fiction > two year debt

Gayle sat on the tattered couch, buffing her sharp nails in the seedy one bedroom brownstone apartment with Tasha, her three-year-old daughter. Their tiny living room was scattered with few toys, and the walls had brown paper sacks taped to the walls for the little one to draw on. The apartment reflected two things: love, and poverty. They had the space for a little over two years now, and Gayle went to school taking twenty-two credit hours a semester, with little Tasha being watched by a neighbor's teenage daughter.
In the late sweltering days of September, the only relief was a box fan drawing hot air out of the room, creating a minor draft. The fan was half-way falling out the window, threatening to crash on the fire escape below.
Tasha was dressed in a sundress and her mother in a matching one. Each dress had uneven stitches with a few puckers here and there, as Gayle's amateur sewing skills would allow. The fabric, purchased at the local Goodwill as a mill end for ninety-nine cents a yard, the patterns Gayle downloaded from the internet during a visit to the college library. Gayle was teaching Tasha how to sew, passing the knowledge from mother to daughter like parents and children had done for many generations before them. It gave them some purpose together, a way to bond, an excuse to hold, cuddle, and learn from each other. They would talk about what sorts of things they wanted to sew next, about dresses and skirts, and blouses and things that girls and their mothers spoke of.
Gayle looked across the room to a hanging calendar, which had a picture of big bird holding the letter S on it, and today's day highlighted. She knew it would not take Sam long to find her, despite being in jail for the last two years.
Sam was a vicious individual who lifted weights, was quick, agile, and everything in life had to be Sam's way or no way. Gayle had enough two years ago, and fled to this seedy apartment after going to the cops and explained everything to them, clutching the infant Tasha in her arms.
She testified in closed-circuit camera, but having no way to escape the poverty of the city, the best she could do was move a few blocks, and try to know a few years of peace. Peace she knew would be shattered in the days to come.
One last afternoon, she thought. One quiet afternoon with Tasha, of bouncing the little one on her knee, snuggling her nose, and making her sock puppets talk. She had so hoped to graduate nursing school before Sam got out, but the chemistry was very hard, and she had to repeat the class twice before she was able to memorize some of the formulas she was required to know.
Gayle had never considered herself a bright woman, by any stretch of the imagination, but she knew that the only way to her dreams, her goals in life would be to get a higher level of income than she had now. Welfare, she had heard more than once, was a ticket to nowhere, and once she became determined, once she had broken through her fear, not only did she leave Sam, but also she put herself on the road to happiness. She began to believe in herself and the woman she wanted to be.
As the evening drew on, and the shadows became longer, the din of the busy street that ran outside of her apartment started to die down. Tasha yawned a few times, and Gayle made sure she ate a few slices of apple, and bites of carrot. Gayle's stomach churned a bit, as she knew the top ramen she would make later for herself would not fill her belly that much, but she always made sure Tasha ate fresh fruits and vegetables.
Tasha was falling asleep as Gayle bathed her, and barely kept her eyes open for the first few verses of, A. A. Milne's, 'Winnie-the-pooh'. Tasha stroked her daughter's hair, and then, even in the stifling heat, walked over, closed, and locked the window. She left the room, leaving on Pooh's glow-in-the-dark face night light plugged into the floor outlet by the door.
She went into the bathroom, closed the door, and pulled off her sundress. She looked at herself critically in the mirror behind the door. Her breasts were small, jutting things that could barely fill a small sport bra, but her stomach was nice and flat. She turned on tepid water, slipped off her ratty panties, and put them and the dress in the hamper.
The shower felt good, but she could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, something bad was going to happen. Her mother, when she was still alive, always honored her women's intuition, and Gayle was not sure if she could have women's intuition or not, but she still had a bad feeling. Quickly, she dried, wrapped the towel under her armpits, and then started to brush her teeth.
The single bare bulb in the bathroom dimmed as the power company fought the blackout. When people came home to turn on air-conditioners, personal computers, and the myriad of other toys that modern America runs on, it became too much, and the dimness yielded to complete and utter darkness.
Gayle shivered, not from the water droplets still on her shoulder and the dampness in her hair. She was nyctophobic to a certain degree and immediately opened the bathroom door to try to glean what little light she could from the windows of the front room.
The darkness offered no comfort and she padded into the hallway, her bare feet against the cheap carpet caused her to quiver a touch. She fought her fear only long enough to make sure that the door to Tasha's room remained closed and felt her way to the kitchen, keeping her hand clutched to the knot in her towel.
She rummaged in cupboards and in the utility drawer; she finally found a small penlight, and a battered AM radio. In the dim light of the flash she fiddled with radio, and found it dead. She slipped off the back, and in the dim view of the penlight, she realized that it took the smaller 'AA' batteries, just like the light.
Her heart began to pound and a choice presented itself, to have either light, or information. The calming voice of a newscast, and possibly music for comfort was a strong foe to have against the darkness. Stronger, in her mind, than the rapidly fading penlight.
She clicked the light off, and began to unscrew the back hen she heard a soft thudding noise, coming from the living area.
Her eyes dilated as she moved slightly, peeking around the corner. She couldn't see much, there was only minimal illumination from the stars outside. She had the 'AA' batteries in one hand and then a hand reached out from beside the hall and slapped her face.
Gayle shrieked.
"Cunt." Sam said.
"Suh-suh-Sam," she stuttered.
