Love,
Jessy
***
The first time I saw Mei Ericson, she was screaming in the middle of the street. It had been a brisk autumn’s day, and I was tired of the loneliness of my empty apartment, so I had grabbed my coat and headed to the nearby coffee shop for an expresso. There, I took my favorite seat in a couch by the restrooms, uncomfortable enough for most people to avoid, but with a perfect angle out of the frosty windows for watching the various people outside. With my eyes, I followed an elderly couple into the bookstore, examined the ice skating rink where children milled about aimlessly, swerving calmly every so often to avoid hitting one who had fallen, and sipped on my coffee as a teenage boy picked a scarlet leaf off of the branches over his head and produced it from behind his back to a beaming little sister.
And then, out of the blue, there came a piercing scream.
Even muffled by the chatter inside of the coffee shop and the glass panels lining the walls, I could hear the panic in the woman’s voice. A fraction of a second later, there came the sharp squeal of rubber skidding on pavement, an angry honk, and a shout of colorful language. Peering curiously out of the window, I observed a petite woman, somehow bearing the cold in just a cream cashmere sweater, burgundy skinny jeans, and black combat boots studded with diamonds. Her hair was pulled back into a messy French braid, revealing earrings on both sides and a dark strawberry birthmark on the side of her neck. Her chocolate eyes seemed tired and weary, but they still flickered as she exchanged shouts at the driver of a New York taxi cab. I was automatically enthralled by her. Not in a romantic way, of course, but after years of people watching from the same uncomfortable couch in the same local coffee shop, I could tell that this woman had an intricate character. I got up, shrugged on my coat, and exited the coffee shop with a half empty expresso in hand.
By the time I’d reached the streets where the woman had just almost been hit, she had already stomped away furiously, the taxi cab driver yelling after her. Driven by curiosity, I trailed afterwards, copying her footsteps, observing her every action. She strode with an aura of confidence, chin tilted upwards just enough to show authority but not arrogance. I slowed my steps every so often to wait for her as she paused to pick a flower from the cracks of a neighbor’s driveway, petted and cooed at a passing stray cat, dug a sandwich out of her purse, which she then ate as she walked, and stopped to say hi to a passing friend. A while later, she tossed the crust of her sandwich to a nearby pigeon, who squeaked in surprise, then fluttered back towards the bread and began to peck at it happily.
It took the woman around 10 minutes to reach her house. It was fairly decent in size, big enough to accommodate 1 person comfortably, but too small for 2. She paused at the front door, rummaged through her purse for a while, then dug out a set of keys and inserted one into the lock. A couple of seconds later, she’d disappeared through the door. Since I had nothing better to do, I decided to take a seat on one of the benches in the park across the street and wait for her to come back out.
The woman’s house definitely stood out. From a row of simple white apartment buildings, towering skyscrapers, and busy bustling marketplaces, her sunset orange residence felt more out of place than I did in a crowd of New Yorkers. It seemed to have been plucked right out from a southern California suburb and dropped smack in the middle of the Big Apple. A row of bushes encircled the front half of the house, wrapping around a simple green lawn and a couple of stone angels scattered across the yard. A stone path winded its way through the grass, coming to a stop at the foot of the porch, where a rocking chair perched. Past that, a small wooden door stood stoically, painted with acrylic flowers and stars. Matching windows, also painted, sat on either side of the door, although I couldn’t see inside since they were covered by stark white curtains. Upwards, a white tiled roof sloped down from the center of the house. I tilted my head back to empty the remaining drops of coffee still left in the cup into my mouth. The bitter liquid warmed my body, but once the effect had faded, I was back to shivering in the cold once more.
My apartment was just a couple of blocks east, but I decided to endure the cold for a little while longer, hoping that the woman hadn’t decided to stay in for the evening. Meanwhile, I watched a group of tourists trump past, their guides barking out orders, a street vendor calling out at them, advertising his hot dogs, and a trio of teenage girls giggling and talking on their phones.
I began to get tired around the second hour. The sun had long ago reached its peak in the sky, and was now slowly dropping behind the tall skyscrapers piercing the clouds. But then, just as I was about to stand up and call it a night, a slim blue BMW pulled up in front of the house. A man, tall, broad, and complete with muscles rippling under a navy blue suit that complimented his black tux shoes, got out of the car. He adjusted his tie, fiddled with his hair, and strode up the path to rap on the door. A couple of moments later, it swung open, and the woman whom I recognized from this morning stepped out.
