Red Foxes - First Draft

This was the original draft of Red Foxes. Despite the many errors and flaws, I am partially attached to it because of that first scene. It's my favorite, even though it wasn't finished.

Saturday, April 17^th, 2010
2:47 PM
The Little Bistro
Grackle Feather �" Sunset Scarf

                She couldn’t decide whether it was the glass ornaments hanging from the, the well-worn furniture, or if it was the conglomeration of sticky sweet and hearty scents assaulting her nose that made the café so interesting. The servers were all adults, walking around in a professional manner despite the café being half-empty, all busying themselves with some mundane chore. They had on the carefully tailored ‘suit’ uniforms, with small bowties and crisp black vests over white long-sleeve button downs, black slacks, and patent leather shoes that made a soft click as they walked. Carefully, she counted out the two dollars and forty-three cents that the coffee cost, stacking each coin in a pile of its own kind, placed on the dollar and then slid to the edge of the table. Bocelli’s voice floated from the speakers, singing about love or something similar, carefully masking the tension that settled on the tables and chairs, making the walls and wooden furniture creak under its weight.

                “Can I get you more coffee?”

                Quinn’s glanced at the man, offering a terse nod. He poured fresh steaming hot coffee, enveloping her for a moment in a haze of a dark nutty and slightly sweet caramel smell. If she inhaled through her mouth, she was sure that she could have tasted the hints of cherry in the coffee through the vapors.

                “Thank you.”

                Her words fell on deaf ears, as he was already gone by the time she looked up. It was strange, how such a charming little place had no one happy in it. Of the few people inside, there was a mother and child, an older couple, and a group of women. The waiters smiled, but it was that plastic, “I’m here for eight hours to serve people I want nothing to do with but I have to be pleasant,” smile. Closing her eyes, Quinn hung her head over the  coffee mug, letting the words of the conversations around her seep into her mind, her fingers stroking the thin red and orange scarf that rested about her neck.

                “Mommy, please? Please please?”

                “And that’s when I told him to get out of the house or I was going to call the police.”

                “And what do you expect me to do about that Harold?”

                “Did he leave you alone, Charlene?”

                “No dear, you can’t see him today. On the weekend he’ll pick you up.”

                “Why can’t you ever be reasonable?”

                It was the older man’s voice, most likely the ‘Harold’ mentioned earlier. She watched the couple quietly, automatically adding a packet of sugar and a small amount of crème that had appeared on her table into her coffee. He was leaning away from the woman, she leaning forward, lips pursed and eyebrows drawn together, nails clicking on the arm of her chair, then stopping as she gripped the chair handles. The man sighed, releasing more tension into the air. He looked around, relaxing slightly as the waiter came over to give them more bread and refill their wine, breaking off the conversation. It was a little early to be drinking; obviously whatever they were discussing was a problem, at the very least in the woman’s eyes. A disturbance of the table cloth of the table two spaces over caught her eyes, dragging her attention away from the quarrelling couple, who had paused to put on a poorly acted façade of decency as the waiter took their order. A flash of red disappeared under the table, a single paw slowly disappearing into the shadows underneath.

                Her throat grew suddenly dry, and she violently pushed her cup away from her, now looking around the little café for more signs of red. A furry face rested underneath the chair of the little girl who was crying, paws visible by the mother as a nose peeked over the top to sniff her plate. A group of the little foxes had begun to play by the group of women as their voices rose in obvious strife, dealing with another topic of social problems. Frozen, she watched as more of the red foxes began to appear in the café, a few jumping on the empty tables, one stalking the waiter with a devious glint in his eye. They had followed her here, and completely invaded the place, silent motion that never ceased. Their beady eyes scrutinized her, daring her to speak to others, knowing she wouldn’t.

                “Leave me alone,” she whispered, voice scratchy, “I’m not her. I’m not her.”

