Erron Jones

She cries still.

I pushed my hands into my pockets to find some money I did not remember was there
and I knew I would have none. The man told me sorry as I thought I should leave and I did. I
wanted the drink but the man and his eyes and his eyebrows and his teeth and his dirty fingertips
told me I could not and I could not. Was the man angry? Sorry? Thirsty? The man contemplated
calling in today for being sick. He is sick. I did not need the drink. I started the car and drove.
My eyes were searching for things like hands searching for things like money until I found the
building. I turned right on Connecticut. Many people were walking down the street. Their dogs,
their health, their problems, their fears. Through darting eyes I could tell if they were walking
towards something or away. I parked the car and counted one two three four floors up and one
two three windows to the right and saw there. Where was there? A lifetime? The window was
there. I went to the door and up the stairs as the elevator was out again. The elevator man would
not come today. I finally got to the door and there was a man walking behind me and he raised
his wrinkled hands in a gesture to say hello. I did not say much but said hello back with a tired
and quiet smile. He nodded. He had just gotten home from seeing and meeting his loved ones
who were dead years ago. He seemed content. I walked in and looked around the white walls of
the apartment. I flipped a switch and the colors changed. They looked bright yellow and amber
from the single lightbulb dangling in the middle of the room. I went to the window and looked
down onto the sidewalk. It was cloudy and gray outside. It was stormy but that quiet kind of
stormy. The one that would bring tornadoes as my mother would say. There would be no
tornadoes today. Maybe a drizzle. She cries still.
Many people were there. A group of kids quietly huddled together and looking at each
other as kids do. One was working up the courage to ask a girl at school to go to the dance with
him. The other boys were encouraging him. Making fun of him. Berating him. A man on the
phone throwing his hands out and shaking them to offer the world. He had just been tricked into
a bad business scheme. An old woman sleepwalking across the street. Her doctor said it was best
for her. Two women sitting next to each other on a weathered grey bench. One intently stares at
the other woman on her phone. They are lovers; two intimate friends; two complete strangers
sitting on the bench. The man on the phone quickly puts the phone away as he says something
with his arms and hands to only himself. He walks down the road in his way. When he leaves a
new person arrives to fill the space. A young woman behind blackened wrinkled eyelids. She
cries. She is a woman from somewhere who thought that she was just starting to figure
everything out. She had a house, a car, a partner. She had nothing. She had just learned of her
mother’s passing and was walking to her house to meet with her family. She thought of the many
times her mother had treated her so nicely when she could. Always calling on her birthday.
Making her favorite cake and always giving her the most meaningful gifts. Telling her how
stupid she was. But she was still crying after reliving the memories. It was because she forgot to
spend time with her. It was because her mother forgot who she was in her old age and could not
say her name without anger. It was because she had lost her mother who cared. She had just
received news that her lover was cheating. She was heading home to confront them and get her
things in order. She was going there to console them. Torture them? She had just learned that she
was having a baby and cannot wait to tell her husband and family. She had just lost her job and
was now wandering the street hoping someone might help her pay rent. She had just gotten off
the phone with her son who was yelling and she was looking for him to apologize. She was
looking for him to criticize. To mourn. She won the lottery and felt freedom flowing through her
eyes. Sorrow. Pain. Curiosity. Death. Cold. Was it cold outside? She lost her phone. She sneezed
too hard. She learned of her untimely death. She found everything in and is this world
unfathomably beautiful. She cries still.
The leaves on trees had turned a shaded brown. She has allergies. A brisk and soundless
wind moved through the street. She learned the truth. The streetlights began to flicker on as the
cloudy light faded. She forgot an important meeting. In this way I frame the scene. She just got a
new dog. The lives of these strangers. She got a full ride scholarship. Not strangers, but people.
She watched a sad movie. I understand them more. I understand her more. She is living. As I
orchestrate the reason for her crying I start to understand them more. But there is more outside
that frame. What is that more? I turn away with empty eyes and walk towards the kitchen. She is
hungry. Starving. Or is that me? Am I crying? Through her glassy eyes I see what she wants. I
remember why I went to the store. Are they still strangers? What is the reason she is crying?
Who cares. She cries still. I know that at least.