Aya

She arrived shortly before 4 a.m. as usual to begin preparing the breakfast and lunch menu at the small cafe on the first floor. Since she didn’t own a car and the local bus service began after 4.30, she hitched a ride with a friend to the downtown shuttle stop.

Something wasn’t right this morning as her friend would later tell us at the hospital. She rested her head by the window during the 15 minute shuttle ride, running a list of things she always checked before leaving the apartment. The stove was off, the dryer was unloaded, tonight’s frozen dinner left to thaw on the counter.

Like every morning for the past 2 weeks, she also checked with Detective M. about the restraining order she requested on her husband of 12 years. A backlog of cases and the weekend delayed her request, especially since he was away with his parents in New Jersey and the detective considered her a low risk case. She left him a message on his machine as he instructed and waited for a call back sometime during the day.

She must’ve heard a soft knock on the back door because she had opened it for someone. Only one of the morning servers had her own key so perhaps she thought nothing of a knock around 6 a.m. The details of what happened next are vague at best. What is known is that she was beaten savagely by someone, dragged across the back area and thrown near the cash register. She broke several ribs (probably from kicks as she lay on the ground), had broken teeth, a broken cheek bone, a dislocated shoulder, and a batch of hair ripped out from the dragging, no doubt. Repeated hits to the head caused a severe injury to force doctors to put her in a medical coma.

I wasn’t in the office that morning but found out soon enough after lunch. Throughout the week, detectives came and went, asked many questions but answered few. They suspect it was her estranged husband who found out about the restraining order. We’ve collected some money to help with the hospital and rehab. costs but my guess is that it will cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to get her through the next few months, not to mention the emotional and mental toll.

I don’t know her and barely exchanged hellos a few times a week. I don’t particularly eat there and may get a bottle of water 2 or 3 times a week. A 40-something year old latina woman, Maria rarely spoke of herself, as others who frequented the cafe pointed.

I feel so tremendously guilty because I don’t have an image of her, at least a clear enough image of her humanity. I don’t know the person that she was or how she carried on or how many people knew she was brutalized by her husband. I don’t even know if she told anyone in that wretched building. We just go about our business, bitching about meetings and travel when another human being lives in fear and is then beaten within an inch of her life. I don’t think it’s realistic to know everyone’s story but I don’t know why hers has brought so much misery and guilt to my heart.

Hey friends. Had a hell of a couple of days at work, and pulled an all-nighter last night. Thought I could update but was just seeing doubles around 5a.m.

I was paired with a new transfer in acquisitions for a 1-day seminar and we just hit it off. Smart, funny, and very much shy, I could see how he can keep a low profile. The day ended and I couldn’t get him out of my mind. We exchanged a couple of e-mails, chat a few times on the phone and he bought me lunch midweek without my knowing (or asking). I couldn’t get away from a sit down with my Azazel boss so he left a lovely, small note on my now cold roasted, vegetable sandwich. I am black and I think I may have blushed. I don’t blush. I mean it. Damn, they’ll revoke my NRA membership now.

My very nosey but lovable assistant put me down for a lunch meeting with a client on Monday. Two o’clock in the afternoon is not a lunch meeting time so I kept harassing her till she spilled the beans. She booked off 90 minutes in my schedule that afternoon to have coffee with a secret admirer.

My angry sigh blew papers from her desk to her face. I threatened that if she didn’t quit the high school antics, I would introduce no-blue eye shadow & orange blush that looks a little green in some light into department policy. Her 80s make-up and super puffy hair days will be over. She confessed that Mr. acquisitions knew of a wonderful bakery and wanted me to have coffee with him. I don’t turn pastry down. Especially now that I am training for a marathon. The more I try to be disciplined, the more crap I shove into my face.

That’s why it was a semi-blind date. Couldn’t be blind because I already met the dude but the initial arrangement was for a blin…Is my explanation sounding as lame as I think it is? I had a wonderful time, though. I didn’t want to go back to the office.

Haven’t made any further plans yet. Will probably eat less pastry next time and laugh-snort a little more quietly. I hate getting dirty looks from Hispanic women in bakeries.
Se hable espanol, senora?
Si?
Cómo está decir I am sorry, I will stop scaring the other customers?

A semi-blind coffee date, folks. More later.

In the meantime, enjoy one of my favourite songs of all time from the goddess of soul herself.

I spent the better part of last night and today in a running clinic.  Trainer thinks it’s a good idea to have a partner for encouragement, training, and mini marathon runs. Something like an AA sponsor.  I don’t know, I’m not sold on the idea. Did some tests last night: my blood pressure is 171/65, resting heart rate about 72.  Pretty high for someone who wants to run a bloody marathon.  My total body fat is a little over 26% of my mass. Scandalous. I am a cow.  Mooooo.

Trainer: Aya, gotta cut down on carbs.
Me: I hardly have any, maybe a croissant or two, a bagel or two, a crêpe or two, that’s it!
*indignant, hurt look in the eyes*
Trainer: Your love handles are slowing you down.
Me: Let’s move on.
*glares at arrogant fuck*
Trainer: Gotta get some blood work done too.

I’ve had anemia since my teen years.  It doesn’t help that I bleed like an Eid ul-Adha goat every month.  Menopause, I beg you, come early!

It will be a cold day in hell before I walk into an office only to be poked by a gynormous needle and have what little blood I have drawn.  I also haven’t seen my family doctor in 18 months and I’m 4 years overdue for a tetanus shot.  I will take my damn chances with lockjaw, thank you very much.

Trainer: Let’s get together, say 5.30 Monday?
Me: P.M.
Trainer: A.M.
*Wishes him a slow, painful death in her mind*

It isn’t all doom and gloom, folks.  I am shopping for a new running wardrobe. Even planning a totally retro headband, 80s all the way, baby.  My right shin is holding up pretty nicely too. Or maybe I can’t tell since every part of my body is screamin’ and hollerin’ in pain.

It gets pretty frigid in the evening but it’s the only time I put in some miles during the week. A couple of things I’ve learnt so far:

1. Your nose will run so pack tissue. Snot moustaches are not cool.
2. Drinking lots of water is making me nauseous and dizzy.  I’m stopping water about 30 minutes before the run and then drinking afterwards.
3. I may have to run indoors for a while.  I don’t have asthma but I’m finding the cold air makes it difficult to breathe.
4. Cars and bikes can’t see me at night and I still don’t have my reflective outerwear.  I’m running close to major malls and streets. This is a parking lot near my work and my nomad feet pounding the pavement.