                The foxes gave no indication that they cared or heard, their presence masked to all but Quinn. Anger surged through her, spiked by fear and fueled by frustration. She scooted back out of her chair loudly, grabbed her bags and ran. Her waiter called after her, no doubt trying to ensure she was going to pay, and she flicked her hand towards the table where the money rested on the corner, undisturbed next to the mug of coffee, a puddle having formed underneath where it had slopped out over the sides. The door shut with a falsely merry jingle of the bell, and a groaning of the hinges that spoke of what lay inside more than the cheerful sign swinging outside above the door.

***

                The bus was overcrowded, filled with people like her, all headed somewhere, and even if some of them didn’t quite know where that somewhere was. She had squeezed herself into a seat in the back, her bags clutched tightly to her as she pressed herself against the window, keeping as far away from the elderly woman who sat on her right. The woman smelled of sweat and cheap perfume, wrinkled hands and fingers decorated with simple but ostentatious jewelry that matched the oversized necklace. She had on a navy blue dress suit and matching hat, legs encased in flesh-colored stockings and dark flats. Quinn didn’t want to talk to her, but the woman was insistent on chatting.

                “Where are you headed? You’re such a thin, pretty little thing, what are you doing around here?”

                Her voice carried an accent Quinn couldn’t place, a buzzing rasping scratch of an accent.

                “Nowhere. Just traveling around.”

                “I was young once, I know the feeling. That’s a lovely scarf you have there, where did you get that? My granddaughter loves scarves and hats and pearls, she’s at the age where she’s driving her mother crazy by going through her closet and dressing up in all of her clothes. She makes such a mess that girl.”

                Quinn instinctively clutched the scarf, the gauzy forest green loosely wrapped around the base of her neck, despite it being spring. Shades of paler green formed leaves and brown for branches, small embroidered leaves at the corner.

                “It was my mothers,” she said quietly.

                Quinn remembered going through her own mothers closet, amazed at all the scarves that hung about, scarves of every color, scarves for every occasion. As a child, she had been amazed, running her hands over the silk and cashmere, the cotton and light forms, all in awe. So different than when she had gone through those scarves just a year ago. Her touch had been just as delicate, but she hadn’t been in awe. She remembered digging the pit outside in the massive backyard, dirty fingers throwing the scarves inside, as she poured on lighter fluid and threw the match inside. It had taken four washings to get all the dirt out from underneath her fingernails.

                “Your mother? Why, I still have the pearls my mother gave me. See this strand here? She had them for the forty-three years of her marriage, wore them on her wedding day. I plan on giving them to my granddaughter….”

                She squished herself more against the window, the chatter suffocating her. Her eyes roamed around, seeking some excuse to escape as she nodded sporadically to not appear rude. Two golden eyes met her own, from underneath the bus seats across from her. The small black fox stared at her, crouched as he was, watching. She stood up, making a hurried excuse to the woman as she made her way to the front of the bus, getting off at the next red light after convincing the driver that this was her stop and it was rather important. The woman waved to her through the window as she hurried off, the black fox slipping into the shadows as it followed.

                “I’m not her, I’m not her, I’m not her…”

***

Monday, May 3^rd 2010
3:34 PM
Koi Pond at Victoria Park �" Visit #3
White-Breasted Nuthatch feather �" Gray Mist scarf

                She’d gone to three more cities, taken several more buses, and eaten at many more small restaurants. Quinn felt restless and uneasy as she stared at the large pond in the middle of the park, ringed by long grass, water lilies floating about on top of the water. Seafoam green wooden bridges criss-crossed the pond, as people casually strolled over, occasionally stopping and excitedly pointing in the water as they saw the orange and white Koi that swam in its depths. It was the third time she’d come to see the pond, three days in a row, and she still hadn’t stepped on the bridge, just stood or sat at a distance… watching.

                The first day she’d come, she’d been too twitchy to do much, waiting for the red foxes to appear again, to prove that they had followed her again. The second day, she’d still been twitchy, but she’d been able to make herself sit on the cropped grass beneath the oak tree for an hour. That’s when the young girl had come up to her, flouncing around in her pretty pink dress, golden blonde hair pulled back into a half pony-tail, green eyes as wide as her smile, white sandals kicking up leaves. She had seen Quinn and decided to plop down next to her, to talk to her. It seemed a lot of people found Quinn approachable.

