Strawberries in the Water

Breathe in.

Sometimes he would forget to breathe when he was walking. He didn’t realize it, but sometimes he would get so focused on keeping up with his steps- that he would forget that he had pushed all of the air out of his lungs. He would essentially end up holding his breath for god knows how long until he would suddenly remember, and have to pretend like he wasn’t choking down oxygen to keep him from passing out on the sidewalk.

It was so hot out, it was hot everyday of course, but especially this day he felt. The damn gloves he wore were welding themselves to his hands. He tried to pull them up in places to let some air in, but when the leather touched back down it just created a stronger bond.

There was a girl up ahead of him. She had the right idea. She’d pulled her hair back out of her face, and had it held firmly in place with a headband covered in felt strawberries. Strawberries? Yes, that’s in fact what they were, tiny strawberries. Her dress was short, cut above the knee and fluttering loose in the air. It was a lovely tan color, and had been embroidered with, yep, more strawberries. A fruity kind of gal, he supposed.

He wondered why he always had to wear a suit? Surely, it couldn’t be a requirement of the job. If anything, it would only pose more problems. A grown man walking around in the heat of July, in a three piece suit and black leather gloves? He was screaming to be noticed. Might as well be wearing a sandwich board and swinging a bell.

“Hello, everyone yes, please notice me- the man over here, and, in case you weren’t sure who exactly to look at, I’ve added sunglasses to the look!”

He understood the point of the sunglasses, and the gloves too he guessed. But he was by far more grateful for the sunglasses shielding him from the sun’s glare, than he was the leather gloves that had decided to permanently become part of his anatomy. He would have to bring it up to someone, he just wasn’t sure who.

It was a good enough day for a stroll in the park. It had just stopped raining the day before. But having felt the wrath of thunderstorms for nearly an entire week prior, the river up the way had become swollen, and the grounds were almost flooded. Muddy water leaked onto the corners of the pavement, threatening to overflow with a day’s more rain. But, the sun had finally come out, and was working hard to dry up the puddles of what had been left behind.

He watched as the girl ahead jumped and skipped over these disappearing patches of water on the sidewalk, like an odd game of hopscotch that only she could see. It brought a smile to his face.

They were soon approaching the underpass of one of the park’s bridges. It was covered with shadows, and doused in the strong scent of mildew. The flooding grew worse around the underpass, as the bridge had been built to connect two hilly areas and had left it in a divot. Between the humidity and the resting water, mosquitoes would soon over run the park. Today, and the next few days, would probably be the last chance to enjoy the scenery. The few homeless that had used the underpass as a nesting ground had abandoned it (momentarily) for something on the drier side.

But it would work fine for his purposes.

The man stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, and using his right index and middle finger, wound up the ribbon into a wad against his fist. He didn’t know who this young Strawberry girl was, or what it was she had done to warrant her contract, but he did know that in these next few moments, she would be worth $50,000. And under the sweltering heat of this sun- that was really all he needed to know.

He focused now back on his walk, the way his steps sounded as they hit the ground. Quiet, almost silent. She wouldn’t hear him as he came up behind her, and they would be at the pass soon enough.

The bridge had been made of stone, and the underpass reinforced with graffiti’d concrete. The flooding was much worse than it had appeared only a few feet back. The stagnant rain water stood around the area like a shallow pond. It came up to the edge of his shoes, and threatened to spill over and ruin his newly pressed (but very sweaty) socks. Rather than pick up his feet and risk the wet slapping sound of trodding through the muck, he slid his feet from one place to the next- wading through the water like a crocodile ready to strike.

The strawberry girl had worn a nice set of heels today, keeping her just out of the reach of the muddy water. She hadn’t noticed him yet; she was too busy imagining that she was walking on top of the water like Jesus, and then imagining that Jesus had just worn very tall, clear stiletto heels. She wouldn’t have noticed him at all had it not been for a small gasping sound behind her. It sounded stifled, like a choked breath of air.

