Even under two and a half feet of sheets, blankets,
quilts and towels, it was still cold when she woke.
Nothing new though, it had been that way since early
October. Shivering so hard that she thought she might
shake herself right out of bed, she extricated herself
from her slightly-warmer-than-the-surrounding-air nest
and jumped as the cold from the floor shocked through
her double-socked feet and up through her legs. “I
hate winter. I hate winter.” They had shut the
electricity off in September when she had failed to
come through with the money. The walls helped, a
little, as did the blankets, but every morning she
still had to dance around for ten or fifteen minutes
before she could feel her feet. The floors were
freezing, the air was freezing, the water was sub-zero.
At least they hadn’t turned off the water yet.
She ran through the spray, just long enough to get
clean, not long enough to turn into a popcicle.
~Little blessings; every day, little blessings.~ Roof
over her head, water still running, a little bit of
food in the kitchen, clothes still in the closet.
More than some had. What was a little electricity
anyway? Some people never ever had electricity.
~Just a few more months of this and then it’ll warm
up.~ But that was assuming she was still around in a
few months. Assuming the apartment was still there in
a few months. Before he was sent off, Dad had paid
the rent. Before this, she had always wondered why he
insisted on paying a year in advance. When you have
extra, he had said, you prepare for the future.
Understand? That was 10 months ago. Rent would be
due soon and she was still over five hundred short.
She had worked. She had tried. She had done a hell
of a lot of stuff just to survive, and anything else
she had leftover at the end of the day went straight
into her old account. Saving up for the future. She
needed this place, it was her haven. Without it…where would she go?
Shivering cold, she tugged on t-shirt, sweater and
jeans, looser than they had been a month ago, two
weeks ago. Rock star bones. Aunt Kat’s voice echoed
in her mind. “You don’t eat enough, girl, you should
eat something.” Three pairs of socks kept her from
falling out of dad’s boots, kept her toes from
freezing solid. The jacket was one of the nice,
waist-length kind, but it fell nearly to her knees
when she wore it. Taking a moment, she glanced in the
mirror, checked herself, whispered her mantra. “I’m
nobody. Nothing special. Nothing to notice. Nothing
to remember. Just another kid out on holiday break.
You don’t know me. I’m nobody.” The girl in the
mirror repeated it back to her, confirmed every word.
She was thinner than she had been months ago, but to
her credit, she didn’t get very hungry anymore either.
She had taken to wearing her hair long and loose so
it covered her ears. It made her look two, three
years younger than her actual age, but that didn’t
really bother her. The guys seemed to like it well
enough. Who was going to stop some sweet little girl
just walking along the street? The package? Just a
birthday present for my mom, officer. The envelope?
It’s my research, sir. Report on the War of 1812,
sir. Library’s that way? Thanks. No, no one stopped
her. She was just another kid in a city full of them.
The City never slept, and the parents never stoppedworking, y’know.
She didn’t do packages anymore though. The first few
times, it had gone well. Fifty dollars the richer
each time, even if she felt a thousand eyes on her
while she delivered the box. She never asked what was
inside, and no one had ever bothered to inform her.
Four times she had done it, each time coming away
clean. The fifth time, she wound up with a gun
pressed against her back. She had frozen, dropping
the box, hands up. Nobody special, just a kid. “Hey,
don’t shoot the messenger,” she had whispered to the
guy with the gun, trying to coax a laugh, a smile, any
bit of humanity she could pull out. It didn’t work.
Fortunately for her, she had disappeared before they
could do anything. And they never did really see her face. Lucky her.
So she didn’t do packages anymore.
But now, almost a week away from the building
manager’s deadline and five hundred dollars short, she almost wished she did.
Shivering, Cassarah Sanders pulled her coat closer
around her, locked the door and headed out into the
streets of New York City. There was work to do.
