Part two of "Bridgette on Miracle Mile, Coral Gables"
Fiction Weekend Story for 2/10/2012 - 2/12/2012
For this weekend, I continued the “Bridgette on Miracle Mile, Coral Gables” story. Part One: “Bridgette on Miracle Mile, Coral Gables” (click on the title if you want to read part one) focused on Cristina, a teenage girl, with a serious problem. In Part Two: “Helping a Troubled Teen”, Bridgette the Angel is dispatched to help her. This is two-part story of the “Soul Collectors” series.
As the woman crossed the street, Cristina trained her iPhone’s camera on her. After a few weeks with the phone that Steve Jobs built, Cristina had become proficient at taking a picture without looking like she was taking a picture. She pressed the little camera icon that served as the shutter release button and snapped two quick shots. She looked at the images and in disbelief she said aloud, “WTF?!”
The woman approached the bus shelter and stared at a poster promoting the play “Angels in America”. The beautiful blonde woman with the brilliant blue eyes exclaimed, “My word! Some still do believe.”
Cristina looked at her with fear and trepidation. She then looked down the street to see if that damn bus was ever going to come. The woman went on, “It’s such a glorious day to be here on Earth even if it is a bit cold for this tropical paradise.” She turned to Cristina and said, “Don’t you agree?”
Cristina glanced at the woman and then back at her iPhone. She wished she had brought her ear-bud headphones with her, but she was in such a hurry to leave that she forgot them. Either way, she was confused with the images on her phone.
Directly addressing Cristina, the woman said, “Dear child, it is rude to ignore people when they talk to you even if they are strangers. Because sometimes a stranger may turn out to be a much better friend than a man who takes crushed powder and sells it as beauty aids.”
A sharp pain speared through Cristina’s navel and into the pit of her stomach. She winced. Not wanting to show pain or emotion, Cristina bit the inner part of her lower lip until it bled.
“Stoicism is best left for ancient Greeks, Parsley,” the woman said in a manner that suggested both pity and admiration for the girl.
Cristina’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when she heard the woman use her nickname. “Parsley” was the name given to her by her gym teacher. The teacher was not from South Florida, so she was not used to pronouncing Spanish names. Parsley closely resembled Cristina’s last name so one day during gym class the teacher called her over by shouting, “Parsley!” Since then, her friends called her Parsley. However, only a few of her friends used that moniker; and it was never mentioned on any of the social media sites that Cristina used.
Cristina looked down the street again in anticipation of the bus’s arrival. The woman stared at Cristina and said, “Dear Child, please come with me for a hot cup of tea. That bus will be delayed…indefinitely. By the way, my name is Bridgette.”
The woman outstretched her hand to Cristina. Bewildered and frightened, the girl took it. At once she felt a sense of ease and comfort she had not felt in a long time. The woman tugged at Cristina to stand up. Hand in hand they crossed the street to Starbucks.
In a very cheerful voice, the woman said, “I know this is a coffee shop, but they do make a good jasmine tea here. Besides, you shouldn’t be drinking coffee especially in your condition.”
Cristina stared at the woman and marveled at how much she knew about her. Bridgette, the woman with the sparkling eyes, turned to Cristina and said, “I think this table will do just fine. I’ll get us some tea.”
Bridgette stood in line and ordered. While waiting, Cristina kept feeling pains in her back and what she believed to be contractions. The pains were making it hard for her to stay focused.
Bridgette came back with a tray. On it were two cups of tea and two blueberry muffins. Cristina’s favorite. Bridgette exclaimed, “I cannot believe how long one must wait for tea nowadays. But I guess patience is a virtue that is well rewarded.”
Cristina took the tea. She eyed one of the muffins, but she did not have the stomach for it.
After a brief awkward moment, Bridgette spoke, “Cristina, listen carefully. I am here to help you. Don’t worry about who sent me. You wouldn’t understand it nor believe me. Based on your beliefs … err … Faith, what you are about to do is wrong. Heinously wrong.”
Cristina narrowed her eyes and said, “What do you know?”
Bridgette shot back, “I know that you are pregnant. The father is a man you refer to as The Man. He doesn’t want you or the baby and he has made it perfectly clear. As a matter of fact, he has given you money … blood money… to end your pregnancy. How horrible!”
Cristina’s normally pale face went from pale to ghost white. Her pupils dilated to pin dots. With a startled look, Cristina asked, “Who sent you? How do you know these things?”
