EDIT: I am suspending work on this until I complete The Cycle because I have The Cycle better worked out in my head and I'd rather focus on one story at a time. But don't worry, I'm gonna come back to this.
Disclaimer: This is a gritty drama which will feature drug usage (negatively portrayed, of course), sexual content, and language. Also, this is not a happy story by any stretch of the imagination. So if you want flowers and sunshine, go somewhere else.
Links are provided for places or other things with which you may not be familiar.
Country Girl
She'd always loved the country. Growing up, she used to spend hours just sitting in the pastures with the cows, watching the birds fly overhead and the wind wisp through the trees and the crops in the fields. She used to watch the sparrows chase each other around trees and telephone poles while shielding her eyes against the sun. She used to walk down to the pond and dip her legs into the cool water, and just sit there for hours, watching the minnows swimming around her feet and the fishermen sitting so calmly, so still in their boats, until suddenly their poles would bend and they would jump up like that and start reeling in their lines furiously, as though they were in a tug-of-war to the death and were making their last effort before succumbing to exhaustion. There was something peaceful about the country, something she couldn't explain. It wasn't that there was no incessant honking from cars outside of her window, or that there wasn't a bombardment of concrete towering over her head no matter where she turned. It was just…her home, her habitat; she was not meant to be anywhere else. She used to sit on the front porch of her grandmother's rustic home and think, "This is where I will always be. I can never leave. This is my home."
But those were all things she used to do. Because today, she was moving to the city.
Chapter 1
She stood on the platform, a ticket in one hand and the handle of a suitcase in the other. Tears silently rolled down her cheeks. Oh, Grandma! she cried out in her head. She knew that her grandmother had had a long, good, healthy life and that her time had come, but it still made her sad. She didn't like to think about death. Since she was only an infant, she had known death. When her parents died when a drunk driver swerved into the other lane and rammed their vehicle head on, leaving the driver and his wife dead and only their infant daughter alive, amazingly unscathed. She felt guilty for being the only one who had lived, that she, who didn't even know what it was to be alive then, had to be the one to live and her good parents, who had fought so hard to get to where they were, died just as they had begun their new life as a couple and as parents. She then moved in with her grandparents, only to have her grandfather die in a hunting accident several years later. Oh, how she remembered him staggering towards the house, his shirt drenched in blood, and her grandmother running out of the house, shrieking, reaching him only as he collapsed, dead. And then in eighth grade, when her best friend was diagnosed with a rare cancer of the skin and died just three months later.
She looked down at the cold, hard, concrete floor of the platform, and, try as she could, she could not see her reflection, like she was able to do when looking down into the pond. She had to face it. She was leaving, and she wasn't coming back. She was moving to the city.
She began to hear a faint sound, which grew steadily louder as it's source approached. "Here it comes," said a shaggy middle-aged man, paper in one hand and cigarette in the other. She looked down the track and saw two circular lights approaching, followed by the train, its loud horn piercing the air. It applied its brakes and slowed down, coming to a stop at the station, doors perfectly aligned between the pillars holding up the roof. She looked up at the train. My God, that is ugly, she thought. She had never seen a train before in her entire life. She didn't travel much, and when she did, it was in a car. But she had never wanted to travel long distances. She had always been perfectly happy right where she was, in the country. It was where she belonged, so why did she need to go anywhere else?
But she was eighteen now, and she was no longer in somebody else's custody. She had been planning on moving out for some time, but needed to make all of the arrangements. However, with the death of her grandmother, she had no choice. The government had seized her grandmother's home, because she had not payed off her mortgage in several months. So she had to go. And because she had not anticipated her grandmother's death, she had not made the arrangements she had wanted. So she was going to the place where she could find work quickest; New York City. She had heard much about the city, which was only four hours away from where she lived, and wanted nothing to do with it. Her school friends had often urged her to join them on a shopping excursion of some kind or to go to some sort of show, but she wasn't interested. She wasn't sure what she would do when she got there. She had found an apartment in the upper West Side, but she had no job. She was perhaps interested in fashion, or perhaps journalism of some kind; she was a good writer. But she had no college education and no money for a college education, which she knew severely hurt her chances of getting a job in either field. She supposed that she would find what work she could, a waitress or a secretary or whatever there was available. She had a friend who had moved to the city a few years prior who said that she would try to find her a job. She would go visit her first, she decided.
