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Seventeen-year-old Minky is faced with the decision of her life . . . and death. |
| To the average onlooker I had always appeared to be another weird, tormented high school girl. The same sad, painfully ordinary story shared by so many other teenagers was unfortunately mine. My name alone is odd to say the least. I always thought the name Mina Katherine Rea sounded more like the name of a snobby socialite than an invisible nobody like me. My mother always called me Minky for short in an effort to shape me into some kind of trendy party girl. In all actuality, I wasn’t at all stylish, cutting edge, or even remotely interesting. At least I wasn’t before it all began. Growing up I’d never had the kinds of dreams normal girls had. I didn’t imagine finding my prince charming and riding off into the sunset on his gallant white steed. That kind of life wasn’t in the cards for me. It’s no wonder though considering I had never witnessed such an existence. Things like that didn’t happen to girls like me, girls who never seemed to be picked first, second, or even third in any kind of sports or academic activities in school. I was often described by my high school peers as a deep-seeded loner to the core however, my father would try to comfort me by saying I had ‘flare’. I assumed he was referring to my sometimes tumultuous temper. I was okay with him making statements like that partly because being noticed by him at all had been a treat. I mostly kept to myself and stuck true to my own personal motto of blend, blend, blend at all costs. But you know what they say about childhood molding the kind of person you’ll be in your adult life. I had always hoped it wasn’t true. Ever since I was a little girl my mother and father, Sonya and Troy, would ship me off to my Aunt Maggie’s house in Oklahoma every summer up until their passing. Money was plentiful for my parents and they flaunted it every chance they got. They would travel to exotic places like Egypt or Brazil just because they considered their trips to be another indication of their social status. When they would pick me up after their world-wide travels at the end of the summer it would usually be just in time for my private school to start back up in Pennsylvania. As their one and only child it didn’t take a genius to see I obviously hadn’t been part of their plan. They had usually been too busy to spend any ‘quality’ time with me and as a general rule of thumb they preferred not to. I was raised primarily by a series of nannies up until the age of ten. When I turned twelve-years-old I completely ignored my caregivers and proceeded to take care of myself. That was the point in my upbringing when my parents decided to save their money for some other extravagant piece of furniture or antique artifact for decoration instead of paying for someone else to have ‘quality’ time with me. That was all I really felt like to them anyway, just another couch or cheesy painting though I never considered myself to be near as beautiful or fascinating to be around. I felt like more of a burden than anything so I rebelled by acting out and throwing tantrums until I finally realized it was useless. All I ever wanted was their love. It’s not that they didn’t care for me as much as they were capable of, it’s that they showed a great deal of indifference most of the time when it came to any of my needs. They were too busy trying to be young and beautiful elitists within their circles to give me the time of day. It wasn’t enough that my father was one of the most notorious divorce attorneys in town or that my mother was his lovely trophy bride. They were obsessed with gaining more prominence and saw me as merely another one of their possessions. I can still recall my mother’s long, platinum blonde hair as she stared into her silver full-length mirror admiring her new designer dresses. She was absolutely stunning. She was only 5’4” but her legs were as long as the Nile. Her skin had been an angelic ivory color that was as soft as it was perfect. Her charm was uncanny. What I remember best was her ability to leave a room full of people completely breathless by simply demonstrating her elegance and social grace. What was so impressive was that she could win an entire room over without uttering a single word which is just what my father preferred. My father was nothing to scoff at in comparison to her beauty though. Standing at 6’ tall and being of Italian lineage, his smooth black hair, olive skin, and high cheekbones were something only seen on the red carpet in Hollywood. Together they were high society and lived a charmed life. But make no mistake, their compatibility only stretched as far as my father’s wallet would allow. I never begrudged my mother even when she said things to me like, “Oh Minky, why can’t you just try to put on a little makeup? I mean really, would it kill you to take a little more pride in your appearance? I hope your schooling pays off because you’ll never find a man to take care of you looking like that.” I would generally roll my eyes and retort hatefully by attacking her ego. “Oh mom, go put on some more wrinkle remover cream. You don’t want that look of disdain permanently glued to your face, do you?” She would always ignore my snide comments and continue to judge me. “And don’t get me started on the way you speak. Honestly Minky, I’m going to quit letting you stay with your aunt in Oklahoma during the summers if you continue to talk like that.” I could only assume she was suggesting I wasn’t as polished as I should have been. Truthfully, she was right. I didn’t care about my lack of makeup, the way I spoke, or my dirty dishwater blonde hair. I only kept it little longer than shoulder length not because I thought blondes had more fun but because I never felt like going to the salon to get it done. I was almost as tall as my mother standing at a respectable 5’3” and I was built pretty average, not skinny but not really that curvy either. But then again, everything about me was average. Even my eye color was a subtle, sap green color that didn’t usually draw much attention. I didn’t want a man to take care of me anyway. The idea repulsed me. It’s not that I couldn’t appreciate how my mother had endured a lot in her life and grew up dirt poor. I almost pitied her for being married off when she was only eighteen-years-old just so she could survive. She tried so hard to rub that mentality off on me but had always been unsuccessful in her efforts. My father, on the other hand grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. Being an only child there wasn’t anything he was ever denied, including my mother. He was extremely comfortable being a trust fund baby and never tried to hide the fact his career was simply a hobby. Though he was only five years older than my mother his maturity level often reflected otherwise. He was always complaining or whining like a child when things didn’t go exactly his way. