Zoe - A Short Story
Photo by: Paul Bourlet. Instagram: @paulboulet
Zoe
Far above North Avenue, a woman leaning out her bedroom window pulls in her sodden clothes which hang limply on their line. It had rained in the early morning hours; a sweet, warm deluge which was blown away by a sharp wind from the sea. Below, a mob of people all individually rushing to somewhere for some reason, move faster than normal.
Mustard taxicabs swerve along the worn asphalt, flicking up water and grime. One screeches to a halt in front of a coffee shop. A woman opens the back door with one hand but pauses to grab her purse from the car’s stained floor. Shutting the door and giving a slight nod to the cab driver, she crosses the sidewalk and enters the shop. She is enveloped by a hum of voices, a squeal of grinding coffee and speakers playing Miles Davis’ “Blue in Green.”
The barista who takes her order is a lean man dwarfed by a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. He shoves them back up his nose every time he moves his head, sniffs loudly, or looks down to straighten his name tag.
“How can I help you, miss?”
“My usual, please.”
“Okay, one medium roast latte with cream and sugar, no whip. Is there anything else?”
He nervously rubs his hands together and gives a slight cough. The woman’s eyes are focused on a text she is quickly typing on her phone. It takes her a minute to stop, look up and give him a pained glance.
“No. Just my usual coffee, please.”
“Is it for here or to go?”
“For here.”
She tucks her phone back into the front pocket of her purse.
“Alrighty, it’ll be ready in a minute.”
“Thank you.”
She nods her head and then makes her way to a table looking out on the city. Standing, she sets her purse on the table and picks up her phone again. Nora has a 10% off sale on their online store, so she adds a few items to her shopping cart and then starts browsing Facebook.
“One medium roast latte with cream and sugar for Zoe.”
“Thank you.”
Finally sitting, Zoe stares through the glass window pensively. The world outside is a blur of rushing vehicles, people and even birds which flit from telephone lines to storefront awnings. From Zoe’s seat inside, the roar of movement is reduced to a gentle murmur and yet the constant noise and hurry tires her. But she tells herself that she is content here. She would not be able to find a more sophisticated flat at a cheaper price or a better paying job anywhere else. She was made for this life. She will not be happy with anything else.
Her phone pings. Zoe starts and stops staring out the window. Picking up the porcelain cup of coffee, she sips it while scanning her phone. Her mother had tried to call. Zoe ignores the notification and gets on Twitter to type out a quick tweet: “Beautiful morning in the city made even better by coffee. #thatmetrolife #coffeeisDAbomb #goalz.”
The subdued ambiance of the coffee shop is interrupted by a clatter of shoes and voices as several people enter the front door. A lady packaged in an overcoat, scarf and mittens makes her way toward the window. She sits down in the open chair across from Zoe, who does not look up from her phone.
“Hello dearie. I hope you don’t mind letting me sit here. Why, it is so crowded here. In all my days—and I haven’t lived too long y’know, just long enough to notice things—yes in all my days, I have never seen it so busy here. What’s your name, dearie?”
“Zoe.”
“Zoe! Why, what a lovely name for such a lovely person! I’m Clarice Hunter. I work at Nora’s—the clothing store, y’know—on Cumbers Street. Right where all the fancy, expensive fashion stores are. Why, that’s me! Hold on a second!”
Zoe goes back to typing on her phone while the woman gets her coffee and plops back down.
“Here I am again! Anyway, like I said, I work at Nora’s. I always used to shop there, y’know. One day I just thought to myself that I could work there, since I was in the store so much. Why, I knew their clothing selection better than the back of my hand! Do you have a job, dearie?” At the end of every sentence Clarice slurps her coffee and then hurries on with what she was saying, as if afraid of being interrupted. Zoe listens to her with an imperturbable expression.
“I am a secretary for the CEO of a clothing design company.”
“Well, how fascinating!!!! Absolutely fascinating. We work in the same industry y’know. So does my daughter! What’s the name of the company you work for?”
“Annie & Weston.”
“Oh! The world is such a small place! That’s where my daughter works!! She got the job a couple years ago. She is so gifted. Why, Mr. Howard—her boss—is always complimenting her on her innovative brain and keen eye for fashionable, high-end clothing. He said those exact words. I’m sure you must have seen my daughter working there! Have you met an Aphrodite Hunter before?”
“No, I am not familiar with anyone by that name.”
“Why, surely you must have met her! She’s a bit short—but still quite tall—and has auburn hair like mine is—that is, when I have it styled y’know. My natural hair color is brown but auburn suits my eye color and it is so in right now. But anyway, you must speak to my daughter if you see her and I’ll tell her about you. Oh! I know what! I’ll give you her number! Then you can contact her!”
Clarice pauses for a breath, starts and then looks at her watch.
“Oh! I’ve got to run. Why, time flies so fast!”
She stands up in rush, still holding the coffee mug and sets it down as an afterthought. Zoe rises and plasters on a smile.
