Blog 4: The world may be ending

Spring stood outside the office buildings on H. Street. She had walked there, since her car had died, this time probably for good. She paced back and forth in front of the steps. She still held the bit of newspaper with the ad on it that she’d ripped from the page.
Should she go in?
She placed one foot on the bottom step, hesitated, and turned around again. She nearly bumped into a man in a suit approaching the steps. She muttered an apology and continued pacing.
At the top of the steps, three signs were visible. Yates and Grayson Law on top, Office for Lease in the center, and finally Watson Fertility and Insemination. Springs gulped reading the last one.
Wiping her sweaty palms on the sweater dress she was still wearing, she made the decision. She marched back towards the stairs. But she barely had her left foot on the bottom step when she heard a voice.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” it squeaked.
Spring turned to view a short, squat woman in a long skirt, tacky Christmas sweater and elevator shoes. She also wore a small gold cross necklace.
Spring just looked her up and down for a moment, and then responded, “Yes?”
“Are you going into one of the offices ma’am?”
Spring looked around, secretly hoping someone else was around to interrupt the awkward moment.
“Um....yes?” Spring answered warily.
“Which office, ma’am?” the woman asked, jerking her head slightly at an angle, much like a bird.
Spring just stared, “Uhhhhh.”
“Is it the law office, ma’am?” the woman asked.
Spring was grateful for the suggestion. “Uh, yes. Yes, that’s it,” she said, taking another step up. But reaching for the railing, the paper ad slipped out of her hand and floated lazily down the steps.
“Don’t worry ma’am, I’ve got it for you.” The squat woman hobbled over to the bottom step.
“Oh, don-” was all Spring managed to get out. The woman had already picked up and started reading the paper ad. She glanced up at Spring, a dangerous look in her eyes.
“You’re going to the clinic,” the woman said.
Spring just gaped. “I...” she uttered.
The woman just smiled serenely and slowly tore the paper in half. “Do you know what they do at that clinic?” she asked.
Spring didn’t get a chance to respond.
“They perform abortions there,” the woman spat. “And artificial insemination.” She grimaced as she said the words as if they tasted bad on her tongue. “Tell me, ma’am. Are you a born again Christian?”
“Ex-excuse me?” Spring uttered.
“A Christian ma’am,” the woman repeated, presenting the cross she wore. “Are you a believer? Because God does not forgive those that commit such sins as this clinic.” She was beginning to grow red in the face from how fervently she was speaking. “Are you thinking about having an abortion?”
Spring said nothing, waiting for the woman to continue with her rant.
“Well, are you?” she asked again.
“No!” Spring finally exclaimed.
“Well the Lord and all the unborn angels thank you,” the woman sighed. “Are you thinking about artificial insemination?”
Spring didn’t answer. Again, she looked around, waiting for someone to rescue her or for some lie to make its way into her head. But the short moment of pause was enough of an affirmation for the woman.
“This is a sin!” the woman full-on shouted this time. “May the Lord save you! This world’s science cannot create pure life!”
The woman’s shouts had attracted the attention of two men accross the street carrying signs. They ran towards the scene, and Spring made out psalms and biblical passages printed on their posters.
“What is it, Janet,” one of them said.
“She!” the woman shouted, pointing at Spring and shielding her eyes as if the devil stood before her. Spring would have laughed at how dramatic it was had she not felt so humiliated. “She is going to destroy her own body, the work of God, with artificial seed! She is a sinner!”
The men turned toward Spring, anger growing in their eyes.
“Sinner!” they shouted. “You must pray! Pray for the Lord to save you from temptation!”
Their shouts became mangled and blended with one another. Spring’s eyes darted from angry face to angry face.
Then she ran. She nearly fell down the steps in her attempt to escape.
She ran as fast as she could ever remember running before. She ran until she could barely see through the tears pooling in her eyes. Then she collapsed on a bench, finally allowing her sobs to envelope her.

Blog 3: Casa D'Waffles

Spring woke to a loud tap next to her ear and the orange streaks of light filtering through the car window. She jumped and turned toward the sound. A police officer stood glaring from outside her car window. “What the...” Spring uttered. Then she remembered.

Her phone still lay next to her hand, and she thought of the night before. Closing her eyes and groaning, she recalled the car breaking down, Spencer shouting, the blind man’s strange words, storming out of her house, leaving the frantic voicemail message for Spencer, and falling asleep in her car.

