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10/17/2017 0 Comments A-44 part 2 A couple people are on the beach, not as many as before. In fact, the beach is green on the left and there’s even a little blue house. Turning towards the water, I see dark green mountains and strips of green land on the water.
Where am I? “How did I get here?” I murmur. Stepping onto shore, dripping and cold, I fold my arms over my chest. “Excuse me,” I say to a man folding up his blanket. He doesn’t turn around. I tap his shoulder. “Hi.” “Какие (What)?” My heart skips a beat, the chill digging deeper into my abdomen. I step back, his icy blue eyes questioning me. “I- I think I’m lost.” He cocks his head to the side. “Phone?” I say, making a phone gesture with my hands. He shakes his head and walks away from me. My shoulders slump, a lump stuck in my throat. A woman with dark hair, and a freckled face comes towards me. She has on a gray sweater dress with stockings and boots. “Hi, you speak English?” she calls to me. I raise my hands, a rush of relief hitting me. “Yes, yes I do!” I run towards her, the sand sinking my feet. “I need a phone, maybe a police station—” “Clothes, you need something warm.” I nod, following her to the parking lot. “I don’t know how I got here… where is here anyways?” “Yuhzny beach in Samara, Russia. Quite a long way from America.” When we get to her car, she pops the trunk, pulling out pants, a sweater, and flats. “I leave a change of clothes in case of emergency.” Ten minutes later I’m clothed, sitting in her car on the way to the station. The woman, whose name is Vera, hasn’t spoken another word to me. Her hands grip the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white to the bone. Her face concentrated on the road as rain starts to pour down in heavy sheets. The road becomes blurry as the wipers drag the water away. “So, Melanie, what are you studying?” she says, breaking the stone silence. “Chemistry. I want to go to med school and become an ER doctor.” Her eyebrow raises. “The medical field. My brother is actually a doctor,” she says, glancing at me. “You should meet him and he could, eh, give you some advice.” A smile spreads on my lips. Maybe this trip will be worthwhile. “That sounds incredible.” I pull the sweater sleeves over my hands, tucking them under my thighs. We continue down the bleak road, greenery on both sides, guiding our path. “Okay, we will go to the local police first, and then I will take you home and get you something to eat. Then you can meet Fedor, my brother.” We reach the police station in no time. Vera reaches into the backseat, grabbing an umbrella. As she cranes her neck a vein pops out underneath a small thumb-sized burn mark. It’s reddish brown and seems recent. “What happened to your neck?” I ask, pointing to the mark. Her fingers graze it, as she sits back up. “Oh that, I was eh, curling my hair yesterday for an event,” she says, unbuckling. I do the same and open the door. “I know that feeling.” We huddle under the umbrella, going up the slick, concrete steps. An officer leaving the building holds the door open for us. “Спасибо (thank you),” Vera says, shaking out water from the umbrella. The air inside is warm and inviting. We walk up to a woman at a high desk, coming up to my chin. Her hair is tightly pinned back, pulling in the features of her face. Vera, who steps back because of her short height, starts talking to her and the woman’s piercing brown eyes glance at me periodically. “You are lost?” she asks. I nod my head. She takes out a pen and paper, writing down whatever Vera is telling her. “My name is Melanie Suarez.” I peek over the high desk, spelling it out for her. She says something to Vera, giving me a small grin. We leave after that, and again, Vera says nothing to me during the ride. Maybe Russians don’t like conversation. We drive for what feels like thirty minutes, before I break the silence. “How far away is your home?” “Oh, we are almost there, maybe eh, ten minutes?” Okay. After ten or so minutes, we are still driving. My insides churn from hunger and fear. This was not a promising idea, but what choice did I have? I mean, she did take me to the police station-- “This doesn’t look like a house,” I say hesitantly, clutching the door handle. Vera drives up a gravely, steep hill, passing by a sign staked into the ground. “Oh! I wanted to introduce you to Fedor first. I forgot he is working late tonight and who knows how long you will be here—” I smack my forehead lightly. “Of course, no that’s fine.” The storm in my abdomen dies down. Okay, that makes sense. “Vera!” A man in his late thirties, comes into the lobby of the clinic. His white coat flutters around his tall frame. He pushes up his wiry glasses, a smile spreading on his face. The siblings hug, and then Fedor turns to me, a hand outstretched. Vera tells him something in Russian and his expression changes to serious. “It’s very nice to meet you, future doctor,” he greets. I shake his cold hand, sending shivers up my arm. “Thanks, this is so cool, you don’t even understand.” I gaze around the orange colored clinic, pictures of recovered patients and their smiling faces decorating the walls. “No, thank you,” he says, grasping my arm. He pulls me towards the double doors as Vera stands back watching with a wicked grin. “No, stop! Help, help!” I yell to the receptionist. She