The Other Voice

“Hey You Ok?”

Steven called out to her, that little squirmed figure by the road side.

“Lost your dog? Or lost yourself?”

She sat there, still.

“You look sad.”

Steven just presumed so, her eyes gave way more than that.

“Want some ice cream?”

And then, she rose up. An attractive woman, in her late twenties or may be less. She had been crying and he had to ask. He knew an ice cream parlour two blocks away. She wore Blood Red shoes, which was funny in the afternoon summer.

“What’s your name, little red riding?”

Steven thought it was a funny name to call her, but it was more on the spontaneity of the Redness of her shoes. She wanted the Old fashioned Butter Pecan ice-crean, which was funny for her taste. Or for her shoes. The Butter Pecan ice-cream was more of a man’s thing.

“Do you like your ice cream, little red riding?”

She was a pretty girl, pretty more so as she did not talk much. Steven liked those kinds. He did not believe himself, cheering up a stranger with an Old Pecan. And he did not seem to mind it as this was not his first time. She was a real feast for his eyes, and she didn’t have much to say. She was very gloomy and self-obsessed.

And they sat there, he could not get her to talk to him or say her name. She sat there still, her only life rolled  in the layers of her ice-cream.

Steven was beginning to lose his interest. He was late for his routine poker game and rounds of beer at his friend’s place. He thought about dropping her off at the bus station on the wrong side of the road.  But the way she crossed her legs on her stool at the ice cream stand brought his attention back into focus. His attention was back to her shoes, that looked now pleasant and not so Red.

She enjoyed her ice cream cone ever, oblivious to Steven or anyone around her. For her, the world did not seem to exist. This was the end or beginning to her. And she flashed her sad eyes on him, as if she was trying to thank without showing any joy whatsoever.

She was a real drag.

He asked her where she lived. She did not seem to listen to him.  And Steven felt morose in missing his beers and being stuck. It was over thirty five minutes now.

“Would you take me back to your place!?” She spoke as slowly as if eating her every word.

He wanted to take her back to his place. But she seemed funny and drugged. This should probably would help him in some ways. He could use her in his nights of loneliness or as a home keeper. He had been staying alone and she seemed pretty enough for a company or for being his mistress.

A life, or its sort formed in his mind as she let another tear fall from her eye.  This made him re-think his plan, he did not want a whiny, depressed wreck in his house. He convinced himself that he would not get his life disheveled in her emotional breakdowns.

“I would, I guess I could use some help around the house. Do you feel better now, little red riding.”

She seemed to appreciate what he had done for her and timidly asked if there was anything she could do to repay him for his kindnesses. He figured a thousand man ways for repaying him and he thought he would get them all sooner. He grinned and said he would like to read his poetry to her.  He didn’t have any poetry , but he knew there were three drug stores along the way. They would offer the dreamy words of literature he needed for the perfect seduction.

Once they were in the car, she took off her red shoes. Depressed people always spend a lot of time polishing their toenails and hers filled him with a borderline sensation of awe.

He lit a cigarette and offered her one. He liked the way she blew the rings of the smoke. He knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. He just needed her to make the world go away for a little while. And may be she needed him for exactly that. And may be that’s why they met that day.

Her name was Marcia.

She was born in a cheap motel.

Her mother sold herself for drug money.

She never saw her father.

The church in her neighborhood was burned down.

The minister retired and took her God with him.

And her favourite color was Red.

Steven had a dog named Capricorn. He had built a shrine for his ex-wife in the backyard of his house.  His wife died after something horrible happened to her white blood cells. They told him she would be happier where she was going. Steven tried to believe she went to Vegas. His wife was a saint amongst sinners, but right now he was just trying to get himself a little something going with Marcia to kill the time that passes too slowly between birth and death.

Somehow it seems that everyone needs a little help, or maybe someone to carry them over the finish line- in their Red Riding Shoes.