The doors of the train opened. People pushed pass her, rushing to get a seat, but she just stood there. The little gap between the edge of the platform and the floor of the train was a huge threshold for her, the beginning of a new life. She stood there, preparing herself, closing her eyes and breathing deep. Unfortunately, being unexperienced with the metro system, she wasn't aware of the short amount of time for which the doors of the train stood open, and her meditations were interrupted by sudden need to enter the train before the doors closed. Just as the doors slammed shut, she slipped in.
She caught her breath after the sudden adrenaline rush, and then looked around. The car was almost entirely occupied by men. She smiled uncomfortably. Only one seat was open and pretty much all of the standing room was taken. She slowly began to walk towards the seat, politely excusing herself as she passed through the maze of people standing in the car. Finally, she reached the seat. The seats were bunched in groups of twos and threes in the car, and this particularly seat was grouped with one other seat occupied by a handsome man, probably in his late twenties. He was dressed in a suit and was reading the New York Times. She stood there for a moment, a little unsure of what to do. What was the common etiquette? Do you ask if it's all right to sit in that seat? Do you just sit? She decided after a few moments of contemplation that the former was more proper and kindly asked, "Excuse me. Do you mind if I take this seat?"
The man looked up and smiled. "Yes, of course," he said very warmly. She smiled, thanked him, then took the seat. He turned back to his paper. She leaned back in her seat to try and get a look at what he was reading about as discretely as possible, as she didn't want him to think her nosy. There were a whole bunch of small words listed in columns followed by several numbers. The print was too small to make out without having the paper in front of her. She turned back and looked out the window across from her. The train was now two minutes out of the station, and the green fields that she had grown up with and known for so long were rapidly passing by in a blur. It was going to be a long time before she saw them again.
"You from the country?"
She turned, startled, towards the sound, which came from none other than the handsome man sitting next to her. She took a moment to respond; she was almost shocked at being addressed by a stranger. She wasn't usually this jittery; she supposed it was just the day.
"Oh, yes," she responded quickly after snapping out of her fog. She had a pretty, soothing voice. "This will be my first time to the city, actually."
"Really?" he said, clearly surprised. "Oh, then this will be quite an experience for you."
"Yes," she said, smiling somewhat nervously. "How'd you know I was a country girl?"
"The clothes," he said. "They aren't like what girls where in the city."
She looked down at her clothes. A flowery dress and a yellow sweater. Her formal clothes. "Oh," she said, beginning to worry that she might be made fun of by whoever she ends up working with.
"My name's Chris," he said, extending his hand, which she took. "Chris Stanton."
"Rachel," she replied. "Rachel Miles."
"A pleasure," he said, turning back to his paper. Rachel watched him for a few seconds, then summoned up the courage to ask, "What are you reading?"
"Stock report," he said. "I'm a broker."
"Oh," she said. "Do you like it?"
What ensued was a very pleasant conversation lasting most of the four hour train ride to the city in which each described their backgrounds and their lives and talked about such things as their future plans and the scenery outside of the train. He had been born in the city, and lived there during the week. He loved the city, and assured her that she would fall in love with it. She was not so convinced.
Finally, they reached Penn Station. Rachel thanked Chris for the company, which he returned, and then they parted. Before doing so however, he gave her his business card, saying to call him if she needed anything, for which she profusely thanked him. She then walked through the station and ascended the staircase to street level.
