Holistic Heat

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The following morning, I stood up from my seat while the train pulled into the station on Fourteenth Street. The rumble under my feet caused me to shuffle to the doors waiting for it to come to a stop.

After the doors parted, I stepped off and climbed up the stairs with a handful of people. I pushed through the turnstile and climbed up another flight of stairs to the street.

The warm, muggy summer air hit like a wall, causing sweat to run down my forehead. After walking up the block, a beautiful brown awning with a classy white font which read Glow, appeared like a beacon. Boho clothing displayed on hangers hung from the awning supports which was customary in downtown Manhattan.

A clothing rack, a table with crates of books, and toss pillows were on display outside the store. Why they weren't afraid that people would steal anything was beyond me. We didn't have that kind of setup back in Mississippi, that was for sure.

A little bell rang, as I pushed the door open. Asian lanterns in vibrant yellows, pinks, and emerald-green colors hung from the ceiling. An array of wind chimes of different metals shimmered beside them. An assortment of charts were mounted to the wall. A stand packed with packages of incense gave the store an exotic scent. Clothing racks and jewelry stands were scattered like a maze.

The oddest thing of all was a disco ball that hung from the middle of the ceiling. But who was I to judge?

I waved at Cheryl, the owner who had short, curly platinum-blond hair and big red glasses.

She wiped down the counter that she stood behind and said, "Nice to see you, Carolyn. It's been a while. Thought you moved away."

I didn't even correct her for messing up my name and called out over my shoulder, "Nah, still here. Just busy with workin' two jobs."

I stopped by the incense stand to make my selection.

She grinned, "I hear ya."

I smiled back at her and returned my attention to the stand. There was a vast selection, but I zeroed in on a resealable plastic bag filled with wooden sticks of Palo Santo. The neon green sticker indicated that it was on sale for fifteen dollars.

A box filled with six bundles of smudging sage cost twenty dollars. I picked them up, made my way to Cheryl, and placed the packages on the checkout counter because this store didn't offer shopping baskets.

She set them aside to make room for the rest of my inevitable purchases.

I stopped at a cute wind chime in the sun's shape with an orange center that had little bells hanging from its squiggly rays. It could liven my dull living room, or so I hoped.

My hand shot up as I pointed to the chime and said, "Cheryl, I'd like that orange wind chime." She walked out from behind the counter wearing a black t-shirt and a mid-knee-length skirt. She grabbed the reach pole that rested against the wall and unhooked the chime, then took it to the counter with the rest of my stuff.

A beautiful oval-shaped pendant that hung from the jewelry stand, caught my eye. It looked like it contained lava and was fastened to a simple black corded necklace. It would be a perfect addition to the outfit I planned on wearing to the concert tonight.

After running a few more errands which included a stop at the Showtime Deli for meal purchases, I walked up the stairs to my apartment with shopping bags a half-hour later.

When I got to the landing, Keith was about to open the door to his apartment.

He smirked when our eyes met. "Glad you remembered to wear clothes before going out, this time."

I rolled my eyes. "You've seen less on a woman. What I did shouldn't have been so scandalous."

His face turned sheepish, and he went inside. Hah. b***h. That'll teach him to goad me. Some people can't help being d***s. But dang, I didn't talk to him about the concert. Oh well, if he doesn't show up, I know where he lives.

I went inside and turned on the little black Bluetooth speaker that sat by the TV, and opened the music app on the laptop. The comforting strains of Bob Dylan's Like a Rolling Stone filled the room while I ate lunch.

I scanned through emails. No issues with the bands or, God forbid, any change in plans tonight. After everything was squared away, I dug out the package of Palo Santo from the bag, a midnight blue ceramic dish and lighter from the TV stand's cabinet, and lit the wood stick on fire.

The woodsy scent filled the air. It took me back to singing around the campfire when I was a little girl. The hiss and crackle of burning twigs joined our voices while lightning bugs provided points of light.

I shoved that memory aside and held up the wind chime to decide where it would sparkle the best. The light that came in from the window would make it sparkle, and would remind me that the sun was out, even in this shitty apartment.

Hunting through the coat closet, I took a small hook from the stash in my toolbox. Then I stacked a pile of meditation pillows on a chair, climbed it, and tried not to fall while screwing the hook into the ceiling.

Slipping the string of the chime on the hook, I hopped down, and admired its shimmer. Hoping it possessed some kind of curative power to lift this dreadful funk, I waited. And waited. Then the hope faded, taking my mood with it.

A few hours later, I changed into black jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black blazer. I donned my new fire pendant. Then, I packed my sandwich and a few bottles of water in my canvas bag, and skedaddled to the venue in Midtown.