Promise

            Six o’clock. A cool wind carried itself into the open windows through Rain’s room, kissing her feet and causing her to pull a blanket over her chest. Rain felt exceptionally uncomfortable in the mix of wind and the early hour. Even so, she didn’t allow herself to continue to give in to the comfort of her bed, for she was adamant about carrying out the plans she’d made for this particular day. It was Sunday and this meant only one thing to Rain. Church Day.

            Rain closed her eyes and opened them again, this time wider than before. She glanced at the clock sitting above her dresser and noted that it was five minutes too late to waste time with breakfast. She brushed the blanket off of her and stood up with an urgency that cried, “Hurry!” Pulling her short black locks into as much of a ponytail as her hair would permit, Rain admired the clothes on her chair that she had carefully picked out the night before. Soon, a white blouse, a deep blue skirt, sheer stockings, and low, caramel-colored heels adorned her body.

Once dressed, she headed for the living room where her silver shears patiently waited. The sight of the scissors reminded her how sharp and pointed they had come back from the shop on Saturday, giving her internal self-approval for paying the high price for such work. She grabbed the shears, stuck them in her black purse, and was on her way, heading directly to the popular cathedral on Maybeck Street – the cathedral that attracted the most people, the most victims.

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            Seven o’clock. Rain took a crusty cigarette from her purse and slipped it between her lips where she could comfortably light it. Within moments, a rewarding sum of nicotine and tar filled her lungs and calmed her mind. Disregarding the fact that seven o’clock mass meant being in the church by seven o’clock, Rain sucked on her cigarette outside, casually approaching the white building until she was so close she was forced to put an end to the euphoric inhaling. She was ready.

            Rain walked up the cement stairs and into the open doors of the cathedral, noting where the females dwelled. Slipping into an empty back row of the church, Rain positioned herself behind a group of four middle-aged women. She quietly crossed her legs, placed her hands on her lap, and looked directly toward the front of the church. Rain sat stiffly like this for some time, appearing attentive to the sermon even though her glasses were at home and she couldn’t actually see past the women in front of her. Fortunately, Rain wasn’t there to watch a man preach to her about God-fearing principles and battling the devil. Instead, she silently observed the four women whispering to one another, softly moving their heads back and forth from ear to ear while the priest droned on. Rain assumed that their whispers were rich with admiring comments about the priest, for she took delight in imagining that he was handsome.

            When the cleric finally ceased speaking and the choir took the stage, Rain noticed that the four women had stopped whispering and moving their heads about. Seeking to take advantage of what she deemed her only opportunity, Rain slowly and furtively withdrew the shears from her bag and leaned closer to the pew in front of her. The snips were silent and devious, and once Rain had gotten the chunks of hair that she needed, she escaped through the doors of the cathedral without making a sound.

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            Eight o’clock. Rain arrived home visibly satisfied with what she had collected, feeling only slightly concerned that she had drawn attention to herself in her early and sudden escape from the cathedral. Luckily, she hadn’t. Without acknowledging this subtle feeling of worry, Rain retrieved her latest work from her closet and laid it on the table in the living room. Patricia, as Rain called her, was almost finished.

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At twenty-four, Rain learned that she was infertile. At the time, she and her boyfriend, Riley, were planning on marrying and considering having children. Once Riley learned about Rain’s infertility, he left her, claiming he needed a wife who could bear his children. Completely devastated, Rain quickly became lonesome and, over time, her desire for a companion grew bigger and bigger.

She spent some time dating other men but always ended up either scaring her dates away with desperate attempts to reel them in, or making them uneasy by revealing why her last boyfriend had left her. After months of repelling men, Rain gave up her search for a lover. Instead, she grew hungry for children. But her lack of money knocked out any possibilities of adoption, increasing her sense of melancholy. Rain’s depression gradually led her into a unique reality. By twenty-six, she had made her first doll, Julia, to substitute for the child she couldn’t have.

