Unfinished- add on
Rena:
I picked up the phone and dialed home. My father’s raspy voice answered.
“Dad,” I swallowed, “it’s me, Rena.”
“Rena? Rena, hey, what’s going on?” I heard my mother drop the dishes in the sink and rush over to the phone next to my dad.
“I was thinking about how Mom told me to come home and I-“
“We’ll take you in within a heartbeat,” he cut me off.
I looked out the window, the sun shining into my face as it rose above the buildings, “No, I- I don’t want to see you guys. I don’t want to go back and I don’t want you here, either.”
It was silent for a good minute and then I heard him whisper to my mom, telling her I wasn’t coming home. Even through my dad’s hands over the receiver, I heard her cries.
“Dad, I have to go,” I ended the call before I heard any reply. I walked over to the closet and paused in front of the unopened package that was collecting dust. I dragged it over to the middle of the living room and dumped everything out. If there was anything that would substitute running into Visceral, this was it.
After spending three hours on it, the once unfamiliar and broken pieces now fit perfectly into each other. The final product was of the famous painting of ballerinas by Edgar Degas. I glided my fingers across each piece, each groove, admiring the picture on the puzzle pieces.
I was hooked; I needed more. This was the escape I was looking for. I found my way out.
Matt:
“Matthew, there’s another delivery to an apartment on N. Elston Avenue,” Mr. Cohen handed me a box of two 1000 piece puzzles.
As I stepped out of the truck, I automatically remembered the last time I came here. I got out the elevator and tentatively knocked on the door.
There was a shuffle of papers. I heard the bolt lock click and the same woman who didn’t dare say more than she had to creaked the door open just a slit. She quickly extended her hand for the clipboard and signed it without taking her eyes off of the package.
Suddenly, there was a sound of glass shattering onto the wooden floor. Her head whipped to the side, behind the door that was only opened a crack.
“Do you need help with anything?” I carefully shifted forward.
Her eyes widened at me as if I said something offensive. “No,” she reached for the package and shut the door, once again.
I stepped up to the door, “Are you sure? Don’t pick up the glass with your hands.” As soon as I said it, I knew how stupid I sounded. I looked down at the clipboard. Her name was Rena. Rena Spero.
