Rescue...

Charlie stares out of her window, staring at the people on the street, walking, bustling, movement. In her mind, her heart is on fire.  She pictures smoke pouring out of her ears, nose, eyes. silence.  She is sitting in the window, for the past two days, she has sat in this window, just staring, waiting for James to walk down the street.  She has not called his phone, not that she is able to, she destroyed it a day earlier, ripping it from the wall, and tossing it out to the street, when it failed to ring.  She walked to the payphone in her robe, and high heels, in a hoarse voice, to call into work, lying about a bug, she cant shake. which is the truth.  Her hands are shaking, its been three days since a drink, dizziness has occurred at this window, running to the bathroom to vomit, resuming her place at the window, straining to stare down the street just in case she missed him.   In her gut, she knows he never will return, time is a punisher, her own misogynist.  cigarette after cigarette, through smoke, she sees her one and only girlfriend Francis, almost stomping down the street, cigarette in her hand, stomping straight towards her door. Francis stops in  front of her building, puts her cigarette out on the building.  Her eyes shoot up to Charlie in the window, unable to move, Charlie  feels the tears on her face, she can only smile. Francis stares back, their language has always been like this, no words, emotions transmit.  Charlie gets up to answer the door, she hears Francis heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Opening the door, Francis says hello in her deep voice, and hugs her roughly, the only way she knows how to. Softness is not a trait of Francis, in the ten years she has know her.  Francis, light complexion,  fire red hair,  big boned woman, all six feet of her, stares at Charlie, walks through her door,  goes into her purse, pulling a bottle of jack daniels out of her huge purse.  "ugh ugh Fran, no liquor, i  haven't eaten in a couple of days.  Francis opens the jack, drinking from the bottle, exhales, walks to the door, "well I'm going to get some food, i will be back", slams door. She returns a while later, with a grocery bag,  she rolls the sleeves up to her green blouse, walks over to the sink, stacking all the dirty cups of coffee.   With her back turned, "we need some music",   "i don't want to hear anything". Francis sucks her teeth, and  puts a record on.  Charlie actually smirks, Francis never listens.  Charlie eats the smothered pork chops  slowly,  enjoying each bite.  The food is delicious, the pork chop cooked to perfection, with gravy, onions, and rice.  Charlie cleans her plate, even using her finger to wipe up the gravy.  "Hmph", Francis says out loud, leaning against the stove, whiskey in hand, a small sweat on her forehead.  Francis looks at Charlie's massive tangled hair, the thin robe hanging off of her,   She notices how pale her complexion is, this isn't the penny colored, cat eyed woman she met ten years ago, cursing at the bartender and flirting with another man at the same time.  When Charlie first looked at Francis with those light colored eyes, full of something old, Francis had never been speechless, until that night.  Francis saw her reflection in Charlie, a smaller, darker version, she saw something familiar.  Francis,  a geechee girl, walking in thunder, the swamps runs through her veins, her voice holds the earth. She knew of her magic from her grandmother, that reminded her each day of her ancestors, those that her grandmother prayed to at the huge altar in the backroom.  Francis met Charlie, Charlie was a cousin, sister,  she never had, that carried the same torch.   On this day, Charlie  is sick, and Francis has to conjure that magic out, it is time for a healing.  She reaches over to Charlie placing her hand over her  small chest...."breathe".