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead but I feel it wouldn’t be fair to remember them as something other than what they truly were. Don’t get me wrong, I loved them both very much. At times though, I don’t really know if they returned the sentiment. Everyone has their flaws. Their idiosyncrasies are what made my parents who they were. Unfortunately, their death barely made the headlines in an overcrowded city like Philadelphia. My mother and father had been just another couple gunned down in their upscale apartment by criminals looking for a good score. Although by some grace of God I wasn’t at the apartment when it happened, I never wanted to think of it as a murder. The thought for me was too cold and calculating. I couldn’t imagine how someone could be so evil to take another life on purpose. No, I preferred to think of it as another random heist that had gone terribly wrong. The night it happened was a balmy Friday night in late March. My mother and father were gearing up to attend another one of their fundraising auctions. Mom was very big into charitable organizations and that particular event had been her crown jewel. People thought the charity gala was her favorite because she had been completely dedicated to the cause but I knew my mother better than that. She loved what she did because of the recognition it brought her. In the eyes of her other so-called benevolent cronies she seemed to have a halo permanently glued to her head. I could see through her even if no one else could though. In some small was I was jealous of her zest for committing to such a huge undertaking even if it had only given her another purpose other than pretending to be a regular housewife. She couldn’t bear the thought of being something so ordinary anyway which is probably why she couldn’t stand to look at me half the time. I can still remember what she wore that night as if it were only yesterday. She was draped in another one of her gorgeous new formal gowns looking as if she just stepped off the runway. It was floor-length, sapphire couture dress covered in clear sequins. Mother had said the sequins gave it a more dramatic appeal. Her makeup was flawless in the way it illuminated her deep blue eyes and crimson red lipstick. Her hair was pulled up in a French twist revealing one bare shoulder. The slit all the way up her right leg left little to the imagination. It was incredibly seductive. My father of course hardly noticed. He was more concerned with how fashionably late they were going to be but even dad was dressed to the nines for the occasion. He was wearing a designer black tuxedo and had his hair perfectly slicked back in a mound of hair gel. Even though he knew he was dressed to kill he still didn’t hide his feelings about not wanting to go. They had pawned me off with some friends of the family, John and Gina Riley for the evening which was fine with me. The Riley’s were pleasant enough but the company they insisted I keep was less than to be desired. Their daughter, Casey was about my age and they were under the misconception that just because we both went to John W. Hallahan Catholic Girls’ High School we were best friends. Gina and Casey looked almost identical. They could have passed for sisters since they wore their layered light brown hair the same. They were even about the same height. The only real difference between the two of them was that Casey had a few light blonde streaks in her hair and the same rotten attitude as a wildebeest. John was in his early forties and insisted on keeping a full dark brown beard. Though it made him look more distinguished my thought was that he had been trying to overcompensate for the hair he was lacking on the top of his head. Generally, Casey and I avoided each other at all costs. She was one of those prissy girls who cared more about sending text messages and painting her nails than trying to have a mature conversation. Casey definitely would have been the more obvious choice of daughters had my mother been given the option. After a less than thrilling evening of watching TV in Casey’s room all by myself I was extremely bored to say the least. I decided to catch a cab home at around 11:00 P.M. because I figured my parents would be getting back soon. The ride was short and the driver didn’t say much. When I gazed out the window I noticed the streets were unusually quiet, almost serene. I should have known by the calm of the night there had been something terribly wrong. As far back as I could recall the streets had never been that quiet in Philadelphia. As we got closer to the apartment my heart sank. The red and blue flashing lights were foreboding as they filled an otherwise dark street. Not yet jumping to conclusions I asked the cab driver to drop me off at an apartment number closest to mine since the entire street had been blocked by emergency vehicles. When I realized the source of all the commotion I began to shake violently. After a moment passed I witnessed two paramedics pushing a gurney out of the front door of my apartment towards an ambulance. I’ll never forget how doleful their faces had been as the loaded up their lifeless passenger. Without even knowing it I began breathing shallow, uncontrollable breaths. I felt the urge to be sick. When my driver observed my berserk behavior he began