CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: in which she meets him part 1- SHONDRA

Twelve years ago (one hour before)

SHONDRA

I shuffled my feet, crunching the leaves under them. The fir trees, dead leaves, and wet earth, combined to make the perfect scent to herald the death of summer and the coming of winter or what I called the fragrance of fall. I stood still and tilted my head to face the sun. Drawing in a deep breath, I savored the smell of Heaven.

Summer, with its oppressive heat, made people act up in the summer. There were more shootings, more robberies, and during a summer barbecue my uncle—

“Hey Shondra!” Ms. Jenkins called from her stoop, putting an end to thoughts I always tried to suppress.

Round, doughy, and on disability, Ms. Jenkins was a permanent fixture outside. No matter the weather—blistering heat or frigid wind—she sat in her weathered rocking chair like a bird on a wire. Her keen eyes taking in everything.

Ms. Jenkins was by far the biggest gossip of the neighborhood. She had no qualms about spreading juicy tidbits she’d gleamed about her adult neighbors, but she let nothing slip about their children.

Like what happened to me when I was eight.

And for that, I was eternally grateful. To show my appreciation, I did what I could to take care of her.

Placing a foot on the first step leading up to her stoop, I raised my head much as I’d done toward the sun. After all, she was my hero. 

“Yes, Ms. Jenkins?”

“Do you have a new batch of that perfume you make? My boyfriend is comin’ round tomorrow night and I need some in the worse way.”

“Yes, Ms. Jenkins. I’ll bring it around after I get back from the park.”

My neighbor nodded, satisfied. “You’ve got a talent there. The way you make all them different scents... you’re a miracle worker, baby girl.” She rubbed the mole on her chin and beckoned me closer so she wouldn’t have to shout over Mr. Sutherland’s leaf blower. “Now, my crotch can sometimes be funkier than fresh chitterlings, but one drop of your perfume has me smellin’ like a springtime daisy.” Ms. Jenkins reared back and cackled, slapping a plump, be-ringed hand on her expansive thigh.

I shook my head, but spared a laugh for the foul mental picture. “Ms. Jenkins, you are something else.” I adjusted my bag over my shoulder, waved goodbye, and headed up the street. Crazy and crass as she was, Ms. Jenkins was right. Mixing was my talent.

The bug for mixing bit me when Mr. Jacobs, my AP Chemistry teacher, bought a perfume starter kit. He wanted to make a unique scent for his wife, for Valentine’s. The day after, he brought the leftover ingredients to school and let the students in his AP chemistry class use them for an extra credit project. I was the only one who went for it. Through trial and error, I made a sweet smelling scent...at least that’s what everyone in class said and even Mr. Jacobs nodded his head, impressed by my efforts. He took me aside after class and encouraged me to sell it. I thought about it for a few days, and since I had nothing to lose (well...not too much), I went for it. Later that day, I took the two hundred dollars I had in my bank account and started my empire.

With the glass atomizers I had bought of Amazon, I mixed three scents. I took the stash to school, marketing them from my locker. In two days, I sold out. I ordered a new kit and made two fresh scents, for five in total. Those went fast as well. This went on for a month before security got wind of my dealings. They caught me selling my “drugs” and took me and my remaining vials to the Principal’s office.

Principal Moore, fairer than most, let me off with a “talk” and a warning. I also had to swear not to “distribute” on campus since doing so “sent the wrong message.” With a wink, a finger to his lips, and a twenty-dollar bill, he bought the four remaining vials for his daughters.

My brush with security didn’t stop me or slow me down. I bought a bigger kit, filled with tons of scents. I gave a sample to Ms. Jenkins, and within a week, I was back in business with orders a mile long. In the eight months that followed, I opened a business bank account, registered my company, and converted (with the help of Mr. Jacobs and permission from my mom) a spare room into a home lab. With the week off from Thanksgiving, I planned to make the biggest batch yet, hopefully selling out before Christmas.

My mom deserved a gift. At twenty-nine, my mom looked as worn and faded as a forgotten newspaper left out in the sun. She often worked two, sometimes three jobs at a time. Except for her company now and then, I never wanted for anything. And as much as she was able, she was there for me, encouraging me in my dream. 

If I could earn enough, I’d take her to a day spa, get a few treatments, then go to dinner afterwards at some place a lot better than McDonald’s.  

“Have fun,” Ms. Jenkins called after me, “and watch out for that Duke. He left up the street, headed that way ‘bout a half hour ago.”

Damn.

Duke, a neighbor boy and classmate who lived a few houses away, had been sniffing around me since the first grade. I ignored his advances, friend zoning him time and time again. I wasn’t interested in guys. Not in Duke’s kind, anyway. They reminded me too much of my uncle.

The pawing. The grabbing. The arrogance.

Until I found a guy who treated me like a person instead of a piece of meat, someone who was as intelligent as he was sincere, I’d stay single. Besides, I was too busy with my business. I was going to make it in this world. Come hell or high water.

I walked the length of the park, looking for a seat. In this fine weather, and with many people free from work, they took all the benches... except one, and I hurried over to claim it. From my seat, I watched the little kids in the distant playground, jumping and sliding, squealing and laughing. With no sign of Duke, I slowly lost the tension from my shoulders. 

After a shake of my head at my paranoia, I pulled the Kindle from my bag and dug into the last few chapters of the mystery book I was reading. From time to time, catcalls from different guys interrupted my reading with shady lines. Sitting this close to the courts, I couldn’t expect much less. If I didn’t hear a wolf-whistle or a “give me yo’ number”, it was a slow day indeed. Damn shame girls had to put up with such shit, but that was the way of the world that men ran. Still, I didn’t let it bother me too much. I needed a break. If I could have a few hours in the sunshine with my book, I’d be happy.

I stared off into the distance, thinking how a simple word brought up the ugliness I could never escape. What happened to me as a little girl no older than most playing on the swings had made me lose some of my joy. How could I keep it knowing what evil walked the world?

He’s in jail. He can’t hurt you.

Yes, he can.

He was in every candy bar, piece of cake, and pizza slice I ate as I tried to make myself unseen.

Let it go, Sho. Enjoy the day.

Bit by bit, I let the sunshine heal me. The laughter of the kids—

Wait…

Is he looking at me?