Woman Trouble
Forty-four dollars and eighteen cents for a few little bits of shopping, just the essential groceries. Today was Wednesday, Georgia didn't get paid again until a week on Friday. Twenty dollars and change was all she had left. The contents of her purse and whatever tips she could make would have to last her until pay-day. Not that it really mattered, pay-day would not be her saviour, it never was. It was always the same every month, there just wasn't enough money to go around, it was a struggle just to keep the wolf from the door. The young woman walked the half mile or so from the store to her small apartment. Why was she shopping? at six o'clock in the morning. Why was she walking, carrying two heavy bags of shopping? Georgia had a car. Okay, so it wasn't the best car in the world but it took her from A to B. If that were true, why was she walking? The answer to all her questions, Andrew that lazy bastard, he'd commandeered her car, she didn't even know where it was. Georgia sighed heavily as she put down her shopping inside the front door, she kicked the door shut with her foot.
Georgia didn't dream of a Mercedes-Benz and diamond studded jewellery, she just wanted to get her hair done from time to time, maybe the odd new pair of shoes. There must be more to life than this, she thought as very quietly she began to put the shopping away. Feeding the cupboards, that's what she called it, all the time continually feeding those cupboards, but the cupboards were always hungry, they were bottomless. Inside those cupboards lived the mother of all parasites, or maybe a gigantic rat, something ate all the food, it ate faster than she could provide. She would have a cup of coffee and five minutes of what she called, me time.
“I knew that I'd forgotten something,” she cursed aloud. “Sugar,” again she sighed switching off the percolator, orange juice would have to suffice. In the bed, under the covers was the parasite, the massive rat. The rat didn't stir, secretly she wished it dead. Why did everything go wrong in her life? When she was a teenager, she used the excuse that it was because she was black. Now she was older, she knew that was untrue. God didn't hate black people, that notion was ridiculous. Now that she was more experienced, more mature, she totally understood, God just hated, her. Who else would he do these things to?
Her last boyfriend, Justin, she actually thought she loved him. Okay, so he cheated on her, maybe they could have gotten through that, but to catch him having sex with her best friend, in her own bed, Georgia hadn't even finished paying for the damned thing. That particular indiscretion was probably unforgivable. Then again, women have forgiven worse crimes. However, seeing as her best friend was a bass player named Tony. Said Tony being a man, there could be no forgiving, and there could be no going back. For this issue, Georgia had closure. Homophobia was the definitely the issue. Georgia was not a homophobic per se, she had resolved this herself, there was no need of a therapist. If she translated the word literally. Yes, she was scared of men, but only the man, taking her man. How do you fight that? It's not like you can get a boob job or something. If your man likes other men, you have lost. It's probably best to bough out gracefully, maintain whatever dignity you have left. It doesn't matter how much steak you've got in the freezer, if your man turns vegetarian, the game is up.
This latest boyfriend, Andrew the parasite, the rat, he was a new low, even for her. Sometimes people try to encourage you when they think that you are down. The words of those people now annoyed her. They'd told her, it couldn't get any worse. What the hell did they know? It had just gotten worse, much worse. She'd promised herself no more musicians, but she'd let herself down. When they first met, Andrew White promised her the world, to date, he'd given her only two things, a vaginal rash and bad credit. Why was it, she worked two jobs? while he spent his days in bed, his afternoons trying to be creative, and his evenings getting laid by any bitch that wasn't her. Georgia's, me time, was over, it was nearly eight o'clock, she needed to go to her cleaning job.
The actual day wasn't important, if I could say it was Friday the 13th then we may have a greater understanding of pattern or design. I can say, it was early in the afternoon, Andrew was awake by the time she returned from her morning cleaning job. The apartment looked like the end of a garage sale, as usual he'd done nothing, his fingers were for plucking not lifting. Why did he see it as beneath himself to pick up his own mess, she wasn't his mother. Georgia passed him on her way to the kitchen, at last now she could have that coffee, she thought, putting the milk into the fridge. Just five more minutes of ,me time, that's all I need. Her feet hurt, she was tired, it had been her intention to catch the bus but she'd forgotten her purse, she'd walked the mile to work. Soon after this break, another double shift in the bar beckoned. Georgia, thought to call in sick but she desperately needed the money. The next sequence of events was truly bizarre, it was to change her life. Even now, she could remember it in such detail. She'd only wanted five minutes, close to an hour had passed. Georgia sat staring into space, assessing and re-evaluating her life. She was returned from her self-induced psychosis, somewhere a church bell tolled. Her coffee had gone cold, instant coffee would have to do, no time to make a fresh cup now. Next to the kettle, her purse, open and empty, her twenty dollars gone. As she turned, Georgia was sure she caught the reflection of the television screen in the glass fronted door of the crockery cabinet, an image of the grim reaper flashed across the screen. Was she over tired? Or was she just losing her mind?
