Behind The Mask

Chapter Two

I run as fast as my long but slender, and certainly not athletic-built, legs can take me – past the coffee table, the kitchen with the peeling off-white paint by the cabinets, the door with faulty locks, and finally past the front door steps.

Everything is a blur. My only concern is to get to the little girl who… is not on the pavement anymore?

I stop in the middle of the street, turning my head to search at every corner. How could it be? It was either the man was a professional and was extremely fast. Or, I was terribly slow.

My chest heaves up and down, and I'm sure I look like a crazy woman. But, the mere thought that the little girl could be in danger, sets the alarm off in my head once more, and I half-run and half-jog down the street.

“Donna?”

I hear my name, and I turn. It’s Mrs. Peggy, a florist from across the neighborhood. I muster a smile. Peggy flashes a bright one. “Mrs. Peggy. I'm sorry, I have to –“

Mrs. Peggy doesn’t take notice. “What’s wrong dear? Why are you in such a hurry?”

A kid's life could be in danger, that’s what! I hear my voice ring aloud in my head, but I quiet it. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. Peggy. I… I,” an idea pops up. “Hey, did you by any chance see a little girl with pigtails, about this height, wearing a sundress?”

Mrs. Peggy seems amused. “Samantha? Oh, I saw her alright. Precious little thing with such a sweet voice.”

I am more interested in getting the information that can point me in her direction. “You did?”

“I’m pretty sure I did. Just down that corner over there.”

I thank her in a hurry and continue my quest to find Samantha. To be honest, this situation I found myself in causes a small smile to play on my lips. For someone without a job, I do have a lot of zeal to seek out a girl I barely know. Numerous listings sit on my table and need my attention, but here I am panting and stopping to catch my breath because of the ludicrous belief I have that the little girl is in danger.

I'm about to give up and head back home when a flash of white – through a gap between a building and the signpost of Jeff's café – gets my eyes.

I breathe and run. My feet hurts as I get closer. The man on black holds Samantha tightly and ushers her to a black Bentley with tinted windows. My lips form a grim line. This is some action movie s**t about to go down.

“Hey!” I yell. But it’s not loud enough. “Hey! You there. Let the kid go, and I’ll spare you.”

The man on black turns to me. “Are you talking to me?”

“No. I'm talking to the prime minister. It’s you, stupid. Let the kid go, and I promise, I won’t hurt you.”

The man is no doubt amused by my display of courage. He does a double-take on my appearance. I don’t blame him. I would’ve done the same thing if I were in his shoes.

I steal a peek at his shoes. They’re no doubt expensive enough to pay my electricity bill and fix the darn microwave. The heat of the sun is mild now, but it still prickles on my skin.

“I'll let this slide, because you look like a fly. A tiny, nosy, squashable fly.”

I square my shoulders, raise my chin, and stare him in the eyes. Well, technically, his black shades. “There’s no such word as squashable, stupid. And, I’ll say this one last time. Let the kid go.”

The expression of irritation etch deep on his face. He scowls so hard, I submit to the internal push to take a step back. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with, lady. And I choose to forgive you –“

I frown. I’ve heard that tone before. It’s arrogance. Arrogance from people who belonged to a particular society, or class, or status. The rich. The wealthy. Those who could afford to trample on the rights of those they considered lesser; those who didn’t care about the hard work of the minorities.

I detest them.

“Forgive me for what? Stopping you from committing a heinous crime? Please, give me a break. Come to think of it, why exactly are we having this conversation? I should raise an alarm right now. And, you know what? Maybe I will.”

The man chuckles. “If you have any common sense, you’ll take my advice when I say drop it. You’ll turn out to be more stupid than you say I am. Look, lady… I’m going away now, but I’m going to pretend like this never happened. It’ll do you some good if you stayed in your place. Some fights aren’t for people like you.”

He hops into the vehicle and I can’t seem to understand why I feel like I failed the little girl. I just stood there and listened to whoever that was spew garbage and then drive away.

I didn’t defend her, or put up a fight.

I stare at my reflection through the black tinted windows and watch it slowly drive away. Maybe, a sight a the poor girl would have lifted the burden I feel.

