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“Sarah!” It was Mike. “I know you're in there! You’re three days late!”
I sat up in bed, careful not to make a sound. Mike pounded again before stomping down the hall to bang on someone else's door. I climbed out of bed and went over to open the curtains. I squinted as sunlight came pouring in and looked down at the street, noting how busy it was. I must have slept late. I padded over to the kitchen counter and made a cup of coffee as quietly as possible, just in case Mike was still lurking in the hallway.
I went back to bed to drink my coffee, since it was the only place to sit in my apartment, and thought about what I had to do that day. I wasn’t working at the restaurant, but I had to go to the laundromat and the grocery store. Hopefully, I'd get to the park early and get an extra hour or two in. I sighed and took a long sip of coffee, hoping it would be a good day.
It was not a good day.
The laundromat was crowded, so I had to wait for machines. When I got to the checkout at the grocery store, I didn’t have enough money and had to put some things back. There was a line of people behind me and I was mortified.
The cashier looked at me sympathetically. “It’s alright, it happens all the time.” Her kindness only made me feel worse, and I blinked rapidly as my eyes welled up.
On top of everything, it ended up being a hot day, and carrying laundry and groceries up and down the streets made me sweaty and miserable.
When I got back from the grocery store, I stopped at my mailbox in the lobby. It was empty except for my electric bill, which was in a pink envelope. Not a good sign. I started climbing the stairs and made it halfway up before one of my grocery bags broke and my food went tumbling down the stairs. For the second time that day I fought back tears. I gathered it all up and continued up to my apartment.
After putting my groceries away I opened my electric bill. Only it wasn’t a bill, it was a disconnect notice. I called the electric company and pleaded with them not to shut off my power. They gave me four days.
I got to the park early that evening. I played through all of my usual songs, smiling at those who stopped to listen. At one point a couple walked by with their daughter, who looked to be around four or five years old. She started to dance and twirl around in front of me and a few people stopped to watch her, commenting on how adorable she was.
Seamlessly, I changed my song to a more lively melody and began to dance and twirl with her. Soon a small crowd had gathered, and people began to clap along with my music. The girl spun around faster and faster as I played, and when I finished the song she collapsed laughing against her mother’s side.
The crowd erupted in cheers and I tossed my head back and laughed, feeling truly happy for the first time in a long time. People tossed money into my violin case, and the girl’s father thanked me as he pulled several bills out of his wallet and dropped them in the case. I thanked him, and they walked away, the crowd quickly dispersing.
I stood there for a moment, looking in disbelief at the pile of money in my case. I looked up at the sky, barely visible through the glare of the street lamps. I took a deep breath in, slowly exhaled, and began to play again. This time I played something of my own. A song I had written long ago, when my heart had been filled with joy. Emotions swelled inside of me, and for a few brief moments I was lost in the music. I hadn't even realized I’d closed my eyes until the first raindrop hit my face.
I rushed to pack up, as the rain started to fall. People were shrieking and running for cover. I began walking home, and it really started to pour. I clutched my violin to my chest and broke into a jog.
By the time I got to my street it was raining so hard I could hardly see where I was going. I made it to the front steps of my building when someone grabbed me from behind and yanked me backwards. I screamed, as I was spun around and thrown to the ground. I hit the street face first, my chin slamming into the wet pavement.
The impact stunned me, and for a moment I couldn’t move, or even breath. I lay paralyzed as my assailant yanked my backpack off of me, twisting my arms back painfully. Then he screamed and let go.
I scrambled to my feet and spun around to face him, but he was gone. I looked around frantically, barely able to see through the pouring rain, but couldn’t see him anywhere. My backpack was laying on the ground a few feet away, so I grabbed it and ran up the steps into my building.
I ran up the four flights of stairs to my apartment and fumbled to get the keys out of my backpack. I jammed them into the lock, looking over my shoulder in case I was being followed. I finally got the door open and rushed inside, slamming and locking the door behind me. I fell to the floor, shaking and sobbing. I wiped at my face with my hands and saw blood on my hands.
I jumped up and rushed to the bathroom to look in the mirror. My wet hair was plastered to my head, and half of my face was covered with blood. I turned on the sink and splashed water on my face, washing away enough blood to reveal that my chin and right cheek were scraped raw. With shaking hands I wet a washcloth and tried to clean myself. Tears streamed down my face as I washed.It should hurt more.I realized I was probably in shock. I should call the police.
I rushed back to my backpack to get my phone, and that’s when it hit me. I didn’t have my violin.
I dropped my backpack and ran to the window. I looked down, but couldn’t see anything through the rain and darkness.Should I go down and look for it? What if my attacker was still out there? The security door was broken, he could be in the building!I rushed to my backpack once more, got my phone out and called the police.
They arrived forty minutes later.
They came up to my apartment to question me and then went back down to look for my violin. But it was gone. They offered to give me a ride to the hospital to have my face looked at, but I declined. I didn’t have insurance, and a hospital bill was the last thing I needed right now. After they left, I crawled into bed and cried myself to sleep.
Chapter 3
Ittookamonumentaleffort to get out of bed the next morning. My head was pounding, and my face felt like it was on fire. I made toast, but it hurt to chew, so I tossed it in the trash. I put on my waitress uniform and headed to work.
When I walked outside I spent a few minutes searching for my violin, hoping the police had overlooked it in the dark, in the rain. But it was gone.
When I got to work, Greg fussed over me like a mother hen. “You should have called in honey! Why didn’t you go to the doctor? What did the police say? Didn’t you have your mace?”
I assured him I was fine and ready to work.
He looked at me hesitantly.
“What?” I asked.
