Slipping Away

Annalisa nervously dropped coins into the slot, holding the phone to her ear. The other end of the line rang several times before the mechanical voice told her to leave a message. Acid churned in the pit that used to be an iron gut, and her nerves got the better of her. Slamming the receiver back down, she fumbled out of the booth, stumbling into the young mother waiting with a sleeping baby on her hip.



The night sky was alight with light - the city must have finally changed all the street lights, as they'd been busted for several months. Since moving to the slums, Annalisa had become used to the problems faced by the residents of Harper's Hearth - high crime, gangs, and broken street lights were common. The bright glow was accompanied by the hiss and crackle of outdated equipment - the lights would be broken by mischievous youth or burn out due to neglect soon enough, so she paid them no mind. Pulling her threadbare jacket closer around her thin frame, Annalisa shivered as snow fell around her, crunching on the ground beneath her feet. Winter winds whipped at her hair, pulling it away from her face to shoot out like Medusa's snakes. The thick, inky black locks would be in knots by the time she reached her tiny studio apartment a few blocks away.



The thoughts swirled through her head faster than the snow falling around her. She was at once disgusted with herself, yet completely alone and miserable. She shouldn't have called, though. Only mistrust and anger lay at the other end of that unanswered line - it was the past and she needed to leave it there. But the loneliness and misery were forcing their way through. Perhaps it was the time of year, with the holiday’s right around the corner. Perhaps it was the snow - memories of times spent snuggling together on the couch wading to the front of her mind.



Gloveless fingers, numb from the cold, fumbled with her door key, finally managed to unlock the door. Inside the apartment she now called home, it was no better than outside. The paint was peeling, the furniture almost non-existent, and a gunshot-cracked window meant the meager heat she could afford was quickly slipping outside. The antique refrigerator was on its last legs, but she wasn't sure it mattered since she could barely afford food to keep inside it. A wobbly card table left by the previous tenant served as desk, table, and kitchen counter. She had picked up a dilapidated couch from the modest second hand store where she worked part-time, which served as both a buffer between 'kitchen' and 'living' areas and as a bed. A beat up dresser stood against the wall, blocking most of the only window in this part of the apartment. Two doors led off this main room, one to a miniscule closet in which she stored a broom, dustpan, and used Hoover; the other led to the bathroom. This was home now. In the roughest part of town, she felt safe because no one knew her, but they did know enough to realize she had nothing to steal.



Annalisa dropped her keys on the table, blowing into her hands to warm them up. She considered turning on the oven to quickly warm the room up but knew she just could not afford to use it unless absolutely necessary. Throwing herself to the mercy of the couch, she left on her coat and pulled a worn quilt around her. The floor lamp next to the couch threw shadows across the room, dancing here and there as she moved to get comfortable. From the milk crates stacked next to the couch, Annalisa took a book to read. She was too cold to sleep, too wired to even try. On that same stack of crates, the only picture in the entire apartment seemed to stare at her.



It was late – close to midnight, but the ceiling shook from the vibrations of music and movement coming from the apartment above her. Once, she could only sleep in absolute darkness and complete silence. These days, the small floor lamp was always on and the surrounding apartments were almost never silent. The lights and noise worked to abate the loneliness, but not by much. The noise and confusion of life in Harper’s Hearth surrounded her completely, washing away her past while also preventing a real future. She was stuck, no yesterdays and no tomorrows.



All too soon, the book fell to the floor; falling from hands limp with sleep. Nightmares crept in. Voices yelled and argued and accused. Annalisa whimpered in her sleep, cringing from phantom blows. When sunlight broke through the twelve inches of window visible above her battered dresser, it bathed her. Skin pale and taut, was awash in an earthly glow. Slowly, Annalisa came awake. The sun was just coming up, but the people living around her were already bustling around, getting ready to go to – or coming home from – low paying jobs. Most worked, slept for a few hours, then worked some more at another job. Living in the slums was a never-ending cycle of despair and labor.