“I know a lot about you my dear,” Bridgette said.
“Are you from one of “those adoption agencies”?” Cristina asked.
“I don’t understand,” the woman replied.
“Yeah…right. You know. One of those people that make illegal arrangements, so that when a woman has a baby, the mother is paid off, and they take the baby to some foreign country,” Cristina said with anger in her eyes.
“Heavens no! I cannot believe such a despicable practice is…is…being practiced in this day and age. My word! This world does need a savior…soon!” Bridgette responded her brilliant eyes shone brighter than normal. Cristina would later recall that she could feel heat coming from them.
“Hmm…so what are you? Some back alley abortionist?” Cristina shot back realizing she could shock Bridgette.
“Or maybe…just maybe…you are one of those lezbos that like to prey on little girls in trouble.” Cristina spewed forth with words that burned like hydrochloric acid.
“Child! Shut your mouth,” Bridgette reacted. She then touched Cristina’s hand. To Cristina, Bridgette’s hand felt gentle like a gossamer veil was being placed over her hand. The touch communicated reassurance despite the distress the woman was feeling. Cristina felt shame for causing Bridgette to feel uncomfortable. The two stared into their teas for a few seconds. Suddenly, Cristina felt another sharp pain.
“Cristina, I think you should go to the lady’s room,” Bridgette said. Cristina nodded her head and with great difficulty she went to the bathroom.
Inside a bathroom stall, Cristina pulled down her pants and underwear, and sat on the toilet seat. She looked down at her underwear and noticed some blood spots. Then a sharp pain coursed through her abdomen. She threw her arms against the stall’s walls, and pushed against them for support. Cristina felt a gush of fluid exit her vagina. Scared but curious, the terrified girl looked into the bowl. The toilet water was tinted with a sickly mixture of blood and urine, and what looked like blood clots.
“What’s happening to me?” Cristina cried out to the stall’s graffiti scrawled door. Just then, she heard the bathroom door being opened. She could tell by the shoes it was the woman with the blazing eyes.
“Cristina, take this,” said Bridgette as she slid a small black bag underneath the stall’s door.
Cristina unzipped the bag and rifled through it. She had to stop because the pain returned and more blood came out.
After a few more minutes of pain and bleeding, Cristina’s turmoil subsided. She pulled out the bag’s contents. She used them to clean herself. She then used a sanitary napkin to prevent any further bleeding from soiling her clothes. Shaken, but feeling better, Cristina stood up and dressed herself.
She opened the stall’s door and stepped out. She noticed Bridgette was gone. Cristina went to the sink to wash her hands. As she did, the room got dark. She looked in the mirror and noticed that the mirror was getting smoky, but from within the mirror. After a few seconds, the smoke parted and Cristina saw Bridgette instead of her own reflection.
Stunned beyond belief, Cristina looked around her. Everything in the bathroom looked normal except for the mirror and the fact that a woman was in it instead of her own reflection. Feeling extremely light headed, Cristina grabbed the edge of the sink.
As she got her bearings, Cristina noticed that Bridgette had something cupped in her hands. Cristina looked at Bridgette in the eyes. The woman with the brilliant eyes slowly uncupped her hands and revealed what looked like an embryo.
Shocked, all Cristina could mouth was, “but how?”
Slowly, Bridgette’s image faded and the mirror returned to reflecting Cristina’s image. Just then, Jessie, Cristina’s friend, burst through the door.
“Jessie!” Cristina screamed and crumpled into her friend’s arms.
“Oh…my…God-Cristina-that-strange-woman-told-me-you-needed-my-help-and…and…and-then-she-flew-out-of-the-coffee-shop-she-said-I must-take-you-to-the-hospital-right-away-what-the-fuck-happened-should-I-call-the cops-nine-one-one?” said Jessie in a flurry too quick for breath or punctuation.
“No! Just take me to Miami Children’s Hospital,” Cristina said as she sobbed into Jessie’s shoulder.
“Oh…by-the-way, you left your iPhone on the table. Who’s the little girl?” Jessie said as she led Cristina out of the bathroom.
Cristina looked at the image of a nine year old girl dressed like Bridgette crossing the street.
“I don’t know,” Cristina said.
Helping a Troubled Teen: Part Two of Bridgette on Miracle Mile, Coral Gables © Trudge164, 2012
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