“Jesus H. fucking Christ, what is happening to me?” she muttered to herself before addressing the other. “Andrew, where's my car?” she asked looking at his grease covered face.
“Yeah, right,” he began nonchalantly. “Baby, I didn't need it this week so I lent it to my friend Dawn, she had to go Los Angeles to see her folks, she'll be back on Sunday.” In Georgia's mind she replayed the images from a DVD he'd made her watch, the mushroom cloud over New York.
“You lent my car to a woman that I don't know, for a whole week, while I am walking around on foot and catching the fucking bus!” she remembered the name of the film, Nuclear Deterrent something.
“Dawn hadn't seen her folks in ages, have a heart.” Andrew wiped his mouth with a serviette, screwing it up and threw it toward the bin. The serviette missed it's target, landing on the floor. Andrew glanced at it before taking another piece of chicken, she would pick it up, she always did stuff like that. Georgia wished she could win the lottery this week, she didn't want to be rich, she just needed enough money to pay people to kill him.
She wondered if she was having a mental breakdown. If questioned, she would swear under oath she just saw a shadow passed over the serviette, then Andrew, then his guitar.
“What happened to the money, my fucking money!” she struggled to maintain a civil tone or tongue.
“Baby, I woke up starving, I got a bucket of chicken.” Andrew spoke with his mouth full. Please, she looked skywards as if to pray, just kill him, put him out of my misery. Yesterday, Georgia had waited ages at the drug store to collect his prescription. It had made her late for work, he didn't care. Georgia opened her fist, somehow the ticket from yesterday was in her palm. The ticket they give you while you wait for the prescription to be filled, number sixty-two, how did it get into her hand? she hadn't it a moment ago. Was this sign from up above, after all, he does work in mysterious ways. Almost daily she'd prayed for his death, maybe this was a sign things were in hand. He who was in charge was trying to say that Andrew's number had come up. Georgia laughed, she wasn't that lucky, besides she wasn't religious, not really.
“I saved you a piece of chicken, it's a breast baby.” said Andrew, gesturing towards the red and white bucket. Georgia suddenly felt very cold.
“You seem to have managed eleven pieces so far, go on, go for the full dozen. I'm sure there's room for one more inside.” Her sarcastic tone and grin were wasted on him, she reached for her cardigan hanging on the back of the door. .
“More for me,” he smiled, picking up the last piece and stuffing it into his mouth. Georgia watched, wishing all sorts of misfortune on him as he chewed on the piece of grease filled meat he had forced almost whole, into his mouth. That was the way Andrew ate chicken, he'd try to get the whole piece in his mouth, then pull the bone out after, rather than nibble and twist, as was her more civilised style. The window was open, an eerie gust of wind blew making the curtains flap on an otherwise still day. Andrew's acoustic guitar, his pride and joy, was precariously perched on the arm of the chair, slowly at first, it began to slide. Instinctively he moved to catch it as it fell. Go on smash, wished Georgia as the guitar headed for the wooden floor. Andrew caught it, kind of on the bounce, he smiled as his initial feeling was that the guitar had sustained was no damage. Slowly his face changed, first he began to cough, holding his throat, he started to choke. Andrew fell back to the floor, choking and making a horrible wheezing sound. Georgia took a step towards him, she stopped. Perhaps God didn't hate her after all. She watched his face change colour, he reached out to her. Georgia didn't need to be able lip read to realise that he was trying to say, help me. She looked up at the clock, thinking, what the world be like without, Andrew?
“Sorry baby,” she shrugged her shoulders “I got to go to work. Work, work, work, If I didn't have to work so much maybe I'd be there for you when you really needed me. Don't worry about the mess, I'll sort it when I get home.” She leaned over his body, “I'll have a spring clean, maybe get rid of some of the garbage, throw out the things that serve no purpose.”