The massive form of Sam was like an eclipse of what little starlight that filtered through. She could see only the outline of Sam's short, butch hair, her huge muscular arms, and her pendulous breasts. Sam was a mountain of a woman, more than capable of doing damage to anyone, male, or female that happened to get into her way.
"Well bitch, I'm here. Where's my little girl? I told you I'd come back for her!"
Gayle's face went white, and she stuttered in her frail voice, "She's not here."
"Liar," Gayle said, and backhanded her, sending her tumbling to the floor. Sam landed atop her kneeing her in the solar plexus pushing air out of her lungs, and causing her to gasp for breath.
Sam felt the knot of the ragged towel at Gayle's front and pulled it open, baring Gayle's breasts to her on the linoleum.
"Well cunt, did you get it done yet? Hm? Did you have your little snippy snip?" Sam teased.
Gayle quivered as Sam's gloved hand pulled hard at her nipples and then moved down her ribcage, following the dip of her tummy, onto her shaven pubis. With a hard pull, one that made Gayle wince, Sam twisted the remnant of Gayle's manhood, a diminutive penis.
"Guess not. It's a shame, I was looking forward to fisting your snatch," Sam said.
Gayle caught her breath and clocked Sam right in the stomach, but the big woman shrugged it off.
"You always did punch like a girl, even when you were Gaylord. I never knew what I saw in you, you pathetic weak ass little bitch," Sam replied, her gloved hand slapping Gayle's face, causing her nose to bleed and her left eye to blacken.
Gayle's hands went to her face, and then lay there, as Sam rained blows on her. Her punches were strong, powerful things that battered Gayle's face, splitting her lip and now swelling both eyes, she could barely see and Sam sat back on her again. Sam's final indignity to her former husband was to spit on her.
"Now I'm gonna go take Tasha, and raise her right."
Gayle's blood ran cold, and she shivered, screaming, "NO!"
Sam laughed, "what makes you ever think that you could be a mother, much less a woman, you fucking little freak."
Gayle's tears started to flow as Sam laughed harder, pressing her body into Gayle's, pushing the air out of her lungs. Gayle's arms flailed, and by accident, she smacked one of Sam's breasts, which caused her some momentary pain. Another fist rewarded this, one to Gayle's jaw, causing a tooth to come loose.
Something in Gayle's mind gave way, as she realized she was facing loosing her daughter. She also realized she was fighting Sam as if she was a man. She believed in herself, and her femininity. Then she remembered something someone had once told her. She balled her fists back and punched Sam square in the breast causing the big woman to howl in pain, and shudder.
"Bitch! I'll kill you for that," Sam hissed, and reared back with a cocked fist
Gayle followed up with her left fist, another punch to the breast, causing Sam to loose her momentum. Over, and over her punches flew, no longer in fear, her adrenaline and endorphins fueled her courage. She raked Sam's face with her sharp nails, digging into the flesh, gouging at an eye, tearing at the big woman's nose.
Sam grabbed at her face pulling to one side as Gayle squirmed free and then pressed her attack, clawing at her with all the force she could muster, scratching at her neck, tearing at Sam's shirt, and raking at her arms, and shoulders. She kneed Sam into her chest and grabbed at both of her huge nipples simultaneously, causing the enormous woman to squall banshee like a banshee.
"You're nothing but a bully, Sam. A weak, bully who has to pick on people smaller than you are." Gayle said. Her voice had become quiet, and the darkness that she once feared was now her strongest ally. She backed from the kitchen.
Sam's breathing was ragged, her blood dripped in small spatters on the kitchen floor. Gayle waited for her in the living area, and heard Sam reach in the drawers. Gayle's heart pounded harder, knowing Sam wanted to kill her for making her bleed. She forced herself to remain calm, and stood in front of the window, her silhouette like a piece of bait.
"Well, Sam," she called with a breathy voice, "I'm right here. You take me out, and there won't be anything standing in your way from Tasha."
"Damn straight," Sam said, and charged from the kitchen, the butcher knife rose, catching a glint from the stars in the night sky.
Gayle waited until she heard the footsteps tromped closer, followed by the yelp as Sam tripped on the box fan that Gayle had set flat in front of her. That was all the warning Gayle needed to merely step aside.
Sam crashed into the window, her face shattering the cheap glass, blood spattering everywhere, as it sliced her jugular like a hot knife through butter. The butcher knife swung aimlessly, managing only to give Gayle a minor gash in her right thigh.
The crash, however, managed to waken little Tasha and she cried out at the top of her lungs, "mommy!"
Gayle slipped past the body and into the hallway, easing the door open.
"Momma, it's the boogey man!" She screamed.
Gayle responded quietly, without entering into the room, just her calm, collected, levelheaded voice speaking to Tasha as if she were the only little girl on the planet.
"Yes, honey, it was the boogey-man. Mommy beat him up, though, so he won't be back again." Gayle said.
Tasha's eyes were as wide as saucer plates.
"Momma beat up the boogey-man?"
"Yes, Tasha." Gayle said. The power came on, and her Winnie-the-Pooh night light came back on. "You see? The boogey-man's gone because Pooh is here."
"COOL!" Tasha said excitedly.
"Now I want you to lie down for a few minutes. I need to call a police officer so they can come take the boogey-man away. Then mommy will come in and read you another story, okay?"
"The one about the heffalumps?" Tasha asked.
"I think we can do heffalumps," Gayle responded. "Heffalumps are just fine with me."

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