BREAKING OUT

Chapter 1: Broken

All familiar characters belong to JE. Any mistakes are mine.

…

You know how some days go from bad to worse and just get worse and worse no matter what you do? Well, today was definitely one of those days. I'd hit rock bottom. Murphy's Law someone said. Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. It's all gone to shit in a hand basket.

Was it was because I was PMSing? Maybe my hormones were all over the shop. Maybe … let's face it … I miss Ranger. I really miss Ranger. He makes me feel strong and good and worthy. Today? I don't feel worthy of anything. I feel downright miserable.

For starters, my fridge and my cupboards were bare, with only just enough scraps and a couple of almost wilted baby carrots for Rex. He glared at me with his shiny little black reprimanding eyes. Who knew that hamsters had attitude? I munched on some stale crackers which Rex had even dismissed. The peanut butter and olives were already long gone. Sigh. I checked my loose change. Hmm, just enough for a small coffee. At least the caffeine would help me.

After getting my coffee I decided to run past my parents' house and see if I can do my laundry. Okayyy. See if my Mom would volunteer to do my laundry and give me some cake, or breakfast. Food, real food, maybe … nice, for a change lately. I sighed again as I thought about my miserable circumstances, my current miserable existence. Surely it couldn't get any worse. Therefore, I could only go up. It soon became apparent how wrong and short-sighted I was. Trying to keep optimistic was becoming increasingly difficult.

At least my rent is up to date and my utilities paid for. Mind you, the heating has gone on the fritz. I let Dillon, the building supervisor, know but it is on the list, in a queue so to speak. Being hungry and being cold is not a good combination.

I knew what was going to happen. As soon as I would enter the door, being on her territory, it entitled her to overwhelm me with the guilt tripping and lecturing about my lack of homemaker skills; not being like Valerie; still being single; the clock is ticking; marry Morelli; how much of a disappointment I am; change my job because there might be a vacancy in the personal products plant or the button factory; yada, yada, yada, yada.

I stopped at the traffic light and pondered this. Do I really need all this shit? Just for some food? On the menu for today is bound to be a serve of bitter acrimony with a large helping of guilt and a side order of disappointment.

Sadly, desperate times called for desperate measures. My jeans were starting to hang off my hips. I haven't had much luck with the limited amount of skips. They all seemed to be staying out of trouble or staying away from the cold or, perhaps Vinnie has come to his senses and finally realised that some of these 'clients' should not be bailed. That'd be the day. As if! He's a greedy weasel, that cousin of mine.

Now if Grandma was there, things might go a bit better. See, optimism brings hope. Perhaps I can scope things out, you know, do a drive by, no shooting of course, and see if Grandma is looking out the window or waiting on the porch as she so often seems to do when I come over. It must be something to do with those Hungarian hormones like some sort of Hungarian radar. It's uncanny.

The sounding of impatient horns broke my miserable musings. I felt pathetic. I really needed some happy, a large helping please. Dejectedly, I drove off with the green light ignoring the nasty looks and the usual flip offs and Italian gestures. Pfft. I couldn't be bothered reciprocating.

What is this? Be Nice to Stephanie Day? Have I got a target on my back? A big L on my forehead? I shake my head pulling up the collar of my jacket since this POS car's heater died long before I'd bought it. It had been a deal sealer with a discount since there was no heating. Stupid deal. At the time it wasn't essential to have heating.

As I drove past who should be on the porch? My Mom. Uh oh. Sprung. No sneaking off around the corner for a drive by. Inconspicuous much? In this POS? No chance. She looked up and down the street and of course everyone was peering through their glistening windows, through neat curtains or from their porches which they too were sweeping, just like my mother.

My POS du jour was a fender bender with a number of dings to evidence its demise from a previous life, with a door and a rear panel of differing colours from the rest of the car and each other. On top of that, the muffler had a hole in it, so it was just a slight give-away. I parked at the curb and after turning the ignition off I waited for it to stop shuddering and rumbling until it stalled itself into a final defiant stillness. I stepped out and slammed the door … because that was the only way it would stay shut. Hm ... first time lucky today. There's hope for me yet.

On that cue, Grandma stepped out onto the porch and grinned at me ignoring my Mom's disgusted look of "Why me?"