She turned her head to see the gloved man with a thick cord of ribbon held taut between his hands. Her body followed until they both stood facing each other. Their faces holding an almost equal level of shock: his for being found out, and hers for finding.

In twelve years of working with contracts he’d never been caught like this. Had he made mistakes? Of course. Once he’d dropped a bottle of poison in full view of the police, but he was very young in those days. Wet behind the ears then, but wet in the socks now. He’d never had someone just turned around and seen him, though. Never been caught red handed quite like that.

It wasn’t even the fact of being caught that had robbed him of his nerve.

It was the way she was looking at him.

In all of his time at this job, he had come to memorize the look of fear. The way their eyes would grow wide, their nostrils would flare, and their lips would curl back to expose teeth like frightened dogs. He could see the wave of emotions that ran across their faces in only an instant. Shock, turning into rage, and ending in a tormented sorrow.

The Strawberry girl’s eyes were a bit wide, sure, but they were the kind of wide you’d expect to see for a scary dog, not a man who’s come to strangle you. Her nostrils looked perfectly relaxed, and her mouth was only parted slightly, waiting for her to speak.

“Have you come to kill me?”

Her voice was quiet, and floated gently through the air.

The man could only think of how odd this situation felt, how uncomfortable. He knew he needed to move now, before she screamed and some unfortunate person managed to hear her and investigate.

But for some reason or other, he found himself unable. He just stood there, arms raised, the ribbon wrapped in his fists, and his gloves melting into his skin.

“Yes.”

Strawberry’s nostrils flickered, her lips pulled back into her rosy cheeks, and her breath wavered. She closed her eyes and whispered

“Thank God.”

Today seemed to be a day of firsts for the man.

Briefly stunned by the young woman’s response, the man’s hands dropped back to his waist, and the ribbon drooped down.

He stood there for a few moments, unsure really of what to do. She wasn’t running, and he didn’t think that she would try. A few tears had started to fall down her cheeks, leaving tracks that glittered in the sunlight. She had squeezed her eyes shut so tightly that the rest of her face had followed suit, leaving her to resemble someone who had unknowingly bitten into a lemon. When her eyes opened, she looked at him with only a kindness. Her body, tense before, had started to sag under the weight of relief, and her breathing had calmed.

“I’m sorry?”

She shook her head. As she did so, her hair bounced from side to side, and in this light the man could see that it wasn’t just brown like he had thought, in the sun her hair seemed red- like her strawberries.

“I can explain; would you like to sit with me in the underpass, in the shade?”

The man eyed her very cautiously, sure now of what it was she was trying to do. A smart plan, to pull the wool over his eyes with a show of suicidal relief and then kill him once his guard was down. He wouldn’t give her the chance.

“No. Thank you, but I’d rather stand.”

She shrugged. His reluctance was well reasoned, but she would have no way to convince him otherwise.

“Suit yourself, but it is a very hot day-”

“If you are going to explain something, do so quickly because as you can see I have a job to do, and believe me- it will be done.”

The Strawberry girl grew very serious and nodded to show that she understood. But, looking down at her mud stained kitten heels, she realized very suddenly that she wasn’t sure she had an explanation. Not one that could make sense.

Finally, she looked up at the man, who was growing more impatient by the minute (no doubt because he was in a black three piece suit with black leather gloves in the middle of summer).

“I just don’t want to be here… anymore.”

The man stared at her intently until she continued.

“Today was… my last day.”

The situation seemed to settle itself into his mind now. He blamed the heat for how long it had taken him to grasp what she was saying.

“I wore my favorite dress, and my favorite shoes, and I did my hair and my makeup-”

Here, she twirled, as though to emphasize how much care she had taken in getting ready for the day.

It was a lovely dress.

“-and I’ve said goodbye to everyone, but, they don’t really know it was goodbye, not yet.”

They stood there together for several minutes, while she decided if there was more she wanted to say, and he tried to determine if she was telling the truth. All the while, the noonday sun beat on their shoulders. Eventually, the Strawberry girl convinced him to come with her to the underpass- she would sit on one side, and he could sit on the other. It was a sufficient compromise.