“Goodbye Mrs. Hunter. I hope you have a good day.”
“Thank you, dearie. It was such a pleasure to get to know you! We must meet for coffee again! Bless me, if the time didn’t just slip away! Life goes by so fast, y’know. One day you’re a young woman and then the next day you open up your eyes and, well! Not that I have personal experience with that but, oh! Why, look at the time! Au revoir, dearie!” She minces off, her heels clicking and clacking to a frantic beat.
Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Zoe sinks back into her chair. Her phone buzzes but she ignores it, choosing instead to massage her aching temples. She reaches for her coffee and takes another sip. It is decidedly lukewarm. Setting the cup back down, Zoe closes her eyes. The warm murmur of the coffeeshop, carried along by notes of softly playing jazz music, fills her ears.
Tires screech. A high-pitched shriek. Voices break off. Zoe starts up and looks out the window. She catches a glimpse of halted taxi cabs between a growing crowd of pedestrians. The frantic blare of a saxophone fills the stilled coffee shop.
Zoe rushes outside with the other customers. She pushes through the now swelling crowd. Everyone is yelling, shoving and craning their necks to see.
“Somebody call for an ambulance!”
“What happened?”
“I can’t see!”
“Someone got hit. I heard a scream.”
“I heard it too!”
“Call 911 will ya?!”
“Where are the police at?”
“Get out of my way!”
“Does anybody know what’s going on?!!”
Zoe finally squeezes off of the packed sidewalk and onto the street. A faint wail of sirens sounds in the distance. Before her she sees a taxi spun to the left and, oh! A few feet from the taxi’s wheels lies a bloody and limp figure. A small knot of people hovers nearby. Zoe calls out: “What happened?”
A man with a worn New York Mets cap turns around. “She was in the middle of the crosswalk when the light turned green. A taxi sped around the corner and the driver, well, he couldn’t slam on his brakes in time.”
“It’s a woman?”
“Yep. Come see for yourself.”
Zoe walks across the asphalt road quickly and reaches the group.
“Is she alive?!”
“Barely.”
Zoe stares down at the limp figure. She sees brown heeled boots and a bit of a scarf peeking out from under the woman. A cry escapes her lips.
“Do you know this woman?”
“Yes. I... I met her a few minutes ago.”
Sirens rapidly draw near, coming along the opposite road.
“Do you know if she has any family? Anyone that needs to be contacted?”
“A daughter. She told me. Her daughter...I think her daughter works at the same place I do. She was going to give me her daughter’s number...but I don’t have it.”
The ambulance and police cars had arrived now. Doors are flung open and EMTs rush to the small group. Officers set up a perimeter and begin to back the mass of pedestrians away from the scene. Two of the medical personnel examine the prone body while another barks orders.
“Get me a stretcher for this woman!”
“What happened?” asks a police officer. “Oh, wait. Move out of the way so they can get her onto the stretcher. Here, come over to the sidewalk. Hey, Nelson! Murray! Move that crowd back farther. I don’t want any civilians on the road!”
Zoe stands still. Around her sirens and car horns blare and people shout incoherent noises. The crackling radio static reverberates among the frozen skyscrapers, shop windows and street lamps which were leaning, now falling! onto her.
“Ma’am I need you to move to the sidewalk with the other pedestrians. Ma’am?” Zoe’s feet move away from the road, over the curb and up onto the sidewalk. But her eyes stay frozen, staring at the spot where the woman had fallen.
The next day, Zoe navigates her workplace’s tiled hallways, arms full of file folders and invoices. Around her men and women pass, conversing in rapid yet subdued tones. Zoe arrives at her office door and pushes it open with her elbow. Plopping the stack of papers on her desk, she moves to open the blinds when her intercom goes off.
“Secretary, inform Mr. Howard that I have an opening at 11 and expect to see him then.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Zoe walks quickly along the hallway till she reaches the Design Office. The room is full of employees sketching and comparing fabrics. Zoe finds Mr. Howard examining several patterns. After he finishes, Zoe delivers her boss’s message. Turning to leave, she bumps into a short girl with a swollen face and puffy, red eyes.
“Pardon me. I did not see you.”
“Oh no! Sorry! I shouldn’t have tried to squeeze past you.”
Zoe takes a closer look at the girl and starts.
“What is it?”
“Is your name Aphrodite Hunter?”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“I...I have met your mother before. The resemblance between you two is striking.”
“Oh. When did you meet my mother? And I’m sorry, but what’s your name?”
“Zoe Curtis. I met your mother yesterday at a coffee shop.” Zoe pauses and clears her throat. “I, uh, was there when the accident happened. Not there. But close by.”
Aphrodite stares down at her feet while taking short, shallow breaths. An awkward silence settles between the two. A worker pushes between them and makes his way towards the door. Someone cracks a joke and laughter echoes from one side of the room.
“How...how is your mother?”
Aphrodite makes eye contact with Zoe and smiles slightly.