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Patricia was the third doll Rain had created and by far the most impressive. The three-foot-long body was dressed in colorful pieces of strangers’ clothing that Rain had gotten from sweaters and scarves hanging over seats in movie theaters, on buses, even at restaurants. A jacket, made from a variety of denim pieces, covered Patricia’s upper body while an assortment of reds patched together made a skirt for her bottom half. While shoes and jewelry were of no concern to Rain, hair was of the utmost importance. Patricia had lacked what Rain deemed most essential for over two weeks due to Rain’s inability to find the perfect “hair” opportunity. However, on this particular Sunday, Rain had attained sizeable chunks of what used to be golden brown locks but was now slightly tinted gray. Four different heads had collectively contributed to Rain’s collection, and there was more than enough hair to make a lengthy wig for Patricia.

            Rain used nail glue to piece together the hairs, setting aside the gray ones, creating a wavy stream of unadulterated sandy brown. When the wig was pieced flawlessly together, she placed it on Patricia’s head and stood back to admire her finished work. The clothing fit exactly how she wanted it to and, coupled with the hair, Patricia was practically perfect. But something was still missing, Rain thought as she examined the doll. It still wasn’t genuine enough. It still wasn’t authentic enough. It still wasn’t real enough.

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            Nine o’clock. Suddenly inspired, Rain grabbed her shears, stuffed them into her coat pocket, left her apartment, and walked five blocks north to the subway station. The crisp air outside forced her to pick up her speed. When she reached the station, a moneyless Rain quickly devised a plan that would get her through the turnstile without paying for a ticket. Squeezing between two tall men, she scurried through to the other side without paying a dime.

            Rain sat down on a grimy, questionable bench and waited for a train to ride. The first train to stop was fairly empty so she waited for the next one. The second train seemed mildly full but Rain knew that if the car she chose wasn’t packed to the brim with distracted passengers she wouldn’t be able to successfully obtain what she needed for Patricia. After waiting for some time, a third train, overflowing with commuters, finally arrived with a threatening halt. Seizing an opportunity, Rain immediately stood up and hopped onto the crowded train.

            Rain quickly became swallowed into a pit of sweaty, irritable women and men who were headed to the afternoon football game. The overflow of the train implied that looking for a seat was foolish and that trying to move through the car to find a less packed space was impossible. Rain observed the elderly faces around her with disappointment when she noticed, below the ocean of chaos, a small girl, of about two or three years, sitting cross-legged on the seafloor of feet. The little girl was holding onto the bottom part of a metal pole that was used by those standing to maintain stability. Rain knew she had to be quick. She swam through the arms and legs, fighting a current that felt strong and persistent until she had positioned herself to the left of the girl, right near the metal pole.

            Rain waited for the conductor over the loudspeaker to say, “Arriving in…” The words trailed off in Rain’s mind. Removing the shears from her coat pocket and slowly crouching down, Rain carefully watched the little girl and simultaneously made sure no one from up above was looking her way. With four quick crunches Rain removed four of the little girl’s fingers, then cupped them into her hand, and pushed through to the opening doors. The child’s screams harmonized with the screeches of the train’s brakes and Rain was already to the escalator as the train left the station.

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            When Rain arrived home, she sewed the fingers onto the doll and devised a way to attain six more fingers for Patricia. She figured a nail salon would be most realistic, but didn’t like the idea of the fingers being larger than a little girl’s. Exhausted, Rain decided to take a nap. She would deal with the other fingers when she was better rested.

            Before falling back into the comfort of her sheets, Rain picked Patricia up and held her in her tired arms. She embraced the doll, and closed her eyes, caressing the soft hair and delicately holding her daughter’s fingers with her own. Then she sang a lullaby softly to her child to put her to sleep.

Go to sleep my little baby, go to sleep my little girl

I’ll watch over you carefully and keep you safe in this world

Mama knows it’s hard for you to live and to breath

But one day you’ll be as real as the ocean and the trees

I promise.