They carefully trekked around the muddy shores until they reached the (mostly) dry concrete. She sat on her purse, and kept her legs down to preserve her modesty. He stood, but had undone his jacket and removed his gloves to let his hands breathe. He could’ve imagined it, but he would swear that he had seen at least a bucket’s worth of sweat pour out of those gloves.

“So what were you planning to do then? Hang yourself in the underpass?”

She flashed him the halfhearted smile you’d give anyone who had just hurt your feelings.

“No. There’s a river just off in that direction, and the park leads to a bridge that crosses it- what with as much as it’s been raining…”

The girl trailed off, but the man understood now. The storms had cause the river to become a swollen mass of rain water and debris. All she would have to do would be to let the currents take her, and they would never find her again.

In an effort to break the discomfort of silence, the Strawberry girl called out to him

“So besides myself, who wants me dead?”

She chuckled, very impressed with her joke. While not quite as impressed with the humor, her chuckle did win another smirk from the man.

“I can’t say who, I don’t know who- all I know is I was given a contract with your picture and an offer of $50,000 upon completion of task”

It all sounded very intense and professional. The Strawberry girl let out a low whistle, and the sound rang against the rock walls to make a deep cavern of melody.

“$50,000…” she trailed off, briefly.

“It would’ve saved them a lot more money if they had just waited a few days.”

A howling laugh erupted from a place deep in the man’s belly. It’s booming echo filled the underpass, and brought a smile to the young woman’s face.

An hour passed while they sat there on opposite sides of the concrete. They would discuss his work, she would make jokes, and then they would lapse into a silence only to be broken by her asking some absurdly specific question. Like, “if you shoot a man with an ice bullet, how long will it take to melt?”

He would reply that he didn’t know, he’d never used an ice gun.

He discovered that she was older than he had thought, not by much, but closer to being his own age than to what he’d thought she’d been before. She had gone to school to be an art teacher, specializing in kindergarten. She wanted to see their terrible stick figures, clean paint off their chubby hands, and keep them from eating glue. Looking at her strawberry dress and her strawberry headband, the man knew very certainly that she would be an excellent kindergarten art teacher.

While in one of their more quiet moments, he watched as she played with pebbles and broken pieces of cement. Using her fingertips, she pushed them around and made them into little sculptures. An art teacher.

“Why?”

She looked up at him, a confused smiled painted across her lips.

“Hm?”

He held her eyes until he saw the corners of her mouth twinge with understanding.

“Why?”

She broke from their shared gaze, choosing instead to look down at her sculptures. Carefully placing her hands in her lap, her voice came out as soft as it had when she first spoke.

“I hardly think that matters.”

“It does to me.”

Her lips drew in upon themselves as her chin started to shudder.

“I don’t see why a man who makes his own living by killing others should be concerned with my choices.”

Her words held venom. Backed into a corner, she had attempted to fight. He sat there for a moment, incredulous and dumbfounded. He imagined that was the closest she’d ever came to insulting someone. Unfortunately for her, he had always resided much closer to that line. He snickered, and stood up to pace across the concrete.

“I didn’t say I was concerned, I say I am curious.”

Between them lay a gorge of filthy murk water, abandoned garbage, and god knew what else. It couldn’t have been very wide, no more than two feet across. Probably more of a stream than a gorge.

The Strawberry girl said nothing. She sat with her hands in her lap, her right hand squeezing the wrist of her left, and stared at her figurines. She seemed to be in another world at that moment. He doubted she’d heard a word he’d said.

He clapped loudly to get her attention.

With a start, she came back to. Her leg jerked, and collided with one of her precious concrete statues. It’s precarious balance ruined, it fell into a puddle of rock.

She swallowed drily and looked at her legs, and began to straighten out the fabric of her dress.

“Do you know what it’s like to feel insane?”

“No, I can’t say that I do”

“To be… surrounded by people at any given moment, and know that none of them are really there. To have so many people around you and be so… alone.”

She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, rubbing the fabric over and over with her thumb and forefinger.