What is wrong with me...she thought. It wasn’t really a question.
She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes rolled down the window. “Good morning, officer,” Spring said, attempting her usual cheery tone, but it wasn’t the same.
“Morning, ma’am,” he grunted. “You know you’re parked on the side of one of the busiest roads in town, right?”
Spring looked around. She was pulled over on Popular Avenue, where a line of bumper-to-bumper traffic curled around the block.
“Oh,” was all she managed to utter.
“Yeah. ‘Oh,’” the officer said. “Do you also know that it’s illegal in CityBlock to sleep in your car?”
“No, I’m sorry, officer,” Spring said.
He sighed in disapproval and produced a notepad from the pocket of his uniform. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to write you a ticket for this.”
Spring knew it would be a waste of time to argue. She didn’t really care, anyways. Just one more problem to deal with. She took her ticket and thanked the officer, simply out of the habit of being polite.
“You’re going to have to move you car, ma’am,” the officer added before walking away.
“I understand,” Spring said, to no one in particular. She watched the officer drive away into the traffic.
Spring sat for a moment, still waking up and simply not wanting to move. Eventually, she turned the keys in the ignition. The engine, once again, choked and died.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Spring shouted.

She never cursed, but it was becoming a bit of a habit lately.

She slammed her fist on the wheel and the horn sounded loudly. A passing driver sped up in fright.

Looking around, she notice the Casa D’Waffles at the end of the block. A large neon sign advertised “Free Waffle with a Cup of Coffee!”

“Fuck it,” Spring said. She got out of the car and trekked across the street, ignoring the honks of the cars stuck in the mess of traffic now extending even further down the street. She glanced down the road to see what was causing the back-up. A large bus was stalled halfway around the corner, and several flashing police cars scattered around it. A woman in a waitress uniform was being handcuffed and escorted into the back of one of the police cars.
Huh, Spring thought.
She entered the waffle place, sat, and ordered a coffee and free waffle. She stretched her neck with several cracks. The headrest in her car wasn’t exactly a pillow. She would go home later and take a nap. Home. She couldn’t go home, could she? She had stormed out of her house without a word to her sister. They didn’t even know where she was.
Spring dug in her purse for her phone. They had probably called her a million times, worried about her. She pressed a button on her phone to light up the screen.
0 missed calls.
Spring didn’t know what she was expecting, really. Her sister and brother-in-law had their own problems to deal with, namely Caleb. Plus, their work. Why would the preoccupy themselves with her whereabouts?
Shit, Spring thought. Work. It was almost 9 AM. But she couldn’t bring herself to care.
The waitress brought Spring her coffee, which tasted watered-down, and her waffle, which tasted stale. “Could I get a newspaper?” Spring asked.
The waitress nodded and retrieved one. Mostly just to pass the time, Spring flipped through the dull news and advertisements. But suddenly, an ad caught her eye. A smiling, blue-eyed baby looked up at her from the left page. Underneath, words read “Watson Fertility. For a free consultation, call 1-800-350-8888.”
Spring dialed the number into her phone.

Blog 2: 10-10-11: The blind man next to the clinic

Spring stood motionless in the clinic parking lot. Her keys still lay on the pavement where she’d dropped them

Have a nice fucking day. Spencer’s voice echoed in her ears.

When she finally moved, it was with caution. She bent slowly over to retrieve the keys and drifted toward the car, as if any gesture could cause some sort of explosion. She’d never, ever has someone speak to her that way. People snickered behind her back, rolled their eyes as she spoke, or even ignored her, but no one had ever yelled at her. She wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

Spring was suddenly aware of Judy Garland’s “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” playing from across the lot. She looked toward the clinic at the blind, homeless man sitting on a bundle of clothes and blankets and leaning his head against the wall. As if he sensed her stare, the man lifted his head and tapped a small, copper bowl sitting next to him.

Spring approached the man, digging her hands in the bottom crevices of her purse for any loose change. Producing a handful of mostly nickels, Spring dropped them in the bowl with several satisfying metallic sounds.

“True, it is not your fate to fall at my hands!” the man belted as the change clanged against the sides of the bowl.

“Excuse me?” Spring said, her voice still shaky from Spencer’s outburst.

“Not your fate to fall at my hands!” the man repeated.

Spring stared. “What does that mean?” she said.

“Riddles! All you can say are riddles! Murk and darkness...” the man said and began coughing violently.

Spring stood, for the second time that night, rooted to one spot. The man regained composure after a minute and retired back to his position leaning his head against the wall.

