Sheila

Sheila

Sheila worked for the Brooklyn Public library for 11 years. In that time she grew to know herself. She knew she wanted to taste the wine dark seas, and she knew she had not seen the rosy fingers of dawn.

Sheila stood with the cart of books in the A-B stack in the fiction section, and shelved books. She held each book close to her face and smelled the spine, then separated two books and slid the book into that space on the shelf. Sheila hated the smell of books. She sniffed the spine, and cursed under her breath, Sheila shelved books down the stack, sniffing the spines, cursing, and breaking every few minutes to make an adjustment to her skirt, or sweater, or corset. Sheila moved down the stacks until the cart was devoid of books. Sheila took a bow then.

The big clock in the main reading room told the time of 5:29 P.M. Sheila gathered the periodicals from the big tables the library patrons had left behind. Sheila adjusted her cat’s-eyes glasses. Sheila lollygagged about the room collecting journals, magazines, and newspapers. She studied the patrons. She stood next to her cart and cocked her fist on her hip, and studied the patrons. There was the man in the pink izod shirt and blue jeans lounged in a chair in a corner next to the fake palm tree, his usual spot, and the three old ladies who had once invited Sheila to tea. They ignored Sheila, but Sheila recalled a time when these old ladies wanted her to tell then of sex life over tea. Two men stood over by the big window with their backs to the room. The men spoke in low voices to one another. The big clock read 6:39 P.M. then. Sheila finished her rounds, and shelved the periodicals.

Sheila clocked out in the back room. She heard the satisfying clunk of the time imprinter come down on her time card. Sheila knew she had to assassinate Rudy Powell.

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Whoever said April was the cruelest month had never seen February in New York. The sidewalks turn white from the repeated snowings and saltings. The weather never warming up enough to remove all the snow, but just enough to let it melt and then refreeze. By February this has happened enough times that every corner is covered with a bloom of custy ice, looking like the the dingey white cousin of the blood pool which was now forming under Rudy's lifeless body. One to the leg, one to the chest and one to the head. Snap! Snap! Snap!One to the leg to drop him as he ran once the gun came out of her purse. One to the chest to kill him and one to the head for luck. This was easy. Rudy hit the sidewalk and now his blood expanded around him like a flower at which rudy was the center, mixing with the grey-white ice on the sidewalk.

She was careful. She waited until Rudy made the drop off at the warehouse on the lower west side. Lots of empty buildings, no one on the sidewalk. She reached into his jacket, removed the packet and then started to leave, but returned to grab his wallet for good measure. She stuffed the packet into her inside pocket , pulled the cash out of the wallet as she walked west to the Hudson. She decided to stroll the 10 blocks down to the NY Waterway ferry to Wehawken along the river walk. It was bitter cold and nearly 7 pm. She would just have time to catch the second to last ferry and head back to her car. She arrived at the Battery Park City terminal just as the ferry did and quickly climbed aboard. After a few moments the ferry headed back out into the Hudson. The cold was so brutal that there was nobody on the fat veiwing area when she went out there to toss the gun and the wallet into the grey-black foam in the wake of the ferry.

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Gerald

Gerald

The alarm awoke me at my appointed time. I set my alarm for 9:23 A.M.. I prefer to arise after the rush hour is long over because my work is best done while there are not the crowds that pack the subway. I arose and clad myself in my bath garments and went outside the door to get the paper. I get the post delivered every morning. I prefer not to read it. I put it in the stack. 2004 is nearly over so the stack for it nears completion. Then it can be bound by month with 6 strings for each direction and stacked in the year area. January is a big time and my work is plentiful then.

With the paper stacked I gather my things into the bathing bucket and walk down the hall to the communal bathroom. The bathing bucket is divided and segmented. Each compartment contains the necessary elements for the appropriate bath operation. At 9:36 A.M. I enter the bath arena. Huxley has just finished. He has no interest in time. He is always late. Huxley must be kept to schedule or he will interfere with my work. Huxley is supposed to have finished by 9:25 A.M. and be out of the bathroom by 9:30 A.M. I allow 6 minutes for the steam to dissipate and then enter to begin the bath operation. Huxley’s steam will befoul the operation. I almost decide to return to my room and remain for the rest of the day due to this set back.

“You afford me no favors, Huxley!”

“You can fuckin’ blow yourself. Fuckin Nutjob!”

“You language is unacceptable, Huxley! Please refrain from blue language during the bathing operation.”

“Cock off!”

With that ungrammatical and yet foul epithet Huxley departed the bathroom.

The bathing operation will not be discussed here within this document due to the personal nature of what is contained within it. I closed and locked the door to the bathroom and began the ritual.