“I have so many friends you know, and somehow… none at all. They’re like ghosts, you see?” I can see them and hear them but when it’s time for them to be real… suddenly they’ve disappeared.”

The man said nothing. He had stopped pacing across the concrete, and just watched as the Strawberry girl spoke softly to the hem of her dress.

“They always seem to vanish when I need them you know? Like ghosts, yeah… fun at parties and a great parlor trick, but when you need them to show up so that you can prove to yourself that you haven’t lost your mind… they never come.”

The man could hear the cracks in her voice as she tried to choke them down.

“Ghosts, see they are the worst because, they’re not really there right? So they can’t… they can’t DO anything. They can’t CARRY anything… and everything… everything is so heavy… and I’m just… I’m so tired.”

The Strawberry girl had stopped speaking. She held her dress in her hand, and just stared while her face twisted and turned. He could see her fighting the tears that threatened to spill loose, like the river. He walked down his slanted piece of concrete, and hopped over the stream that separated them. She didn’t acknowledge that he had moved at all. He thought she was still lost in her world as he sat down beside her, until she turned to look at him with her wide shining eyes.

“Everyone thought I should be a mother you know?”

“It made sense because, I’m so good with children and I’ve always been the type of person to take care of a friend in need.”

She dropped her dress to pick up a fallen piece of sculpture. She pressed it hard between her fingers until the skin threatened to burst. Then dropped it back onto the dusty floor.

“But I never really wanted to be a mother, and now… I don’t really want to be anything at all.”

They sat together for a very long time. Quiet, traitorous tears streamed down her cheeks, until they made little grooves in her carefully applied makeup. He would pretend not to notice. When the tears stopped coming, and the calm had come back to her, she finished.

“ I don’t want you to do it. I want to do it myself, and I think that we’re as close as friends can be now, so you owe me that.”

The man said nothing, but he nodded. He understood.

The Strawberry girl found his hand with hers and squeezed. They were friends, at least for that moment.

“So then, what do you want from me?”

The young woman paused for a moment. She smiled a bitter smile that threatened to break loose the dam of tears she had so carefully created.

“I don’t have anyone to go with me, and I’d really like to not be alone.”

The walk to the river bridge took less time than he’d thought. He had taken off his jacket in the full force of the sun, and hung it across his shoulder. He didn’t try to convince her to change her mind; he knew he couldn’t. Instead, they discussed the things she loved. Her favorite movies and books. How her mother had always made terrible cookies, but she had never told her. The way it had felt when her heart broke for the first time. He came to know everything there had ever been to know about the Strawberry girl on that brief walk.

The sounds of the river grew louder as they came closer. The man could hear the harsh current beating around the brick of the bridge. There was no fear in her face when he looked down at her- only a peaceful look in her eyes. They agreed that the middle of the bridge would be best, it would be deepest there.

The man was surprised to find that there was no one around today. No honeymooning couples strolling along the walk, no lone fisherman with his dog, only the two of them. He supposed that had to do something with the heat.

The breeze began to gently tease her hair from its place behind her headband. In a huff, she pulled it off to readjust, but froze before she did. She ran her thumbs over the raised felt strawberries and turned to him.

“Will you hold onto this, for me?”

He slowly reached out and took the headband from her hands.

“Are you planning on coming back for it?”

She smiled and shook her head.

“No, but I want you to have it, please?”

The man swallowed a hard knot that had formed in his throat, and nodded. They were friends.

“Of course.”

She climbed over the railing and looked at him one last time. He knew he would always remember the way she looked in that moment. Her long strawberry hair whipping in the air, her rosy cheeks, and the way her eyes sparkled in the light; how the wind traveled through her dress, and the sun shined on her skin.

“Do you have any advice for me?”

He stared down at his muddy socks and thought about it. Did he have any advice to give? Any last words to share with her to help ease her through the fall? The man could see the rushing water beneath them through the boards of the bridge. It rushed and pulled and swirled against itself. He considered, and then looked back into her flushed face.

Breathe out.