* * *

Arriving back in her driveway at 126 Willow Lane, Spring couldn’t shake Spencer’s and the blind man’s words from her head. Have a nice fucking day. Not your fate to fall at my hands. All you can say are riddles. What was she doing? She didn’t know.

“Well, you’re late,” Spring’s sister, Trish, said sharply when she walked in.

“Um...yeah, car trouble,” Spring said with little feeling.

She walked past Trish sitting in the lazy boy with Caleb, without even kissing Caleb on the head.

Spring always kissed Caleb.

“Well, I need you to clean the kitchen,” Trish said.

“Why didn’t Peter do it?” Spring asked, pausing in the hallway.

Trish gave a dramatic sigh. “You know, Spring, we all work around here, and Peter was really tired, so he went to bed. And I’m feeding Caleb,” Trish said. “Seeing as we let you live in our house, the least you could do is just clean the kitchen, Spring.”

“Sure thing.”

She never argued with her sister.

Spring’s arms soaked to the elbow in dishwater, the words entered her thoughts again. It is not your fate to fall at my hands.

What was she doing? She was 27. She lived in her controlling sister’s house. She worked at a roller skating rink. The only thing she cared about was Caleb.

Caleb. That beautiful baby boy. That baby. Spring wanted a baby. She sighed.

“Fuck this,” Spring whispered.

She never cursed.

She shook her arms off and, without bothering to dry them, grabbed her purse and keys.

“Where are you going?” Trish demanded as Spring marched toward the door. She didn’t answer.

She drove. She wasn’t sure where she was going. But the words. Those words wouldn’t go away. Have a nice fucking day. Spring stopped, and her tires protested with a screech. Without thinking, she pulled out her phone and pressed redial.

The phone rang. And rang. Then a beep sounded, followed by a deep, cheery voice. It was clearly Spencer’s, but it sounded like a different person’s, from a different life. “Hey, it’s Spencer Daey.” As he said his name, a swell of noise grew in the background, what sounded like the voices of several young men.

“The Switch.”

“Ayyy, the SWITCH!”

“Whoooo, the Switch, Daey!”

Spencer’s voice gave an embarrassed laugh. “Um, yeah, it’s Spencer. I’m not available right now, but just leave me a message, and I’ll get right back to you.”

A final, collective “Whoop!” sounded, and a beep signaled Spring’s turn.

“Hey, Spencer,” she said. Her voice was different, even to her. Her cheery squeak was gone, replaced by a quiet, deeper tone. “I just wanted to say thanks for working on my car. And I’m sorry if I did something wrong, or even if I didn’t.”

She paused. What was she trying to say?

“You seem...like you’re dealing with something. And I don’t know what it is. And it’s none of my business. But...If you ever want to vent...you know.” She had no idea what she was saying. She sighed. “I hate this town.”

Spring hung up. She didn’t care that that message didn’t make any sense or that she’d just made a fool of herself. Or that she’d just left her house and had nowhere to go. She didn’t care. She leaned her head back on the scratching headrest, mimicking the blind man behind the clinic.

True, it is not your fate to fall at my hands.

Blog 1: 9-7-11: The day started out with....

The day started out with Bonnie Tyler. And I need you now tonight! And I need you more than ever! Her voice rasped through the stereo alarm. Tyler had nearly reached the climax of the chorus, singing And we’ll only be makin’ it right!, when 27 year-old Spring Patterson’s limbs unfolded and she rolled over and turned off the alarm, cutting Tyler off in the middle of a particularly high note. Spring never pressed the snooze button.
Instead, she sat up surprisingly fast for a person who had just been dreaming about cuddly bundles of things that resembled newborn infants. She stretched and croaked out the next line to “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” which she knew by heart, the morning phlegm still sputtering in her throat.

Getting out of bed, Spring prepared for the best and worst part of the day: getting dressed. Her closet opened to a mini-department store of dresses, sweaters, and shoes, the majority of which in the most alarming shades of pink. Pink was Spring’s very favorite color. Any kind of pink, although it was best neon or sparkly. Spring had a single pink streak in her hair, which went rather interestingly with the red-brown shade of her wavy fringe. Her nails were always pink, as were her lips. Everything of Spring’s was pink, right down to her Toyota 4 Runner, which she’d bought used from some guy who lived in Castle Apartments, and which she’d had repainted a metallic, glittery hue.

Spring pulled on her favorite lime-green tights, cowboy boots, and a fuzzy, pink sweater-dress before looking in the mirror. “Muffin top” was an adequate description of her middle area, and her nose was a little upturned, but Spring just smiled, fussed with her hair, and continued her everyday routine.