As she reached the top of the staircase, she took in her surroundings, and essentially gaped at what she saw. Buildings towering over her; thirty, forty, fifty stories high and often greater! Taxis were flying down the jammed streets in all directions, and there were just so many people! She had never seen anything like it. Boy, she thought, this is gonna take some getting used to. She then walked to the edge of the sidewalk with the intention of signaling the cab. The problem was, having never signaled a cab before, she didn't know how. She sort of just stood there, hoping that a cab would just stop and let her in. After about two minutes though, she had no luck. Finally, she turned to a man next to her and embarrassedly asked how to signal a cab. He chuckled, and politely explained to her that the easiest method was simply raising up your hand. He demonstrated, and accidentally got a cab to stop.
"Where ya going sir?" asked the driver, rolling down the window.
"Oh, this isn't for me," said the man. "It's for this young lady here."
She blushed. "Oh, thank you!" she said, stepping into the taxi and shutting the door.
"Where to?" he asked.
Rachel pulled out a small piece of paper with an address scrawled on it. "Uh, 78 W 28th Street," she said.
The driver looked at her a little funny. "You new here, kid?"
By this point, she had gotten used to the question, and instantly responded, "Yeah. I'm new."
"Right," said the driver, pulling the taxi into gear and driving off.
Chapter 2
78 W 28th Street was an old rundown apartment building, one of the few remaining in the city made of brick. It was covered in graffiti and the red color of the brick had faded long ago. The concrete steps were cracked, and the door handle was rusty. All of these things Rachel noticed as she entered the main corridor with her suitcase. Pipes lined the ceiling and sewage leaked onto the floor in several spots. "Ew," said Rachel as she carefully stepped over them. She looked at her slip of paper. Apartment #209, it read. Even a country girl knew that the 200s were on the second floor. She soon found the staircase and ascended it; then turned a corner and found the apartment. She leaned her ear against the door to see if she could hear anybody, and was met with the most unpleasant sound of vomiting.
"Jill?" she called, knocking on the door.
"Uh huh," came a voice from inside. "Gimme a second."
It was cold in the hallway, and Rachel began to shiver. She wasn't liking the city. Where's the life? she wondered. Yes, there are plenty of people here, but they're all office drones; they go to work and then go home and don't give a damn about what they're doing. But hardly any trees; no birds except for pigeons, no deer…oh, the deer! She had always loved the deer the most. They were just…so elegant…she couldn't describe them any other way. But none of that here in the city.
As she was lost in thought, the door swung open, and a black-haired woman in her early to mid twenties peered out. "Hello?" she asked.
"Jill? It's me, Rachel."
Jill looked at Rachel for a moment. Rachel was slightly confused. Could she have possibly forgotten me? I told her I was coming today…and it wasn't so long ago that we last saw each other; she certainly should know what I look like. But then Jill's face lit up, and she ran out of the apartment and threw her arms around Rachel. "Oh, Rachel, Rachel!" she cried, as women often do upon seeing a friend for the first time in a while. "How great to see you!" she said, withdrawing her arms. "Come in, come in!" she added, ushering Rachel inside.
Rachel quickly went inside, hoping for some heat. She didn't have heating in her grandmother's home, but there was always a roaring fireplace going. Ah, no heater could match the warmth of a fireplace! But alas, not only was there no fireplace, but no heating either. Rachel clucked her tongue. Dangit, I underdressed, she thought, sitting down in a torn up chair as Jill handed Rachel a cup of coffee.
"So, you made it, huh?" said Jill, sitting down across from Rachel.
"Yeah," said Rachel. "But I had to ask how to flag down a taxi to get here."
Jill burst into laughter. She had a nice laugh, thought Rachel, but she always did. Jill had always been the popular girl in high school, so that wasn't a surprise. But my, was she skinny! Even through her shirt, Rachel could see Jill's ribcage sticking out. There was no way she weighed more than ninety pounds.
"So, how have you been?" asked Rachel. "You all right? I heard you vomiting when I knocked…"
"Oh, don't worry about that," said Jill, waving her arm through the air as though waving the concern away. "I've never been better in my whole life!" She started laughing again, though this time it seemed a bit artificial. "How've you been? How are things back in the country?"
"Oh, things were lovely at home until my grandmother passed," said Rachel. "I miss it already."
