Zadie

Woman with red hair by Amedeo Modigliani

Zadie sits drinking a fresh cup of lemon tea out of a small china cup decorated with pink roses. The morning breeze swinging in through the white curtains brushes two strands of red hair across her cheeks and forehead. Only the sound of the wind dangling in the air.

Zadie sits on the wooden chair small drops of blood on the edge of her black blouse. Her hands glide about like wings with each sip. The warmth of the hot tea fuel her cool body, sinking deep down to the end of her shoeless toes. Her skirt edges flowing in the cool breeze.

Placing her tea cup down on the white doily, she smiles at no one across the table. Her lips sticky with lemon tea, slowly press together, sealing in a silent prayer. She shuffles her feet, untangling them, pressing them flat on the cold white kitchen tiles. Succumbed by numbness, Zadie sits and wait.

As the swinging door front door is pull open by the local sheriff, she clasp her hands together, dried red stains on the back of her hands and fingernails. She turns to him with a smile, accepting his outstretch hand as he guides her outside, toward the sheriff's car. He asked if she wanted to put some shoes on but she just keep walking.

Midway, she turns around to see her home once more. The orchid paint chipping off the walls, the chimney with the bricks half falling, the broken window from last night. She blew a kiss to the house, sparkles in her eyes falling down her cheeks. She slides into the back seat of the car, pulling her seatbeat on. She heard the clicking sound and knew she is secure. Her vision suddenly becoming clear. She had stabbed her husband, Mannie. Mannie was being unkind again, bashing her head against the window panes then against the dresser her mother had left her. Mannie, who always make fun of Zadie's working class background, whom hadn't even finished college, could not hold his liquor or his temper.

As she tried to recovered from the double blows, avoiding Mannie's glare, Zadie saw the scissors shinning so bright against dawn's early light. It was the same scissors with the purple handles that she had used last night to cut the thread that she used to sewed the button back on his blue shirt and sealed the hole in the armpit.

It was an awkward attempt but when she saw the red circle on his white shirt, she knew she had caused it. He stared at her, his eyes wide in confusion at first then looking at his blood-stain shirt tail, anger took over. She was on her knees, scissor still in hand, covered in blood. Suddenly she fell onto the floor, a hard blow from his rough hand, blood pouring out of her mouth and nose. Mustering up her strength, she shoved the scissor straight into his chest, barely missing his hearts. She backed away, knowing he would have pick her up and threw her to the floor if could. She watched from the doorway as he fell, face down on the red carpet that he so wanted, scissors still in his chest.

She ran downstairs then to boil water like she always does after each episode. It was lemon tea she craved this time. The lemon scent always reminded her of the days she spent in this kitchen with her mother and grandmother.

Through the black wires, she watch as the distance between her and her house grew farther apart. The sheriff didn't turn on the sirens or the flashing lights. She was grateful for his silence and patience. Zadie sits and smiles as the sun begin to rise, lighting the world around her.


3WW: Avoid, Class, Sticky