In the kitchen, Spring greeted her cousin, Trish, and Trish’s husband, Peter.

She never forgot to say good morning.

Spring rented a room in their small house, on Willow Lane, while she was attending the small community college in the next town. She also made sure to kiss the newborn baby, Caleb on the cheek before heading out the door.

“You’ll get him sick, Spring! He doesn’t have an immune system capable...” Tish’s protests followed Spring as she went.

The drive to work at the Sobchak Boulevard Roller Rink was usually filled with stares from other drivers, mostly because of the contrast between Spring’s care and the rest of the, well, street, but also because of the sound of Celine Dion and Spring screeching along blasting from her 4 Runner. She usually kept the windows down in the summer since the AC in her car didn’t work very well. She thought that maybe she should have spent the money on the paint job to fix it, instead.
At work, Spring smiled with both rows of teeth and greeted each of the employees, even those she didn’t know well.
Spring entered the break room, spotting Janet, who sat in the cubicle to the left of Spring.

“How was your weekend, Janet?” Spring said, pouring herself a mug of coffee and heaping three spoonfuls of raw cane sugar into it.

“Just fine, Spring,” Janet said.

“Do anything fun?” Spring said, with another flash of teeth.

“Hmmm? No, not really,” Janet said, sipping her own coffee.

“Nothing at all?” Spring continued.

“Not really, Spring,” Janet sighed. Spring always felt that it was strange that Janet hardly looked her in the eyes. Not many people did, for that matter.
“Aw, what a bummer. Well my weekend was pretty good,” Spring said and faced Janet, thinking that maybe her body language would make Janet look at her.
“Mmm-hmm,” Janet murmured, focusing intently on the cream she was pouring into her mug. Spring waited for her to ask about her weekend, tapping her foot to the sound of “I Feel Like a Woman” growing louder in her head.
“Because I went to the hospital. The baby was born this weekend!” Spring gushed. She couldn’t help herself.
“Oh. Isn’t that nice,” Janet said.
“Yes!” Spring said. “His name is Caleb. He’s beautiful. A little late, but he finally came! He’s adorable. Just so tiny and cute and pink! I didn’t know babies could be so pink!”
“Hmm. I bet you liked that, didn’t you Spring?” Janet said. It wasn’t really a question. Spring knew that Janet was getting tired of her, that she was only making comments to get the conversation over with, and then she could leave the break room to ignore Spring for the rest of the day.
But Spring couldn’t stop. She laughed. “You know me too well, Janet. It's so lucky I get to live with Trish and Peter so that I can see Caleb everyday! He’s so gosh-darn cute! I wish you could see how cute he is, because he is just so cute. I’ll be sure to bring pictures for everyone to look at. Maybe tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow I’ll bring pictures....Wouldn’t you like to see, Janet?”
But she had already stopped listening.
After a lengthy pause, Janet realized that Spring had finally silenced. “Oh!” She exclaimed, quick to cover up her hesitation. “Yes, yes, that would be nice...” Nice. That was Janet’s favorite word. She made a funny jerk in the direction of the door and said, “Well...work, you know.”
“Right. Of course, of course,” Spring said. “Go ahead! Sorry to keep you.”
Janet gave a polite half-smile and left the room. Spring looked down at her mug and saw the small puddles of coffee around it on the counter. She didn’t realize she’d been swirling her coffee rather rigorously with a spoon during the whole conversation.

Spring was the last to leave the rink most nights. As a paid intern in the rink’s office, Spring was responsible for all of the book-keeping and filing, an easy but time-consuming task. Rubbing her eyes, scratchy from staring at a computer screen all day, she left the building and crossed the parking lot to her car. The street lights made the paint job glitter in the dark. She turned the key in the ignition, and the car made a wheeze like an old smoker. She couldn’t believe it. She tried again, and this time the car simply coughed and died.

“Gosh darnit!” Spring said.

She never cursed.

This was the third time in two months that the car had quit on her. The smell of burning rubber mingled with the musty summer smell that had been lingering in the air for days. That stupid guy who sold her the car, just six months or so ago, the one with the limp...what was his name? Steven? Sebastian? Spring wasn’t sure.

No matter, she’d had it. She rummaged in her purse, throwing her wallet and phone aside, and retrieved the bent business card out of a pocket. Spencer “The Switch” Daey.

Spring punched in the digits into her phone and lifted it to her ear. The phone rang three times, and Spring was just about to hang up when a hollow click sounded from the other line.

“Hello?”