I turn away with a heavy heart. I can’t get a job or be a hero.

I might not be the Donna from my past, but no one said I can’t improve on my present. That man probably wasn’t a some sick psycho who enjoyed stealing little girls away from their precious homes. Even Mrs. Peggy appeared relaxed and calm when she spotted her.

I rub my temples and groan. What had gotten into me? I turn my head away in shame to avoid the quizzical looks thrown my way. Most of them must have wondered why I ran with such speed as though a bunch of hunters were at my tail.

Ignore them, Donna.

I fix my neck in a weird angle so no one gets a clear view of my face. I take brisk steps, though. No one said the walk of shame has to be slow.

I pass the corner where Mrs. Peggy was a few minutes ago. Turns out, the woman was no longer there. She possibly had better things to do than chase a complete stranger down the street.

I groan. Just keep walking, Donna. You're almost home.

Should I really be blamed? It’s not my fault the sun got my head all messed up.

There’s an itch on my brow, and I raise my hand to scratch when a glimmer in the sunlight halts my tracks.

The jewelry shop across the street. That’s where it came from.

I'm conflicted now. Keep moving or check it out?

Pretty Donna, with an angelic glow pokes my head with a stick.

She says, ”Donna, you're an intelligent young woman. You know better than to crossover to check out those sparkling trinkets. Go home. Forget that you embarrassed yourself like a total i***t –“

“Hey!” I frown.

Pretty Donna pats my cheek. “Just go home. You’ve had a long day, Donna.”

I chuckle. Pretty Donna vanishes into thin air. She’s nothing but a figment of my imagination.

I crossover.

Displayed on manikin necks are some of the most beautiful necklaces I’ve ever seen. Some are made of tiny diamonds, while others are gems I can barely identify. They must cost a fortune.

Thankfully, I know the owners of the store. They wouldn’t mind if I take a closer look.

I place my face near the glass window. Then, I hear a sound. It’s like a fluttering of wings and soft cooing.

I look up.

Right above the store's front door is a green sign board hanging horizontally. And sitting on it, like a comfortable king on his velvet sofa, is a pigeon.

I freeze.

Every thing in me stops, including the breath in my body. It ceases.

I know better than to startle it. Slowly, I begin to take steps away from the fire line –underneath the pigeon is where I stand.

I’m almost there. Almost.

My hair is out of the way and my face is too. I'm about to take the final steps, to eliminate my entire presence from the battleground, when the front door jingles, and is pushed open. A customer steps out, looking satisfied with her purchase, but I don’t bother about that.

“Crap,” I say. “Bloody crap!”

The pigeon coos and flaps its wings vigorously, and I hear it. A small whoosh in the air –it is so faint, I begin to believe I imagined it. But when it lands, on my shoulder – the sticky, semi-solid-liquid, s**t, I know it wasn’t just a dream.

“Crap!” My voice rises higher and my nose scrunches up.

Congratulations, Donna. Your walk of shame has taken on a whole new level.

“Can this day get any worse?” I'm practically yelling now at no one in particular. But I feel peering eyes burn holes at the back of my head. Some show pity, but others wear a scowl.

Who’s that crazy woman? They must wonder.

Now, I want to go home.

I hurriedly march onwards –with the pigeon's s**t still smeared on my shoulder. Tears sting the back of my eyes, but I won’t cry. No freaking way.

I get to my front steps filled with relief that I’m home now. But something looks weird.

I put my foot first on the step, and my eyes grow as wide as a spaceship.

No. My heart races a thousand meters per hour. No. No. No!

I stare at my exposed feet and wiggle my toes. The chipped-off red nail polish contrasts perfectly with my fair skin. I wiggle my toes again.

I ran out of my house to chase a stranger, later got smeared by a freaking pigeon, and all this time… I was bare feet?

How in the world could an educated, intelligent, young woman, with a Master’s degree from a top university, be so stupid?

I fume and raise my head to the bright blue skies. My fists clench and my cheeks puff up. I don’t care about people's opinions. They have absolutely no idea about what it feels like to be me or have such a crappy day as I’ve had.

So, screw it!

I don’t suppress the urge to scream anymore. I lift my middle finger to my apartment and yell,

“Dammit!”