Love Under the K Street Bridge

As the sun fell from the sky, robbing people of its warmth and safety, it was replaced by the evils of darkness, where the sounds of the hustle and bustle of daily life were whisked away by the howling winds of depression, loneliness, and uncertainty. Like everything and everybody else in her life, sleep had abandoned her. She dreaded closing her eyes for she knew that the images of turmoil would come to haunt her, making her ask the same question she asked every day, “What the hell happened?” This had to be one of the coldest nights in the history of Washington, D.C., or at least it seemed that way to Alexis Gordon. She had strategically placed her tent in the middle of the block under the K Street Bridge so that the other tents would block the rippling effect of the arctic air as it blew through her paper-thin home. Though the bridge provided protection from the rain and snow, it provided very little relief from the cold. In fact, the bridge acted like a wind tunnel forcing the air to rip through the flimsy tents like a hot knife cutting through butter. Her six hundred and fifty dollar pair of Gucci gloves, though cute and fashionable, did absolutely nothing to keep her freezing hands warm. She probably could have sold them for a small price, or even traded them for a cup of hot coffee or a clean tampon, but she had refused to part with them. They were not only a fond reminder of another lifetime - a period in her life when she lived in a comfortable split level home with a garage in Ft. Washington, Maryland and when her main struggle was for recognition, acceptance, and advancement, instead of food, protection, shelter, and dignity. She once stood at the apex of fame and fortune, the queen bee so to speak, adept at innovative problem-solving… but now her fall from grace was complete. She had fallen into the depths of degradation, abandonment, and despair, while becoming invisible - a cancer to society, or an insignificant piece of trash in the eyes of many local politicians and passersby. Alexis lay huddled under her blankets desperately trying to warm her fingers on the light bulb of her tiny flashlight. She knew that if she were going to survive in this weather she needed to find some way to get a sleeping bag so that she could at least stay warm enough to think this situation through. The small light enabled her to see her breath emanating from her chapped lips. She knew she needed to find some place she could go to get warm as well as to relieve herself, but there was absolutely no way she was going back to that shelter, no matter how cold it got. Something had to give because this just wasn’t working. It seemed as if time had stood still and the warmth of the morning sunlight would never materialize. Pleasant thoughts desperately tried to creep into her head in order to take her mind off the cold. Thoughts of lying in a warm bed next to her significant other who was trying to light the embers of love or lust in her bosom danced through her head. His stumbling efforts, though sincere, didn’t seem to be getting the job done, and she knew that she needed to give him a helping hand in order to take her to the place she desperately needed to go. If he didn’t hurry up, she was going to have to get rid of him and find her a new man – someone who could get her going at the drop of a hat. She began dreaming about what this new man would look like. He would be at least six feet tall, handsome, bronzed skin with a chest that looked like a Nubian prince, with a smile that would warm any sized room and long, soft dreads flowing from his head. His manhood would not be too big, but big enough. The pleasant thoughts made her smile as sleep began to ease its way into her tent. Suddenly, a car passed by with its lights illuminating the entire tunnel. The light exposed the silhouette of an imposing figure standing directly outside the front of her tent, or so she thought. She became horrified when, through the fog of her dreams, she realized that the figure was actually inside her tent, standing directly above her. The figure stood silent and motionless for what seemed like hours. She could smell the stench of urine-stained, dusty clothes, body funk, and rot gut whiskey. Terror gripped Alexis even more when her tiny flashlight showed the reflection of a six-inch knife blade he held firmly in his hand. She kept a small knife for her protection, but before she could reach for it, the figure pounced on her with the swiftness of a mountain lion hunting its prey. He put the knife on her neck, telling her that if she made a sound he was going to slit her throat. She was repulsed by the odor of his breath, the scratching of her face by the stubble of his beard, and the smell of whiskey seeping through his pores. She was further repulsed when he licked her face from bottom to top. It was all she could do to keep from throwing up. She just closed her eyes and tried to think of something else. Maybe he should slit her throat and end this madness. The attack was over quickly. The cold air quickly replaced the numbness in her soul. This act was just another reminder of how far she had fallen. She was vastly independent, prideful, and had always refused to be controlled by any man. As she lay in her own filth crying silent tears, she decided that she would never be a victim again.