Prompt:
A person wakes up, not quite remembering what happened the night before, and is surprised and upset by what they see outside the window.
(The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams)
Out the Window
Sheila swims up from dreams of fire to the burn of unwelcome
sunlight on her lids. She rolls away from the window, the motion rolling
through her long after her body has stopped. Slowly her lids drift up, and she
meets the day.
“Coffee. Coffee,” Sheila chants as she works her way to her
feet, willing the walls to stop wavering. Grounds scatter the counter and floor
before the precious liquid makes it to her mug. She clutches the beverage
tightly in two hands, inhaling the sweet smell of caffeine glory as she
shuffles toward the front of her house.
Shade trees block the worst of the sun’s rays, allowing her
to stand near her sofa looking out at the fresh day. Blue jays jabber at each
other, fighting for optimum position at the bird feeder. A squirrel waits below,
picking up the spoils of war.
Sheila’s eyes skim over the animals, the grass, the
pavement. They stop at the sidewalk’s edge. “What is that?” Sheila asks the
squirrel. The squirrel doesn’t answer, just continues digging through the grass
for scattered seed.
After a fortifying slug of coffee, Sheila slips her feet
into sandals left helter-skelter by the door. Squirrel and birds flee when the
front door swings open, spilling Sheila out into the world.
Now the slap of sandals is the only sound in the day. The
sandals carry Sheila to the sidewalk and stop at the pile. Sheila nudges it
gently with a sandaled foot before squatting down beside it. She lifts the top
item, holding it up for a better look. A white tank top. Sheila looks down at
the pile, and sifts through the remaining items. A simple white bra, pink lacy
panties, a long purple skirt, two feather earrings, and a pair of green flip
flops.
An image of the outfit dancing around a large bonfire
flickers in Sheila’s mind.
“This is what Tracy was wearing last night,” Sheila mumbles
to herself. She stands, still holding a feathered earring in her hand, and
looks down the street. At the corner she sees another pile on the sidewalk.
Sheila walks toward it.
“What the hell,” Sheila asks the second pile of clothes.
This pile has a pair of cowboy boots, two white socks, jeans, blue
boxer-briefs, a gray T-shirt, and a black baseball cap. Sheila doesn’t know the
clothes belong to.
She stands over the pile and closes her eyes, partly to
block out the bright light of day and partly to focus on the fleeting glimpses
running across her mind. A bonfire. A group of women dancing. An old book. A
lot of alcohol. A party at Jasmine’s house. That’s where she was last night,
Sheila finally remembers.
Worried now about Tracy, wondering why her clothes were
piled outside of her house, Sheila walks toward the site of the bonfire party.
Along the way she encounters several more piles of clothes and accessories.
The worst is the small pile nestled inside a large stroller.
With a binky laying neatly on top. Sheila stands for a long moment, one hand
brushing the soft blanket draped over the pile of baby garments.
She continues walking. She sees no one. Only scattered
piles.
At Jasmine’s, the front yard is marked by five piles. Sheila
scans over them, not able to make herself investigate which of her friends they
represent. She moves through the gate to the backyard.
Smoke is still rising in a thin stream from the ashes of the
bonfire. The area around the bonfire is littered with more piles. Open on the
picnic table to the right is the old book that had flickered across Sheila’s
memory. She moves toward it, avoiding the piles in her path.
Sheila stops and looks down at the aged parchment. She
closes her eyes and remembers. Tom, the guy that followed her through the
grocery store last week. That found her yesterday at the park. That tracked
down her phone number and called twice. She just wanted him to stop.
Sheila opens her eyes, reading the words scripted across the
top of the page Leave Me Alone.
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