say Mississippi before the next number, before flying from the hook and leaving the locker room, thankfully finding the halls empty.

  I can’t recall what followed next in that day, whether I was any kind of punishment or not. It honestly went by as a blur but I’d always been thankful to the strange actions Taya displayed that day, though we’d never spoken before or after. To this day, I wondered why I was the exception to her wrath, the wrath the Three shared for a majority of others.

  However, as I look over my case files once again with a hope that I’d simply misread the name, this not how I envisioned meeting with Taya once again to find that answer. Seven years later, seven years from that day, here I stand, a college graduate who’d broken ties with the aimless friends of before, trading in my graphic tees for button-ups and ties. Instead of running the streets in search of fun, I applied to work for a behavioral rehabilitation program, Hands That Bridge, a program that offers help individuals who’ve been shoved away to find help becoming a part of society again. Usually, this program involves us working with former inmates, assisting them with reintegrating into daily life, society, and assisting with any episodes of PTSD and habits they’ve learned that may not be allowed in the modern social setting.

  Now, I’ve been on jobs with several of the more experienced therapists as they worked with their clients, having only been near a handful of incidents. Through them, I felt the need for us, the need for our calm and commanding presence, and our use in assisting valuable citizens return to our daily fold. It was magnificent. I felt that I had a purpose, even when I’d misplace the various documents and nearly failed to turn in various assignments.

  But I would not fail this time. Today was be the beginning of my first solo assignment and, though it would be no former inmate, I’m so sure it wouldn’t be easy. Running a hand over my cornrow hair this morning, I vowed to keep my weekly reports in tip-top shape and connect with my client on a far greater level than any before and after me. I needed to prove myself and, more importantly, I needed to keep this job.

  This was the confidence that I’m currently now struggling to maintain as I feel the sweat pool under my sweat, the September sun feeling as though it could contest with June’s high noon, my brain smoldering under the fire and fear, all while standing before the door of this apartment complex, the very door that belonged to Taya. The briefcase in my hand felt like ever increasing weights. I’m not sure what I expected here, now that I observe it, that it might’ve been something akin to a movie’s biker club hideout or a large palace. It was quite plain, chipped white paint all over, the only splashes of color being a small turtle statue near the door and the dented name plate above the mail slot that read ‘Figueroa”.

Without further ado, I lifted my sweaty hand and knocked on the door, my breathing uneven, and without a second to further recollect myself, the door swung open.

There she stood, still a significant height above mine, skin as clear and radiant as ever. Her hair was pulled into a gentle bun, coils shining under a coat of gel. On her person, she wore a cropped long sleeve red shirt, bright blue jean shorts that cut at the middle of her thigh, and white socks. Across her neck was a thin silver chain and her fingers were clad with thick rings. She was still and intimidating figure, I realized, as she yawned, her lifted arms puller her shirt to reveal detailed abdominal muscles and the sun peering through the doorway shining off of the hardened cut of muscle along her legs.

“Yo.” Taya greeted plainly, wiping a tear from her left eye. “You from HTB?

“Hands That Bridge, yes.” I correct her. Her brown eyes narrow and roll. Something in me flexes with a tinge of annoyance, can’t quite stand being shrugged off due to correctness. She’d have to get used to it, I think to myself, and if she reacts like that with other things, it might need to be addressed. Pushing this off, I take a deep breath and continue. “My name is Alexis, Alexis Mallory. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Palmer.”

“Taya’s just fine, Mallory.” Her eyebrows raised as she said my last name, smirking. “Come on in, there’s no use of waiting outside.”

Smirking is good. She may not be taking me seriously as a professional just yet, but we can work up to there. A smirk is better than immediate disapproval, a door slammed on my face and me walking with my tail between my legs. But this would not be the case, I think to myself, taking a deep breath as we head inside.

One step.

Two steps.

Click!

 I hadn’t heard it in that moment initially, hadn’t even though to check my surrounding. I only acknowledge the sound because before me, Taya’s head snapped a full half circle, pointing to the ground, where I’ve taken one step from the cluttered doormat and onto the hardwood floor of the narrow hallway.

“Shoes.” She ordered calmly, a slight frost in her voice. She’s irritated, I realize, trying to mask it. In my mind, I can hear the grating of a cracked piece of chalk against a board.

STRIKE I!  

Regardless, I remove my dark dress shoes and walk with her, admiring the bright colored walls, the framed pictures of people I’d assume were family, and a pot of cornflowers under a heat lamp. How strange, I think to myself. The flower itself isn’t odd but why that flower of choice? Moreover, Taya owns flowers? I think what currently shocks me more is that they aren’t coming from the skull of a recent victim. Maybe I’m painting her too much like a monster. She wouldn’t kill…

I hope she wouldn’t kill.

