Also by Christina C Jones
Synopsis
Desperation.
Not a phenomenon Tempest could typically claim, but certainly the catalyst for where she’s landed. Not in peril, or pain, but in dire need of the very normalcy she’s often emulated, but never been able to obtain.
Now... there’s nothing in her way, except all those years of being everything except what she now has to become.
Herself.
As soon as she figures out who that is.
For every one of us who has had to figure out who we are all over again, only to find out she was so much better than expected.
If necessity is the mother of invention, we must consider then, the impetus of reinvention.
- CCJ
I’d done a lot of people-watching in my lifetime.
Various reasons came into play with that, most related to the finding of facts, the gathering of information necessary to whatever task was at hand.
Now, when I indulged the urge, it was much less about the utility of it.
It was more to do with the pure curiosity of observing strangers going about their lives.
Without a care.
They were just… living.
Going about their same schedules, their same routines, with zero vigilance.
No real fear of things that went bump in the night.
Or of those things – those people - like me, that were stealthy enough not to make a sound.
Not that it mattered anymore.
Not at a time when really, I should envy the overwhelming normalcy of these people – the thing that, for me, had been so damned elusive. Instead of blending in with the crowd, I was relegated to my window, watching.
Well… I guess that implied I had to stay there instead of joining in, huh?
In reality, it was more that these people, these days, had exactly no relevance to my life – I didn’t fit in, or belong.
A little sad, considering I’d lived in the neighborhood for three months.
Despite the insistence of my mentor, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to take advantage of any of the quaint neighborhood’s amenities.
Not a single boutique or restaurant.
Not even the coffeehouse across the street.
That was where I saw the most eclectic sampling of the community, streaming in and out of there with hot and cold drinks, pastries in their hands. At night, it turned into a lounge – sometimes with lines reminiscent of a night club, and the throbbing music to match.
I watched.
I listened.
And then one night, finally… I decided I would go.
It took another three weeks to actually go through with it.
Decisiveness had never been a problem of mine – at least not that I could remember. Not until now, when every single one of my own moments was up to me, from the minutiae to the big decisions.
… not that I had many – any – of those.
In the immediate, my most significant decision was what to wear to Urban Grind, the insanely popular coffeehouse across the street from the abandoned candle shop I’d purchased.
Who the fuck needed an entire storefront for candles?
Certainly not me.
What I did need was somewhere that I could fade into the crowd – not so overpopulated that I couldn’t be aware of my surroundings, but inhabited enough that I could take advantage of the camouflage that came with living in the “city.”
Mahogany Heights was perfect for that.
And so was the apartment above the storefront.
It was studio style, open and airy to make up for the fact that it was tiny, and it was all mine.
There were no wake-up calls, no drills in the middle of the night, no rules – mostly – about what I could and couldn’t have.
What colors I could use.
What I could hang on the walls.
What I could have in my closet.
I smirked, very satisfied with myself as I slid the door back on the tiny space, peering in at the hangers that held my curated items. I happened to like the black, white, and gray palette imposed upon us in the Garden, so it was repeated here, but still.
I’d handpicked them all, without a single thought to who else might like it.
For tonight’s adventure, I chose a simple white top that bared my midriff, comfortable black jeans, and black and white sneakers, and basic silver hoop earrings – I wasn’t dressing to impress. I was dressing to look like any other late-twenty-something that might be there, so I could blend into the crowd instead of standing out.
In the mirror, I tugged at the neckline of the top, which I’d never worn before, self-conscious about the tattoo just above my breast, near my armpit.
The only tangible thing linking me to my old life.
It wouldn’t do for that to be showing.
Once I was satisfied the shirt did a good enough job keeping my “brand logo” under wraps, I grabbed my keys and wristlet to head out.
This time, I made it all the way to the door that led out to the street before I stopped.
What are you so afraid of?
For the life of me, I couldn’t figure it out.
There were very few people in the world who knew who I was, and even fewer cared. Of those who did, maybe some wanted me dead.
Most wouldn’t put any money or resources behind it.
My threat level was pretty low.
In fact… I was probably safer now than I’d been in a very long time, much more than I’d been when every public outing had a dossier attached, including details of who I was supposed to be at any given time.
I was one girl now.
Just me.
And there was no mission besides living my life however I wanted.
Nobody was coming for me.
And really… maybe that was the problem.
I could step, masterfully, into any role I was handed without missing a beat, without detection.
But this wasn’t a role.
It was life.
Something I had painfully little experience with.
I pushed the door open and stepped out, refusing to allow myself the comfort of going back upstairs. It was barely ten o’clock, and the spring weather was beautiful, so there were plenty of people out and about.
I ignored them all, locking the door behind me and heading for the crosswalk, keeping my focus narrow.
Across the street.
Through the front doors.
Up to the counter to order a spiked chai with a drizzle of chocolate.
A cozy seat with my drink, close enough to the stage to enjoy the music, but tucked away enough to not be bothered.
You did it.
You’re here.
I allowed myself a private smile about this silly ass “accomplishment” before I resumed my usual people-watching, only up close this time. The Heights was a majority Black neighborhood, and Urban Grind attracted a pretty diverse subsection of that – all ages, interests, economic levels, whatever.
Without even… trying.
It was nice.
It was really nice, actually.
Especially when I found myself swaying along to the live music, really enjoying it.
This felt good.
The throng of bodies, the loud music, the sweet stench of marijuana faintly mingled with liquor… I couldn’t say it was necessarily familiar, but it was comforting. For the first time in a while, actually, there was an unmistakable feeling of ease lightening the usual tension in my shoulders, as I raised my chai to my lips, taking it all in.