“She’s doing better than we thought she would. The doctor says she can come home in a few weeks.”
“That’s wonderful news.”
Once again, they fall back to silence. Zoe stares at her feet while Aphrodite studies the floor.
“Well. I should be getting back to work. It was nice to meet you Aphrodite.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
Zoe quickly exits the room and heads back to her desk, making a mental note to avoid returning to the Design Office if possible.
Three days later, she runs into Aphrodite again, this time while taking the elevator up from the main lobby. The girl spends the ride up biting her nails. Zoe pretends to be texting someone on her phone and breathes a sigh of relief when Aphrodite exits the elevator two levels up. For the rest of the day Zoe delivers files and sorts through mounds of paperwork.
She had decided to put the events of the accident behind her and move on with normal life. After all, she had an apartment to completely refurbish in the latest fashion and she needed to go shopping for winter clothes. Then there was the party tonight after work and the annual fundraising banquet on Friday. In short, she was too busy to think about the accident. But despite her efforts, the memories stayed in the back of her mind and habitually creeped out during quiet moments.
To her annoyance, she runs into Aphrodite again on the elevator after work. The girl gives a short smile and stands by the doors, crossing and re-crossing her arms. Zoe was in the middle of typing a tweet when Aphrodite spoke up.
“I told my mom that I met you. She...she doesn’t have the best memory, but she did remember you. Told me all about meeting you, though I think she confused some of the details.”
“Oh, I’m glad.”
“I’m sure she’d love if you visited her. Her room number is 119A and she’s at Leeds Hospital downtown. If you could make it.”
Zoe gives a weak smile. “I’d love to visit. Really, I would. But I am so, so busy.”
Aphrodite nods her head. “I understand.”
The elevator reached the bottom floor, its doors slowly sliding open.
“Have a good day, Miss Curtis.”
“You too.”
The next day Zoe is off work. She wakes up late and sits for a long time on the couch in her living room, drinking coffee. Aphrodite’s words and the knowledge that she had lied to her, nags at Zoe. She tries to push the thoughts away by scanning her social feed, but to no avail. Slamming down her phone she paces up and down her living room. You lied to Aphrodite. I’m not obligated to visit anyone. I barely even know the woman and I’m busy. I’ve been busy. I need a day to relax. You lied. My apartment needs to be refurbished. I’ll probably be stuck at the hospital for hours and won’t get home till late at night. Then I’ll be tired at work the next morning. You won’t be able to put this behind you until you visit Clarice at the hospital.
Zoe steps into the taxi waiting at the curb and gives directions to the driver. “Leeds Hospital please.”
“Okey-doke.”
The cab lurches forward along the grimy asphalt.
Nurses shuffle along shining tile floors. The hallways reek with the odor of cleaning disinfectant. Zoe knocks before entering Room 119A. Aphrodite is visibly surprised upon seeing Zoe and beckons her into the hospital room. Zoe’s eyes go to the center of the room where Clarice lies underneath the covers of a large bed.
“Mama’s asleep right now but oh! I am so glad you came! It’s nice to have company.”
They sit, Zoe and Aphrodite, on two chairs by the bed and wait. Neither speak. Clarice does not wake. Aphrodite wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and Zoe murmurs “I’m sorry.” She does not know what else to do.
An hour later, Zoe leaves as a nurse comes in. Down the hallway and stairs, through the waiting room and finally out the hospital doors. A gust of wind rushes through Zoe’s hair, whipping it around her face and almost blinding her. She hails a taxi with difficulty and the wind slams the car door behind her.
Turning her phone’s ringer back on, it releases an explosion of notifications. The taxi cab driver looks back through his rear-view mirror and chuckles. Zoe ignores her phone, sliding it back into her coat pocket. She smells like the hospital, an intruding odor which does not go away. Noticing this brings her mind back to the events in the hospital and then farther back to the accident.
She is suddenly tired. Tired of the noise, the bustle, the incessant pinging of her phone and the constant reminders of the gruesome accident. Why? Why couldn’t she live a normal life? Why does she have to spend every day trying to block the memories of that woman’s limp and crushed body? Why did some evil twist of fate allow that woman to get run over? What had she done to deserve it? What had Aphrodite done to watch her mother suffer and be unable to do anything about it? None of them deserved what they had been inflicted with.
The words of Clarice Hunter echo in Zoe’s mind:“Life goes by so fast, y’know. One day you’re a young woman and then the next day you open up your eyes and, well!” Staring at her reflection in the car’s window, Zoe notices wrinkles around the eyes of the woman gazing back. The horrible thought that she is getting old—that her life is slipping through her fingers like sand and she cannot close her fist around a single grain—hits Zoe. Is this how she wants to spend her life: rushing along with everyone else to somewhere because it's what everyone else does? Why is she here if it’s only to spend her life chasing dreams that die with her? The taxi halts. Zoe gets out, hands the driver his fare and makes her way up the stairs to her apartment.