My surprise doesn’t end there as Taya opens a door at the end of the hall, directly to the right, flooding my nostrils with a sweet-smelling aroma, the door leading directly into a living room.

And what a living room it is. Under our feet and stretching throughout the room was a bright orange carpet, fuzzy and relatively soft. Before us was a brown couch, looking quite soft as it matched the coffee table before it, the table holding smaller framed photos and a white spread that hung near the floor. Across the room, hanging from the ceiling, and located in its corners were more lush green plants, growing high, wide, and letting their leaves overflow. Hanging beside the entrance, directly to my right was a steel, rusted watering can. Seems that Taya might’ve made this apart of her daily routine before she’d leave for the day. The overall atmosphere and design is giving me the idea of an older individual, one who who’s still reclaiming the feeling and aesthetic of the seventies.

“Somethin’ to drink?” Palmer asks me, back facing me.

“Water, please.”

“Mhm.” Taya grunts as she walks away, fleeing to the visible kitchen, its bright green walks visible only through the small area from where I stand.

Rather than stand by the entrance like a vampire unsure of if I’d been truly invited in or not, I gingerly walk over to the couch and take a seat, conscious of where how I positioned myself as I let my eyes wander around the room.

Then it catches my eye. Across from me, behind one of the potted plants, a jagged brown piece of wood is partially in view. A corner, I’d be better of saying, as I squint and notice that it’s the corner of a picture frame. As I stare longer, I notice that there’re sparkling pieces of cracked glass scattered around. Hm.

A toss to the wall from where I’m sitting makes sense, given how the picture might’ve slid down and the poor job of cleaning up would tell me that there’s negative feelings to that area. Perhaps whatever the picture involved did it. Out of a curiosity greater than myself, I stand and quietly walk over, careful not to touch any of the glass. Crouching, I reach out, slowly as to not disturb the foliage in my way.

Closer… closer… clos –

“Finger through everyone’s stuff often?”

I feel the sweat forming on my brow as I quickly straighten up and turn to face Taya, standing in the kitchen doorway with a smoldering glare, her glasses of water tightly clasped between her fingers.

STRIKE II!

“I - I’m sorry, I- ” I begin, stammering. I know I deserve all of her offense for almost prowling but I’ve still got to say something.

“You’re fine.” She cuts off my words, walking over to the coffee table and placing the glasses. “I’ll handle that mess, not something you need to worry about.”

“Sure, sure.” I nod as I return to the side opposite to her and take my place on the couch, opening my briefcase, pulling out a notepad for daily logs. “So, how’re you doing today?”

“Fine.” She answers simply, laying on her side.

“Anything you’ve been up to recently?”

“Nothing much.”

“Hm. Well, is there anything you want to do today?”

“Eh. Just taking it easy.”

Silence. Good God, this is like pulling teeth. I could ask about picture frame, see if that grabs anything but she made it very clear that she’s no interested in discussing any aspect of that.

  “I hope you can view me as more of a companion than a professional.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “You suck at this, don’t you?”

“Huh?” I react instinctively, my tone dropping lower.

“You suck at this. I can already tell. If you have faith in your work, you don’t need to force the idea of becoming friends with me. It’s like a mediocre salesman saying that he’d wish you consider him reputable before he even proves himself. Let your work and actions speak for you.”

My teeth grind together as I force a smile. Maybe she was right but what would she know? I haven’t even begun to really work. “Fair enough.”

Before I could utter another sentence, a loud vibration sounded, Taya’s eyes going wide. Instantly, she rises and starts to exit the room, headed toward the kitchen.

“Hey, where’re you going?” I ask out quickly.

“Gotta do something, hold on.” She replied, not even facing me.

“But we’ve hardly even begun. Can whatever it is what?”

That seemed to be the final straw as the atmosphere changed, growing colder as my client turns slowly as what I said seemed to baffle her. Eyes wide and eyebrows arched in anger, she stood silently. Her face then stretched into a smile, a small smile that just barely revealed the dimples on either side of her cheek, a smile that did nothing to warm the room frozen by her eyes.

“We’re all done here. Thanks.” Taya voices calmly, refusing to break eye contact.

“B-But?”

“Oh, and as you let yourself out, please do tell your organization to send someone who’s competent next time.”

STRIKE III!   

To not push my luck and feeling the icy barrier form between up, I gather my things quickly and exit as instructed, closing the door gently behind me. Squinting to the sky, it dawns on me that this entire interaction existed in the time frame of less than ten minutes and with a dry swallow, I realize that I hadn’t even taken a sip of that water.

 

 

I hope I’m not fired over this.