"Please," said Jill, snorting. "There's nothing to do in the country! You're gonna love it here in the city, I'm telling you!"
"Yeah, well, I miss it anyway," said Rachel, looking out the window at the ugly building across the road. "So, about that job…"
"Yeah," said Jill. "I've been so busy, you have no idea. I didn't have a whole bunch of time…and with the economy and all…but there's a job opening at a nearby diner. I found a list of other odd jobs as well. Also, there might be an opening for one of the companies I model for."
Rachel perked her ears up. "Fashion company?"
"You bet," said Jill, smiling. "I knew you'd be happy. It's pretty high end stuff…I'm not sure you're gonna be able to get it, but I told the boss there that I had a friend of mine who might be interested and she said to come on down and meet her if you are."
"Oh, that's great Jill!" said Rachel. She looked at her watch. It used to be her mother's watch, but when she was killed, Rachel's grandmother took it and then gave it to her a few years later. "Hmm…too late to go today, I suspect. Tomorrow, you think?"
"Sure!" said Jill. "I'll meet you there if you like. Introduce you and all. I'm pretty good friends with the boss and I have a good bit of influence."
"Okay," said Rachel, taking out the scrap of paper with Jill's address on it. "Here, could you write the address down on this?"
Jill took it, then started to chuckle. "This is the paper I gave you when I left two years ago, isn't it?"
"Yeah," said Rachel. "Pretty funny, isn't it?"
"Uh huh," said Jill, scrawling the address of the fashion company down in the same sloppy handwriting as the first address. "Here you go," she said, picking it up and handing it to Rachel.
"Thanks!" Rachel said. "Hey, speaking of time, I should probably go see my landlord and get the apartment keys and stuff." She stood up and grabbed her suitcase. "So, I'll see you tomorrow then?"
"Yeah!" said Jill, also standing up. "What time?"
"Does ten sound good?" Rachel asked.
"Sure," replied Jill, walking to the door of the apartment and opening it. "Well, see you tomorrow then, I guess. If you need anything, call me, all right? You have my number."
"Yep," said Rachel, stepping through the doorway. "Cya."
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Rachel exited the subway station and walked to her apartment building on 86th street. It was a newer building than Jill's, but perhaps even more ugly. Whatever. It wasn't the country, but it was going to be home, whether she liked it or not. She entered. At least there were no pipes running down the hallways. On her left was a door with a sign hanging above reading, "Manager." She knocked.
"Come in," said a husky male voice.
Rachel opened the door and entered. A man of maybe forty years of age was sitting in front of an old computer behind a desk. He turned and faced her. "Well, hel-lo cutie!" he said, grinning.
Rachel was taken aback. She wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. She wasn't getting a good feeling. OK, so she was a pretty girl, but boy, a forty year old man who she was only meeting for the first time! That was a little unnerving. "Um…" she said, "You're Mr. Burns, correct?"
"That I am, babe, that I am." He stood up, bottle of whiskey in his hand. Jesus, he's tall! thought Rachel. She was intimidated.
"Um…I'm Rachel. I'm renting an apartment from you. We made the arrangements over the phone."
"Oh, yeah. Rachel. I remember." He moved back to his desk, opened a drawer, and took out a key. He then returned and handed her a key. "Rent's $100. Due by Saturday every week." He took another swig of whiskey and moved closer to Rachel. "Today's Friday, so you don't have to pay tomorrow. Next week, then." He stepped forward again, so he was now within inches of Rachel. "My, you are gorgeous." He lifted a hand.
"Um, thanks Mr. Burns!" Rachel said quickly, turning and leaving the room. Man, he was either mighty drunk, mighty creepy, or both. She calmed down, then slowly walked up a set of steps to apartment number seven. She unlocked the door and entered.
The apartment was small, but wasn't particularly ugly. It was fairly bare, with only a bed, a dresser, a window, a small kitchen with basic kitchen appliances, and a television set. She sighed. Guess I can make do with this, she supposed as she started to unload her suitcase.
Chapter 3
Coming soon…
