Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
CINDEL
Today has been… interesting to say the least. After escaping from the nauseatingly uncomfortable interaction with my now ex-manager, Mairead and I used our newfound freedom to hit the town.
We didn’t hit the clubs, nor did we attempt to find our truths at the bottom of the glass at the neighboring bar.
I was surprised she didn’t want to do any of that, when most girls her age are just breaking in their fake IDs.
I’m only a couple years older, and I know age is just a number, but I feel a lot older than I actually am. Hell, I all but took a personal oath after my brother died, to never drink or do drugs again, at the ripe age of twenty.
Authorities said it was a drug-overdose.
The evidence was all there, they said, but I just can’t fathom my brother doing such a thing.
Sure, I objected. Insisting they look into it further, but when my parents decided to move shortly after his death, it was hopeless.
No one listened to a desperate, young girl.
I felt abandoned in my pursuit of knowledge.
Once my mind stops reeling, I remove the earbud from my ear and drop it into my bag. With my hearing aid removed from my apron and back on my right ear, I pushed the horrendous uniform into a nearby trash can on the street.
“Fuck you, Star Crew!” I hold out both middle fingers for the inanimate object. I’m sure I looked nuts, but it made me feel a little better.
Trust was a funny thing. The people you were expected to trust; law enforcement, authority figures, managers…
were, more often than not, the ones who spit in your face when you're vulnerable.
Whereas acquaintances and even complete strangers have shown me more patience and kindness than I've experienced in a long while.
As I follow this free-spirited girl through the streets of Southie, I suddenly realize that I put my faith into her. I didn’t mean to… it just sort of felt right.
Mairead spares no expense during our Boston bender. We seem to stop at every establishment along the way. I try to pay my share when we get a coffee or when there is an entry fee, but she straight up refuses.
As I first suspected, her family has a shit ton of money. She only took this most recent job to fuck with their heads. I wish my parents were wealthy.
The first stop is the Boston Tea Party Museum.
Apparently, it’s a must-see. Tourists have the opportunity to throw fake crates of tea off the side of a ship.
I’ve lived here my whole life and have never been.
Well, when Mairead learned this, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
She is having so much fun, she’s throwing other things into the water, too.
Of course, the actors aren’t too keen on having to fish extra things out of the channel, in turn yelling at Mairead.
Let’s just say I won’t be coming back anytime soon, due to the fact that she cut the ropes that secured the ship’s tarp, temporarily trapping staff and unsuspecting visitors.
Not to mention, she also manages to make off with one of the actor’s hats as we both fled the scene.
Over the past thirty minutes, she’s been popping out of corners, surprising random city goers with an Argh!
Pretty sure that’s not what the colonists said while objecting to British taxation and policies.
Next up, I follow Mairead as we explore the Freedom Trail.
I feel like I am on a field trip through the city.
Exploring the historical neighborhoods and sites, along red-bricked paths, that I never had the time to appreciate before.
It is actually really nice. We stop along the way to check out a bookstore, with a lovely section of used books nestled between two brick buildings.
Almost instantly, I have three in my hand.
Then I remember I am now ‘down a job’ and in turn reshelve them.
Mairead stubbornly grabs the books back off the shelf and pays with a fifty.
She doesn’t even wait for the change, just pulls me to the next thing that catches her eye.
We stand beneath massive concrete pillars for the entrance to the Granary Burying Ground, when suddenly Mairead takes off.
After all the walking we have done thus far, I don’t understand how her legs and feet aren’t sore.
I’m starting to regret spending so many hours on my feet, prior to bartending tonight.
My energized friend continues at a brisk pace, almost as if looking for something.
Passing each marker, she pauses momentarily beside a headstone, before moving onto the next.
Finally, she stops, allowing me precious moments to catch up to her.
She pulls out a small pad of paper from her bag and draws a line.
Like a wind-up toy, Mairead’s off again!
Continuing on to the next row of markers, stopping briefly, drawing a line, and so on.
The only similarity I can find between the two graves she hesitated at was the name ‘Mary.’ She repeats this process for what feels like forever!
