Wendy was in her car driving down the familiar gheto ass road through her gheto ass town to her gheto ass apartment. She took this route every night at around 11pm. Every night she was driving in her fancy orange car, Tool cd blaring, wondering to herself, “is this the night I get shot?”
She’d turn the unlit corner into the raised up CVS parking lot, across the street from the boarded up abandoned card shop above which her apartment existed. She’d park her car, gather her things into her left arm, hold her house key and her cell phone in her right. She would use her left pinky to open her door handle, slide the door open with her left foot, climb her way out of the barely off the ground at all car, hit the lock button with her right pinky, stand her six foot tall sexy ass up, kick the door closed with her right foot, and think to herself, “is this the night i get raped?”
She’d walk down the little hill the the street, look across all the unlit streets around her, wondering if anyone was lurking, walking across the street to cubby hole doorway off of the street, unlocking the door to the steps that lead to the upstair where her studio apartment resides.
She’d unlock the door and make the twenty-seven narrow stepped climb to the landing, at which were two doors. One to the left, and one to the right, with a five foot wall between the two of them. The width of the narrow stairwell. Her drug dealing neighbor’s door was to the left, her door was on the right. She always unlocked her door with her left shoulder to the door, peering over her right shoulder to the door on the left, eyes fixed, praying to God that it didn’t open before she could get hers opened.
Every time, stepping inside, shutting her door, locking the deadbolt, sitting down on the twin bed that resides in the living room/kitchen that is the majority of her tiny hobbit worthy apartment, breathing a sigh of relief at evading gunshots and rape this fine evening.
She’d always make her way into the forty-five degree angled ceilinged bathroom. The ceiling slanted in a way, leading to a three foot wall space in which the toilet was positioned, that you literally had to crab walk to pee. If a guy used her restroom he had to literally bend over to pee. You would get back cramps and spams if you took too long of a shit. She had to kneel in the shower. Overall, the bathroom was really quite hysterical.
She’d chuckle to herself every time she’d look at it. She’d walk through the five foot door way with her six foot self, she’d look into the mirror , and she’d admire herself, she’d be disgusted with herself, she’d critique herself. Finally, she would just stare. She would stare deep into her own eyes. At this point, Wendy would always ask herself, “how the hell did I get here?” -Laura Elizabeth 072016
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