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By Wednesday, we put the finishing touches on asshole’s order and drove to his high-rise office building downtown to present it to him and his team. It went off without a hitch and he was surprisingly generous in his praise.
Junie and I held it together until the elevator doors slid shut and the car started to move, then we turned to each other and burst out laughing.
“Thank you, ladies, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you,” she mimicked his oily voice.
“Stellar job. Be certain that I will be giving your company a glowing recommendation,” I added, then shuddered. He was a difficult man to respect.
We sat in that office and studiously avoided making eye contact with each other, shocked at the turnaround in his attitude. Gone was the oily pick-up artist, and back was the suave, sophisticated, successful businessman.
When the elevator doors slid open, we again maintained our decorum as we walked through the lobby. So focused on maintaining our dignity, we avoided looking at one another and kept our gazes cast down towards the floor.
Junie hit the doors first and burst through, with me on her heels, right into the middle of a pro-life demonstration.
I stood frozen, transfixed, trying to convince myself the picture of the bloody limbs in the basin was a delusion dreamed up by my overactive imagination.
I heard Junie gasp beside me. I turned to her, my eyes wide. “You see it, too?”
The smell of cigarette smoke filled my nostrils and burned my eyes, and I withdrew into the farthest recesses of my mind.
Junie’s small hand grasped mine and she jerked my arm to get me moving. She spoke firmly. “Willa, it’s a cardboard sign. We’ve walked right into a pro-life demonstration.”
I tore my eyes from the cardboard. “It’s not real?”
My mind struggled to keep up, assaulted by the present, tormented by the past.
“It’s just a picture, Willa, eyes down, let’s go.”
Junie barreled through the silent protestors, dragging me by the hand. I lifted my chin and met the eyes of every woman we passed. Some held fire, others indignation, still others anger and accusation, knowing by my response that I was complicit, and there was one woman whose eyes held sorrow and compassion, knowing too well my pain.
A sob broke from my throat and Junie swore, “Fuck! Move, bitches! I’ve got an emergency, here!”
They parted with a gasp of indignation and allowed us to pass. We walked quickly in the opposite direction from where we parked Junie’s car. I covered my nose with my palm and gagged on the smell of the cigarette smoke.
“You smell cigarettes, babe?”
“You don’t?”
“No, babe.”
She pulled me into a coffee shop.
“Take a deep breath, Willa, smell the fresh coffee. Do you smell that?”
Slowly the smell of cigarettes dissipated, replaced with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. I nodded. Junie led me up to the counter.
“Two iced coffees. Vanilla. Extra whip and chocolate sauce.”
She rubbed her thumb firmly over the back of my hand that she held tightly. I closed my eyes against the picture in my mind but there was no escaping it.
“Look at me, Willa,” Junie urged.
I focused on her concerned face, stared into her ice blue eyes, traced the lines of each striate, skipped along her lash line, followed the curve of her cheek down to her tightly pursed mouth and back up to her other eye.
“Drinks, miss,” the server interrupted, a worried tone in his young voice.
“Thanks,” Junie answered, turning to grab both of our drinks, and pressing mine into my hand.
“Cold,” I observed aloud. Five things I can see, four things I can hear…