laughs, walking the other way. A man in a nurse’s uniform meets us on the other side with a gurney, straps hanging limp on the sides. Bringing my foot back, I kick Fedor in the shin with all my might, the sound of my heart beat the only thing I can hear. “Ahh!” My shoes squeak on the tile as I run. My palms touch the double doors, but I am taken into the air and over the back of the nurse. Flailing fists do no damage to his back. “Please, don’t take me! Sto- ahh!” Something sharp pierces my neck, the coldness numbing my limbs. A lump is stuck in my throat, tears rolling down my cheeks, some into my frozen gaping mouth mixing with drool sliding down my chin. I don’t want to die. They strap me to the gurney, wheeling me down the narrow hallway. In the first several rooms, the set-up is like any other clinic or hospital. At the end of the hallway they pull open a hidden door, concealed by wallpaper. They take me through another hallway, this one less inviting with the stained gray walls. Yelps and wails of their other victims bounce off the walls the deeper we go. Fedor and the nurse stop at an empty room. Fedor takes the clipboard from the table next to one of those dentist chairs. There are machines and wires attached to it. They’re experimenting on people? I knew that woman was suspicious. He wheels over an IV bag with bluish liquid inside. My straps come undone, the nurse grabbing my arms and Fedor tugging on my legs. They sit me on the chair strapping to it so I don’t fall off. They speak briefly, Fedor giving the nurse the clipboard. He leaves, winking at me. How did this happen? The nurse reads something off the clipboard, turning on the machines. He sets it down on the table nearest me and my eyes strain to read it. It’s a bunch of Russian words and numbers, but two things catch my eye. Tate Morgan and Kyle Dean? Those are English names… My eyes skim the rest of the paper. In the far-right corner in a small box with a label: A-44 “Today is your lucky day,” the nurse says. “I see you’ve read the clipboard. His black ponytail swishes above his neck. “Do you want me to explain?” He smiles, rows of crooked, white teeth. “Well, it may seem like we are evil souls for experimenting on people, but really, we want to save the world from diseases.” Why couldn’t they do this through legal means? “You see, our dear doctor Fedor Orlov, was let go from his position as head doctor at a hospital three years ago. His ideas were… too innovative for their slow minds.” He clenches and unclenches his fingers. “Soon after, him and his sister Vera, founded this clinic.” He pulls my arm down, preparing it for the IV needle. “Dr. Fedor is studying the possibility of a brain transplant.” A what? “If you can give someone a new heart, what about a new brain? Does it change their personality? With the brain function properly? Does the patient become like the former owner?” No! NO! “That is why you’re here. The ‘A’ stands for group A, the first group. The number after the eh, dash is the patient. You are our forty-fourth volunteer.” And with that, he sticks the needle into my arm, but I can’t feel anything. He wipes away tears from my cheeks, and closes my mouth. “This will help you sleep, dear.” Sizzling heat seeps into my arm, warming my body, slowly reversing the effects of the first drug, but also causing my drowsiness. “You w-won’t get away… with this,” I mutter, eyelids closing. “Oh, but we already have.” The room fades to black with the sound of beeping and his footsteps leaving me. *Original photo by Mike Wilson from Unsplash.com
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10/10/2017 0 Comments A-44 Aaand done! It only took two and a half hours, but I’m out! Crab walking out the row of busy students working on their history final, I flag down my T.A., at the front of the lecture hall. My loose bracelets slide down my arm and then back in place with one swift motion. “I.D.?” he whispers. I pull out my wallet, showing him my sweaty, oily face, taken on a very hot day for freshman orientation. He nods, taking my essays. “Have a good winter break.” “Thanks, you too,” I whisper back. Several heads rise from desks as I pass by them on my way to freedom. Their red rimmed eyes bleed with envy and exhaustion, bags hanging low underneath. This class was a doozy. *Beep* My phone goes off, alerting me of a message just as I open the door, the sun burning my sight as my eyes adjust the light change. *Beep* *Beep* “Probably the group chat,” I murmur, unlocking my phone. Cat: Woohoo! Who else is done with finals? Jim: Been done since yesterday Andy: Finished an hour ago Me: Just got out! Cat: Hell yeah! Let’s go get drinks and celebrate freedom. Jim: Sooo down Andy: Down Hmm that does sound fun… Each step towards my campus apartment feels like a heavy weight is attached to my feet. Pulsing tension build like lego blocks deep in my shoulders from hunching over for two hours. My eyelids are barely staying open. Then again, maybe not. Jim: Suarez? U down? Me: Nah, I’ll pass. Really need some me time. Jim: Booo Cat: Aw okay Melly, see ya later then? Me: Yeah, tomorrow for breakfast at Jerry’s. 10am sharp Sliding my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, I continue the walk back to my apartment. Ditching my friends is rare for me. I am always down to go somewhere, talk, or watch movies in someone’s apartment. Today though, a