Her hair had been taken out of its braid, and was now twisted into a pretty coil at the very base of her head, decorated with shimmering silver flowers. She was wearing a navy blue dress that matched her partner’s suit, and silver stilettos that tapped rhythmically against the floor as she walked. The two of them exchanged small talk, laughing, joking, and playfully pushing each other around, before the man held out his hand, walked his date down the path, and opened the car’s door for her. A few moments later, they had driven off.
I watched their taillights fade as they got farther and farther away from the house, then turned my attention back to the woman’s home itself. I wanted to explore it, to uncover all of her hidden secrets, to delve into this woman’s private life and see what I could find. I stood up, dusting the snow off of my pants and stretching my arms in a tired yawn. The streets were still buzzing with activity and chatter, but I managed to slip into the woman’s yard without a second glance. I headed up the stone path and plopped myself down into the rocking chair. It swayed precariously beneath me, awkwardly hurling my body forward, then tilting me back again. I got up.
The door felt like a warm invitation, begging me to turn the knob and test to see if it were locked. I accepted the offer. The metal turned easily in my hand, conceding my admittance into the foyer. And, without hesitation, I stepped through the door and shut it behind me. Apparently, Mei was forgetful as well.
I was standing in a long, open hall. Apart from that, I couldn’t quite make out my surroundings. My fingers fumbled against the wall for a light switch. The room flooded with brightness, and my eyes took a second to adjust before I could take a look around. On my left, there sat a tiny living room, with white leather loveseats placed in various positions against the walls, and a small television in the far left corner. A glass coffee table, with three odd colored mugs scattered on it, sat in the middle of the entire room. I turned to my right. It seemed to be some sort of dining room, although I couldn’t quite tell, because the only furniture happened to be a slim table draped with a pale blue cloth. A single black chair was pushed aside next to it, and on the table’s surface lay a plate with some half eaten fries still left on it. I tried one. It tasted stale, flavorless, and bland. Locating a trash can somewhere along the walls, I spit it into my hand and tossed it into the wastebasket.
Proceeding further down the hall, I passed a half open door, which I assumed was a bathroom, and a small kitchen filled with dirty dishes and fast food bags. And then, at the end of the hall, the carpet came to a stop at the foot of another plain, white door. I held my breath apprehensively and turned the knob.
Immediately, I knew that this was the woman’s bedroom. In contrast with the rest of the seemingly empty house, it looked fairly well taken care of. The walls were covered with pictures, posters, and the one that I was directly facing had been dedicated to the woman’s watercolor paints and sharpies. A giant constellation was painted in the middle of the wall, with another smaller symbol painted beside it. I recognized it as the astrology symbol for Aries. Around it, miniature flowers and fruits had been painted everywhere. Tulips, peaches, avocados, daisies, roses. Tiny quotes written in silver or black pen were squeezed in, between the paintings, wherever there was space. I stepped forward and traced one with my finger.
You drape your wrists over the steering wheel, pulses can drive from here.
400 Lux by Lorde. I moved to another one.
Be my friend, surround me like a satellite.
East of Eden by Zella Day. I smiled. Obviously, this woman had a love for alternative pop.
I turned my attention towards the bed, a queen sized with fluffy white sheets and golden throw pillows. A nightstand sat on either side, one with a stack of envelopes on it and the other with a picture frame, car keys, and an empty water bottle. I picked up one of the envelopes to see who it was addressed to.
Mei Ericson.
So I could finally put her face with a name. Mei Ericson. It had a nice ring to it, and I thought that it suited her pretty appropriately. The room was well lit even without lights, for streams of sunlight filtered through the windows. I could see the sun setting outside, the sky painted with a canvas of cotton candy pinks and purples. Beside the right nightstand, there was a dresser, cluttered with makeup and nail polishes. A mirror was nailed over it, and in it I could see my reflection, a man in his mid 30’s with a thick coat on, his face stony but interested in his surroundings.
Suddenly, a small noise in the back of my mind interrupted my thoughts. I frowned. It sounded like a key jimmying itself into a lock. Mei was back.
“Can you believe I forgot to lock the door? It’s lucky I left my wallet here, or else someone might’ve broken in.”Her voice traveled down the hall, filled with laughter, and I could hear the smile in her words. My eyes fell on a small rectangle of black leather. Mei’s wallet. Panicking, I looked around frantically, trying to locate a spot where I could hide. Footsteps echoed down the hall. I unlocked the window and pushed it open. The footsteps came closer. I leapt out of the house and gently pushed the window back down.
“Got it!”
Crouched beneath the window, a stone angel broken by my fall, I took a deep breath. I was safe.