                “You have funny eyes,” the girl had said, staring at her face, “Why are they different colors?”

                “I was born with them.”

                Quinn hadn’t been sure what to do, did this girls parents know she was talking to a stranger?

                “You have pretty hair though; it’s a lot whiter than mine. Mommy says I have princess hair. Do you have princess hair?”

                Quinn teased at the waves that had escaped the braid, staring at the white-blond strands.

                “I don’t know.”

                “Didn’t your mommy tell you?”

                Quinn smiled slightly, a bitter smile, “She didn’t tell me I had princess hair. She brushed it for me though, every day. Made sure there were no knots.”

                “Oh…” The girl dug the heels of her sandals into the ground. Her mother was going to have a hard time getting out those dirt stains.

                “Are you here for the Silver Koi?”

                “Silver Koi?”

                The little girl nodded matter-of-factly, smiling as if she had a huge secret to share.

                “Mommy says that there’s a Silver Koi fish in that pond. If you find it, you get a wish. I want to find that fish. I’d wish for lots of pretty things, for me and my mommy. What would you wish for?”

                Quinn had found herself the sole victim of the innocent stare of the young girl, and no answer to give.

                “I’d wish…. I’d wish for…” Quinn couldn’t think of a good answer for a little kid. You don’t say things like, ‘I wish  my mother wasn’t crazy,’ or , ‘I wish my father gave a damn,’ or, ‘I wish the red foxes would disappear.’ Little girls wouldn’t understand that.

                “Oh, my mommy’s calling for me! Good luck finding the Koi fish!”

                She jumped up and waved, running off to leave Quinn alone, staring at the sparkling water of the Koi pond… which was why Quinn had come back the next day. What would she wish for if she could wish for anything? She fiddled with the scarf around her neck again, this one a pale gray with lavender flowers on the corners.

                The bridges began to clear as people took their kids home, or headed off to eat, the afternoon crowd slowly clearing off with the sun as it faded. She approached the bridge, hesitantly placing one foot in front of the other, testing the boards before she walked. In the dark, the water was an inky black, with flash of white from the fish that swam underneath. The sound of cars and the smell of constantly-wet plant matter.

                “Which one of you is silver?” she whispered to the fish, getting no answer.

***

                “Falleden, pick up the phone,” the woman whispered, as the repetitive ring resounded in her ear. It took three calls to finally get an answer, and the woman swore under her breath just before the line picked up.

                “Yes?”

                “Hello Quinn, it’s Lisa Stone. I just wanted to check in on you.”

                “I’m fine.”

                “I see. Where are you? You missed your last appointment with me.”

                “I told you I wasn’t going to come anymore.”

                The woman sighed in frustration, dropping into the seat behind her desk, forehead dropping on her fingers.

                “Quinn, I’m worried about you. It’s been what, a year now? You don’t answer the phone half the time, you’ve missed our sessions… I’m only trying to help you. Why are you being so stubborn?”

                “I don’t need the help, I’m fine.”

                “Which scarf are you wearing today?”

                “Does it matter?”

                “Humor me.”

                “The purple one?”

                “With the gold, what was it… suns?”

                “Yes.”

                “Quinn, talk to me. What are you doing? What are you running from?”

                The other line went silent, the sound of wind and cars and children’s squeals in the background.

                “Quinn?”

                “I’m looking for a silver koi.”

                “What?”

“I’ll call you when I’ve found it. Until then, don’t worry about me. I’m sure your other patients are waiting to pour their hearts out to you.”

“When are you going to stop running?”

“When I’ve found what I’m looking for.”

 “What are you looking for?”

The line clicked dead and the woman dropped the phone on her desk in frustration. Checking her computer, she stood up to call in her next patient. In the park, Quinn pressed the old Motorola Razor to her lips, staring at the pond. What was she running from? She didn’t know.

***

Monday, May 31^st 2010
1:26 PM
Koi Pond at Victoria Park �" Visit # 31
Blue Jay Feather �" Midnight Dragonfly Scarf

Author's Note

This was the first draft, it has since been revised. I still love any and all critique and help, but make sure to read the revised version in case the problem was fixed there.