weight has snuggled between my shoulders, making a home there. It’s not just the history final, but stuff going on at home. My little brother’s dog ran away three days ago and no one has seen him. Kaden doesn’t want to go to school and refuses to eat sometimes. He’s only six, and at that age, losing a pet is devastating. On top of that, my dad lost his job is currently unemployed. He worked as a financial analyst at a company and once they put in a new CEO, they started gutting out people. My mom is a middle school teacher and they make decent pay, but not enough to handle a huge mortgage. I insisted on giving them the money I made from my campus job, but they want me to keep that for myself. “No mija, we are responsible for you, not the other way around… not yet.” I know they don’t want me to worry, but I can’t help it. That’s my family. “Hey Mel!” My roommate says, as I open the door. She’s sitting at the couch, books piled around her, and a blanket over her lap. “Hey Daisy.” I release my feet from my sneakers, walking on the soft carpet to our room, second door to the right. Our apartment is bland until you see the bedroom. We put curtains around our beds and there are photos and white lights above each bed. The color scheme is turquoise and silver. I have a silver lamp on my bedside table that my brother found at a garage sale. He and my mom spray painted it for the room. I plop down on my bed, staring at the turquoise fluffy rug in the middle. I want to take a nap…. Or should I go swimming? Heck yes! The Santa Monica beach is a pretty place to relax. Sometimes on busy days there are crowds. It’s four thirty on Wednesday though. I scramble around the room, gathering my things into a swim bag. It’s just what I need to chill. The warm sun graces my exposed skin. I set a blanket down, jabbing the umbrella into the sand. My palms grip the stick, tilting it for a better angle. “There we go.” Several people -mostly college-aged- roam around the area playing frisbee, tanning, or reading. The waves roll onto shore, calling out to me. Sprinkles of sand dig in between my toes, the crusty feeling sending shivers up my legs, as I walk towards the water. The closer I get to the water; the harder sand becomes. Now there’s wet sand sticking to my toes. Yuck. I hate this part. My heart thumps hard against my ribs. My belly button disappears underneath the waves rocking me back and forth. I lay on my back, allow it to carry me away. Spreading my arms, my heart rate slows to a steady rhythm. Sounds of chatter and yelling fade, replaced with a calm rush of the ocean. I’m not sure how long I was floating like that or how far I went, but once my eyes open, something in me feels off. The sun is hiding behind a big white cloud, a seeping chill invading my body, as I swim back to shore. This… this is not the Santa Monica Pier. Part 2 coming next Tuesday. **Original photo credit goes to Mike Wilson from Unsplash.com  Dear Simon, You left the flowers on my table again. From, Maggie Dear Maggie, I took the trash out; I think I saw maggots crawling around. Yuck! From, Simon Dear Simon, Thanks for the soup, you didn’t have to. From, Maggie Dear Maggie, I fixed the bookshelf; some books were out of place. Also, do you still want to go to the fair? From, Simon Dear Simon, Can you please stop rearranging the kitchen? I can’t find anything. From, Maggie Dear Maggie, I found this awesome scarf at a garage sale; I think you might like it. From, Simon Dear Simon, We should talk. From, Maggie Dear Maggie, The patio is pretty dirty. I’ll try and clean it up tonight. From, Simon Dear Simon, I found an apartment close to work. From, Maggie Dear Maggie, Is this really necessary? Things were starting to look great. From, Simon Dear Simon, I’ll be out by tomorrow morning. From, Maggie Dear Maggie, I bought a little corgi, he’s so adorable. What do you want to name him? From, Simon Dear Simon, Why can’t you take anything seriously?! From, Maggie Dear Maggie, We haven’t watched the sunset at the beach in a while, we should go. From, Simon Dear Maggie, Hey, we haven’t named the little corgi yet. From, Simon Dear Maggie, I gave up the little corgi. From, Simon Dear Maggie, I haven’t heard from you in awhile, how is everything? From, Simon Dear Maggie, Why aren’t you replying to me? From, Simon Dear Maggie, Sleep has been hard for me. I was late to work four times in the last two weeks. From, Simon Dear Maggie, I just want to hear from you, things are difficult right now. From, Simon Dear Maggie, I lost my job this morning. Late too many times. Distracted at work. From, Simon Dear Maggie, I can’t get another job and the landlord is evicting me. From, Simon Dear Maggie, Maggie, please, I need you. From, Simon Dear Simon, Umm I don’t know who this is. You have been texting my number for quite some time. Just wanted to let you know. From, Diana Dear Diana, I’m terribly sorry, I thought this was my girlfriend’s number. From, Simon Dear Simon, It’s okay. I just got this number so maybe she changed numbers. Sorry about your job, by the way. From, Diana Dear Simon, Hey you still there? From, Diana Dear Simon, Hello? From, Diana Dear Diana, *Message cannot go through. This number has been disconnected* From, Simon Draft: Dear Maggie, I’m sorry. Love, Simon *Photo cred to Toa Heftiba from Unsplash,com |
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