Brief Three

Gina

She took a bite off her sandwich. “We an wo ith” she mumbled with her mouth full.
“Sure we can do it.” I agreed. She sat on a small wooden bench under an old chestnut tree eating her lunch. I stood before her, my own untouched sandwich in hand. She swallowed and looked up at me.
“You will talk to your uncle, right?” she asked “You said he can help us.”
“Of course.” I said.

It was doable. I had no doubts or fear. We were perfect for it. Well, Gina could have used a nose job and that hair … we definitely needed to do something about that hair of hers. For a Caucasian girl, she had an unusual African American kind of hair. Black, coarse and thick and curled up so tight, it sat on top of her head like a wig. I always wondered where she’d gotten that hair from. An influx of African American blood in her family would be unheard of, impossible in fact. But there it was and we had to do something about establishing some sort of control over it before we went ahead with our life changing plans. I couldn’t remember who had come up with the original idea but I know I was the one who took it and ran with it. I was “the brains” of the operation. And there was my uncle, of course. It would have been next to impossible without him. But he was my uncle and he would help us. Gina had no one in the business nor was she a go-getter herself. No, Gina was a follower. And she listened to me in awe as we sat under that chestnut tree many a lunch breaks and I talked about our bright future ahead of us and how we were gonna get out of there. The world was ours.

The bell rang. Man, lunch time sure flew by in those facilities. Gina stood up. I could see she had dropped a blob of ketchup on her uniform.
“They might make a stink about that” I said pointing to the red smear on her chest. She looked down.
“Shit” she swore and took out a napkin from her pocket. She spat on it and began rubbing at the ketchup stain. She only made it bigger and more noticeable. I looked around. The crowd had dissipated. Everyone knew better than to stay out past the bell. The last couple of vagabonds dashed for the doors.
“Come on” I urged “Or we’ll be late and you know what happens then. That stain’s nothing compared to being late. We can’t afford to get in the black books now. Not so close to our…”
“You two!” the Big Guy shouted at us. He always came out exactly two minutes after the bell to make sure we were all inside. Gina jumped. She tucked the napkin back in her pocket and looked at me. Her expression was a mix of disgust, anger and fear. I grabbed her by the elbow and we rushed past the Big Guy through the heavy doors and into the damp, gloomy interior of the Facility.
“We’ll talk more at lunch tomorrow, OK?” I whispered in Gina’s ear before we entered the room.
But we never did have that talk. The next day, my uncle came through for me and got me out. He couldn’t do anything about Gina.

I think about her often. I wonder what became of her. I wonder if she hates me for leaving her, for promising her a better life, for promising her the world and then running out on her. I reach for the bottle of Johnny Walker. Dearest Gina, please forgive me.