screaming, “Miss, miss! Are you alright?! Miss?” Because of the combination of my breakdown and the adrenalin pumping violently throughout my veins I don’t remember if I said anything to the driver or even if I managed to pay him. I only recall getting out of the car slowly and walking toward the front door before being stopped by an officer. He was a young man in his mid-twenties and I judged by his expression I must have been a frightening sight. He introduced himself as Officer Ray Barlow and proceeded to ask my name and where I resided. It didn’t take him long to figure out I was in for the longest night of my life. I can still hear his words of finality ringing in my head as he broke the news of my mother and father’s untimely death. It was like some sort of horrible nightmare I couldn’t awaken from. He waited a moment for the information to sink in completely before asking, “Do you have any family near? Is there someone we can contact for you?” Still in shock, I could only utter quietly under my breath, “Both grandparents on both sides of my family are dead. The only family I have left is mother’s sister, Maggie Hayes and she lives near Tulsa, Oklahoma.” He studied me carefully. “Okay, I’ll contact her but we need to figure out what to do with you for tonight. Do you have anyone you can stay with this evening? I shrugged my shoulders and sighed deeply. “Yes, I just came from the Riley’s residence on Hamilton Street. I can stay there tonight.” As he walked me into my own living room he replied, “Good, I will give you a ride over but I need you to take a seat while I go make a few phone calls.” I handed him the phone numbers I had kept stored in the chartreuse designer purse my mother had given me for my birthday and watched him walk away. He left me in the living room for nearly an hour and a half answering the questions of an older gentleman who introduced himself to me as Detective John Bradley. He was a soft spoken man in his mid to late sixties with salt and pepper colored hair. By the looks of him I could tell he needed a stiff drink. I couldn’t really concentrate on his questions but rather his appearance. His pallid blue lips were almost startling so I tried not to stare. After a moment of listening to him ramble on my eyes glazed over and I found my mind wandering into outer space. It still hadn’t dawned on me that my parents were really gone. You know, tragedy is a funny thing. Even as I sat motionless on my couch listening to Detective Bradley’s explanation of his scenario of my mother and father’s demise all I could think about was something as insignificant as my test in calculus the following week. When I rejoined reality I realized everything had happened so fast. The room began to spin and I felt as if I were going to pass out. It was getting harder to remember to breathe. I do recall the detective being extremely kind in trying to keep me calm though. His voice was comforting and it had been the only thing keeping me from coming unglued so I tried my best to focus on every syllable he spoke. In the midst of my near breakdown, I noticed there were a lot of law enforcement officers traipsing in and out of my mom and dad’s bedroom. Not one of them made eye contact with me as they blazed back and forth appearing to be on official business. I had supposed that’s where the robbery had gone awry according to Detective Bradley’s explanation. Though the chaos was distracting something or should I say someone caught my eye. A somber-looking boy who looked to be about eighteen or nineteen-years-old was standing perfectly still in the doorway. I wouldn’t have paid him any attention but for the fact he looked so out of place. I’d never been one to buy into all of the Greek mythology hocus pocus but if there had ever been such a person as Adonis, the stranger had to have been his evil twin brother. Estimating by his six foot tall stature I could see he wasn’t one to be trifled with but the most intimidating feature he possessed were his piercing black eyes. As I continued to gawk, I observed his lean, muscular body was concealed only slightly by his solid black suit and tie. The stark stranger’s behavior seemed peculiar but I had been more centered on his lack of imperfections. Even his black hair and pale white skin were the epitome of perfection. He had easily been the most gorgeous thing I had ever laid eyes on but I couldn’t help but to feel apprehensive around him. Considering how surreal the evening had gone anyway, I completely ignored my instincts to avoid eye contact and sought his attention. When he glanced in my direction a wave of cold chills shot down my spine. I hadn’t realized my body had jerked in response to his acknowledgement until he winced at my reaction. When our eyes locked I became strangely entranced. Though we exchanged no words our bond had been undeniably strong. We stared at each other intently for only a moment before I heard someone approaching. I turned from the stranger out of curiosity to notice Officer Barlow walking in my general direction. I could only assume Detective Bradley had grown weary of me tuning him out and moved on when I realized Officer Barlow’s puzzled expression. As he stopped and studied me, I glanced back at the doorway hoping to catch another look at the mystery man dressed in all black but saw only emptiness. I focused my attentions back on Officer Barlow as he blurted out anxiously, “Mina, I just need to ask . . .” “Please Officer Barlow, call me Minky. My father is,” I stopped and reevaluated my statement sadly before finishing, “I mean was the only person who called me Mina.” “Fine then, Minky I have just one more question before I take you over to the Riley’s residence.” I grimaced before humming inquisitively, “Hmm?” He appeared to be a bit edgy as he twisted his mouth to the side. “You see, it’s just that I’ve been watching you for a while and . . .” “Yeah,” I replied calmly. As I waited politely for him to continue it occurred to me why detectives did most of the talking when it came to public relations. “When you were sitting on the couch earlier, who were you talking to?” |
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