Stay Here
Chapter 1
December 23rd, 2002
She was old and stooped, and her face was wrinkled, the skin cured like leather from days spent walking under the Miami Beach sun. She pushed before her a battered shopping cart that clattered as it bumped against the ridges in the sidewalk. Inside the cart, an old broom, a red plastic dustpan, and a black garbage bag. Once or twice a block, the woman stopped and grabbed the broom and dustpan and swept empty cigarette packs, discarded paper plates, and nightclub flyers into the dustpan and deposited the trash into the garbage bag. She moved with practiced purposeful motions and walked quickly, veering her shopping cart around the tourists meandering down the sidewalk before stopping short when cleanable debris came to her attention. Several tourists took photos as she worked, and a tall man with a peeling sunburnt nose said, “Hardest working person on South Beach.”
She looked to all appearances to be in her own world, a fast moving chemically imbalanced cleaning machine, but she was more aware than she appeared. She found it interesting that people took her picture. Thought it strange that they could live comfortably when the world was cluttered by so much trash. Found it odd that the man called her hard working. This wasn’t work. It was duty. Destiny.
Turning down a side street, she passed the bar on the alley and turned into the darkness. Halfway down was a dumpster that she liked to use. She could dispose of her trash and enjoy a cigarette away from the prying eyes of litterers. Of the people who could stand living in a world of so much filth. She maneuvered her shopping cart around a wide puddle and pushed it over a broken down cardboard box. She walked around the side of the dumpster and flipped the lid up and over. It slammed against the side with a loud clap.
She grabbed the garbage bag and lifted it clear of her cart and flung it up over the lip of the dumpster. She stepped back and pulled a pack of cigarettes and readied one to be lit. Stood there and smoked it. Thought about dinner. This particular dumpster was behind a pizzeria. Stepping forward, she pulled herself up and looked inside. She pushed aside the bag that she had thrown. Dug at a bright blue plastic bag, the kind that the pizzeria always used, but inside the bag was nothing but oil soaked plastic plates and empty cups, crumpled napkins. She started to let herself down, but something caught her eye.
A pale curved whiteness.
The street sweeper pulled another two bags aside.
Underneath was a young woman.
Her glassy eyes staring at the moon.
Long dark hair framing her pale face.