Sharon
Man, I’m tired, Sharon thought as her mouth stretched into a wide yawn.
All her days had been long days lately. Between school, work and volunteering, it seemed she never got a moment to rest. She wiped her dirty hands on the worn denim thighs of her faded jeans, just adding to the kaleidoscope of stains she already smeared there. Preparing food at the soup kitchen was hard work but she always felt better when she left than when she got there—like she had actually made a difference.
She looked up and checked the clock on the dingy kitchen wall. Yikes, she winced. It was almost ten o’clock, which meant it was almost nine back home in Kansas. It had been a few days since her last call and she promised her parents she’d call today.
“Hey, Annette?” Sharon said. “Is it okay if I head home? I want to try to give my parents a ring before they go to bed.”
Annette peeked her gently wrinkled face around the corner. “Sharon! Honey, of course! Get home safe, okay?”
“I will!” Sharon promised. “I’ll see you Friday.”
Slinging her sporty, purple backpack over her shoulder, Sharon pushed her way out of the back door. She slipped her outdated phone out of her pocket, dialed her home number, and waited as it rang.
After a few rings, she heard her mother answer on the other end. “Dartini residence.”
Sharon’s heart swelled at the sound of her mother’s voice. It threw her back to her modest little house back in Flats, Kansas. “Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, Sweetie! Hi! Let me get your father.”
Sharon kept walking as she listened to her mother holler at her father that their daughter was on the phone.
“Shar-bear!” Her father called happily into the speakerphone. “How are you, kid?”
“Hi Daddy!” Sharon smiled. “Oh, you know, just busy as usual. How about you guys?”
“Fine, fine, just fine.”
“How’s school?” her mom asked.
“School’s good,” Sharon answered. “Statistics is giving me a run for my money this semester but I’ll figure it out.”
“I’m sure you will!” her father encouraged.
“How’s work?” her mother asked.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Sharon sighed. “I’m only getting a few shifts a week but I’m getting by. Thank God for the good tippers in New York. I’m actually just leaving the soup kitchen now.”
“Oh Honey, good for you!” Her mom had a heart bigger than most and spent most of her time volunteering as well. She had always been Sharon’s inspiration.
“Now, Sharon, you be careful okay?” her father warned. “Give yourself time to rest. You don’t want to burn yourself out before you’re even out of school.”
“I won’t, Dad,” she assured him.
After a few more minutes of catching up, the Dartinis said good night to their daughter and ended the call. Sharon smiled to herself as she navigated through the subways and back to the East Village.
It was night but New York never seemed that way. The combination of streetlights, lit storefronts, and the energy that seemed to pulse made the city feel even more alive at night.
She was blessed, not only to have two parents who loved her as much as they did, but for everything else in her life. Here she was, in New York, busting out an Economics degree just like she had always dreamed. The idea of becoming a financial manager thrilled her. Not only would she get to work with numbers, her intellectual gift, but it would also provide her with the consistency she craved.
The money won’t be bad either, she thought honestly. Throughout her childhood, her father managed the town’s small grocery store and her mother worked as the front desk receptionist of the elementary school. Both her parents seemed happy enough, but Sharon wanted something more than just a tiny job in a tiny town. She wanted the ability to touch lives, to travel and see the world, to be able to give more than just her time to those in need.
There was a shortcut to her apartment building an unlit side street crowded with dumpsters. Sharon decided to cut through and risk the stench. Just before she made it to the opening at the far end, a dented silver van turned and skidded erratically onto the street.
Sharon jumped back, practically throwing her body to the dirty brick wall.
Asshole! She thought. Who taught this clown how to drive?
The van stuttered to a sloppy stop. The front windows were tinted dark and Sharon couldn’t tell make out the features of the drivers inside. But something felt odd about the way the van was stopped, its engine idling.
She stood where she was, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn’t want to start walking again until the van began to move. Something doesn’t feel right.
The passenger door open. A tall, well-built man stepped out of the van, swearing back to whoever was driving.
“Nah, you fuckin’ ass,” the man sneered. “I told you, Rocco likes blondes. So not only did you fuck that up, but now we’re going to be late because you drive like a fuckin’ asshole.”
Sharon heard some muffled words from the driver. She didn’t need to hear it to take a good and accurate guess of what they might be.
“No, fuck you!” the man hollered back. He got down on his knees, looking under the van, as if checking for damage.
Sharon’s better instincts screamed at her to run but she stayed frozen in place instead. What did the man mean, that someone preferred blondes? She was morbidly curious but, as a blonde herself, she hoped and prayed the man wouldn’t see her pressed against the wall.
“Well, the axle looks fine,” the man said, dusting his hands off on his black jeans as he straightened up. “But get out. I’m driving the rest of the way…”
He stopped as his dark eyes met hers.
“Well, hello,” he said, an icy smile creeping across his lips.