Sitting in my "home office," really just a guest bedroom where we've put a desk and a computer, I was about to login to begin work for the day. "Work from Home" its called. WFH. More like FML in reality. The calendar says its been nearly ten months, but since the start of the pandemic, it feels like one long nightmare of a day. Today was looking no better. My daughter had just started Zoom-school in the next room. Janis, or Purvis, or some kid with a similar sounding name refused to mute his mic, and the teachers were struggling to keep the kids' attention. Fifteen kids talking and blaring over each other in a cacophony of endless noise. The same thing happens every day. I try to tune it out before another migraine sets in. Looking out the window, snow has just begun to fall. We've had a few good storms this year, but most of the earlier snow has turned to slush. Last year we didn't get any. Global warming they say. Maybe today's snow would cover up the mud and mounds of dog shit that I can see out my window below in the park across the street.
Suddenly, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. A call. Don't recognize the number. Usually I don't answer random calls, but we're expecting a delivery so I'll make an exception. "Hello?" I say. An unfamiliar voice responds. A man with a heavy Eastern-European accent asks for me by name, in English. "Speaking," I say. He offers me something I want. Something I really want. But how did he know? Oh right, probably from that website I found weeks ago. I had attempted to make an inquiry, but never got a response. That was before the police had locked everything down. Things were different now though, and a lot more risky.
"I'm in," I said. "How do we do this?" Moments later an SMS appears on my phone. An address and a time. A quick Google search showed its on the other side of town. The "bad" part of town, where the Russians live. I've never been over there before, and for good reason. Usually I do this in the historical city center, off a side street. In better times there are lots of tourists around and I blend in easier. But like I said, things are different now. I tell myself this is crazy, and maybe even dangerous. I'm questioning myself. Why take the risk? But honestly, I need it. I've gone without for so long, its starting to show. I can't even look at myself in the mirror anymore. I barely recognize myself. Its that bad. No, I'm going through with this. I tell my wife I'm stepping out for a bit, but I can see it in her eyes, she already knows. Had she heard my conversation? It doesn't matter. I need it. I need it bad. And I need it now.
Slinking out of the apartment, I jump in my car and hit the road. The snow has picked up by now. Not a blizzard, but visibility is an issue. Its freezing cold, but I feel a trickle of sweat down my spine. There's always time to turn back I say to myself. What if this is a set up? A robbery? Kidnapping? Or worse...murder? Maybe blackmail? I don't know where I'm going or who's going to be there. Will my face be on the news tonight, caught in a compromising position? Disgraced? World leaders have been recorded and exposed publicly doing the exact same thing. But I'm just a nobody. Nobody cares about me right? Doesn't matter now though, I'm committed.
I arrive at the address. Nearby are several crumbling Soviet-era buildings and a few people milling around, dressed in heavy winter attire, drab darks and grays, just like buildings. A man smokes in the distance. I don my mask, which partially conceals my identity. A woman approaches me and asks in Russian if I need help. Panic hits. Is she in on the arrangement? Maybe a cop? Russians rarely talk to strangers. I respond that I'm meeting someone, hoping to play it cool. While my Russian is excellent, I still have an accent. Clearly I'm not from the neighborhood. An outsider. She gestures toward a plain, unmarked, steel door on the backside of a nearby building, then turns and walks away as quickly as she approached. Checking my surroundings, I knock on the door, wondering if this is the last time I'll see the light of day. No turning back now. A large man dressed in black opens the door, checks to see if I've been followed then invites me in. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, the door quickly closes behind me and locks shut. All I can see are sheets of black plastic, draped from floor to ceiling. Oh God what have I done!?!
The man guides me through a maze of black sheeting until I find myself in another room. The sheeting covers the walls and all the windows, blocking all outside light and ensuring no one can see in. I'm told to take off my coat and make myself comfortable. And then I see her. Early thirties, thin, bleached blond hair pulled back in a pony tail, and leather pants. Her face shows some weariness however. Tired. The pandemic has been difficult for everyone, but clearly more so for some. She gives me what I came for. She's clearly only in it for the money, but at the same time, I can tell she's a professional. She knows what she's doing. Maybe she even enjoys it? I laugh to myself. I'm not special. That's how she treats all of her customers. After she finishes, I put the money on a nearby table, and with a mutual nod of understanding, the man unlocks the door and lets me out. I survived.
I drive home in silence. The lockdown has made people do some questionable things, and I'm afraid I'm no different. The snow is starting to let up though, and I dare say, things look beautiful. A layer of pure white snow has hidden the dark, slushy, underbelly of the city. A fleeting moment of serenity before I have to face my family. There's no way I can hide what I've done. Its practically written on my face. I needed it though. At least that's what I tell myself. Standing outside of my apartment door, I take a deep breath before turning the handle and walk inside. My daughter, with all of her innocence and energy, bounds up to me and says, "Nice haircut daddy."
1 comment:
Loved it! A very fun read.
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