There must be over two thousand markers here. We learned about this historical burial ground when I was in school. Mostly Revolutionary War-era patriots are laid to rest here; however, there are thousands more buried in unmarked graves. I couldn’t imagine not knowing where my loved one ended up.
It looks like I was going to be here for a while, so I make myself comfortable on a stone bench and pull out one of the newly purchased books, while Mairead finishes with whatever she is doing.
This one is a classic from Agatha Christie. It’s about a young woman who survives, despite facing multiple close calls from someone trying to murder her. An unsuspecting man gets pulled into the mix, helping her untangle the mess and solve the mystery.
I love reading and was thrilled to finally have a few moments to get back into the habit. I guess I’ll have more time to read now that I work less. Shit. Will I be able to make my half of the rent this month? Just as I hit Chapter 7; Tragedy. Black, Mary Jane shoes appeared in front of me.
“One hundred and three,” she proclaims.
Her cheeks are pink from the cold, while her once tight curls appear frizzier at the ends.
Yet despite her sad state, the ridiculous hat still remains atop her head.
Her coat lies next to me, along with her bag.
It would have served her better on her body.
I tuck my book away and drape the coat over her shoulders.
“Come on then. Let’s get you warmed up.” I guide her toward a glowing coffee shop, just a block over, hoping to warm her from the inside out.
The sun disappears below the horizon, as I order two regulars. Sitting us at a high top, we watch as the street progressively becomes illuminated by orangey globes. Reds from the setting sun melt into deeper blues as night takes over.
An advantageous ending to a calamitous day.
At this point, she doesn’t argue about me paying. She is still for once. Calm. We sit quietly, enjoying each other’s company as the steam rises over our drinks. Mairead’s color returns to her face about halfway through her cup before she starts speaking.
“My mom’s name was Mary; she died a while back.” She shrugs off the jacket from her shoulders, letting it fall to the chair beneath.
“I’m very sorry,” I say, but it doesn’t come out quite as sincere as it should. “Losing someone is life altering.”
Her lashes are wet, but I witness no tears actively falling. All the while she looks upon the dark streets. Headlights are the only light I find in her eyes.
“Were you close?” I press, hoping maybe she can learn to trust me too.
She nods her head, chewing on her bottom lip. “She understood me. Trusted me to do the right thing. She believed I was perfect… just the way I am.”
I study her soft features. Button nose, light dusting of freckles, and long lashes. The kind of beauty that could never be bought. I’m at a loss for words.
“I just wish everyone else knew me the way she did,” she admits.
My heart rips at its seams. That I got. I rest my hand on hers.
“You're not what I expected, Cindel.” I turned my head slightly, unsure if she meant it to come off as it did.
“Thank you?”
She throws her head back with a startling, infectious laugh. The hat tumbles behind her, as if she wasn’t just discussing her deceased mother a moment ago.
I force a smile. I was getting ready to tell her about Theo, to share how I knew exactly what loss felt like, but she was past it. Much like the setting sun, the powerful moment had dissipated, and she was onto the next ‘exciting’ thing.
Leaping up from her seat, she retrieves her stolen accessory off the floor. Placing the eccentric hat on my head, she proceeds to stand like a flamingo before speaking.
“The night is young! Where to now?!” Her mood is as erratic as the wind is from the sea.
“Mairead… I’ve had a lot of fun. Thank you for the interesting afternoon, but I need to get to work.”
Her posture slouches slightly, becoming that of a child who needs to come inside and do their chores instead of playing.
“I have bills to pay. Not all of us have a rich family to help us out,” I tease, paired with a playful shove of her balancing leg. This was very much a move my brother would have done to me.
“Ugh. The Black Sheep blows! Come get a new job somewhere else with me!”
Though that did sound kind of nice, there’s something about the bar. When did I tell her about the bar? I must be forgetting things, I really need to get a good night's sleep. Maybe it’s just me being sentimental, but I feel like I’ve landed right where I belong.
“Ooooo! How about the arcade we passed today? Wouldn’t that be fun?!” She exclaims.
“No, thank you. Too many extra noises and the blinking lights would give me a migraine.” I pause. “Maybe this is a sign? A push for me to pursue my real passion.”