Grandma chuckled and said, "What a pip. C'mon in, Baby Girl. We have a nice cake and a batch of freshly baked cookies. You look like you need some happy and some fattening up."

Thank goodness for Grandma. She always came to my rescue. Well, Ranger always came to my rescue. Grandma had been my saviour many, many times from my toddler days through to my eventful teenage years.

As she poured me a large glass of milk, because fresh chocolate chip cookies always taste better with a glass of milk, she smiled knowingly at me.

"Missing your man, eh Baby Girl?"

I sighed and nodded. She always seemed to understand. Was it that obvious? She nodded. There she goes again, Hungarian clairvoyance.

"I'll make you a nice sandwich while you enjoy some of these nice cookies. I already have a tin ready for you."

Why is it that my own mother cannot be like this? Having finished sweeping the porch, she put the broom in the laundry closet and stood with her hands on her hips glaring at me. Oh boy, here it comes.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Helen. Put a sock in it already! I'm not in the mood for one of your rants this early in the day. Get off your high horse and make us a cup of coffee."

Trust my Grandma to deflect the first onslaught of bitterness. Saved, for the time being. The cookies were filling a hole and being fresh, they were so more-ish. Cake appeared on a side plate. I quietly ate what was served, enjoying the feel of hearty home-cooked food. Shop bought just isn't the same and since I don't have the cooking gene this is as good as it gets. A mug of steaming Hungarian beef and potato soup and a grilled cheese was set in front of me. The smell instantly brought back childhood memories of visits with Grandma and Grandpa, making cubbies in the sitting room and having picnics under all the rugs and table cloths pegged together.

It occurred to me that I had not spoken a word since I arrived. Well, actually, I hadn't spoken a word today since my coffee order. My Mom glared at her mother as she put the coffees on the kitchen table, sitting down to join us, somewhat reluctantly. We would share this repast, a banquet compared to my recent meagre meals, and then she would lay it on me … more like lay in to me. What the heck. I may as well enjoy this. The last supper came to mind.

"Thanks Grandma. This is delicious."

She smiled indulgently at me and then gave a dismissive admonishing glare to my mother. It always intrigued me how Grandma could do this and then act the crazy old fool with all her funeral viewings and all that 'crazy old bat shit' as my father called it.

Oh. It felt so good. I deliberately ate slowly, partly to enjoy and savour the food, partly procrastination but also to give my stomach a chance to get reacquainted with a hearty meal. With the procrastination, my mother's foot began swinging with increased agitation, priming for the moment to unleash her malevolence.

Once the coffee was finished and the table cleared, Grandma asked me if I had brought my laundry with me.

"Now don't bother going to that laundromat. We can do it for you and you can collect it later. Is it in the car?"

No sooner had the porch door closed as Grandma stepped out to my car, my mother pounced onto me.

"Enough, already. I suppose you have your lousy job to thank for this, this situation you are in? No food in your pantry again, Stephanie?"

Oh yes. We are dripping with sarcasm this morning. Oh joy, oh joy. Here we go. Round One.

"It's time you gave up that job. It's not a job for a woman. It's an embarrassment. People have seen you chasing after those lowlifes in the streets and back alleys. Honestly, Stephanie, the phone calls I get about those characters you try to capture or take in, or whatever you call it, is so humiliating. They're hiring at the button factory and I'm sure you could get a job at the personal products plant …" And so she went on. The same old same old. I almost knew the script off by heart.

"Stephanie Michelle!"

Uh oh. Busted.

"The least you could do is listen to me. Have you learnt nothing? My God," and she crossed herself. "I have to endure the criticism and gossip of the neighbourhood while you prance about town catching … criminals. Sometimes I wonder how you could be a daughter of mine."

Oh yeah. I knew it. Here it comes. Round Two: The 'Saint Valerie Recital'. Oh, I'm so over this.

"Valerie wouldn't be seen dead in a job like that. You should take a leaf or two from her book. She keeps her house clean and orderly, the windows are always done and she cooks good meals for her family. Oh. Why me? Why can't you be more like Valerie?"

My stomach was starting to roil but I didn't want to lose all that Grandma hearty goodness. And, predictably, here comes Round Three!

"It's about time you settled down and got married. Your clock is ticking and there's not much out there for a single girl like you. Not too many fishes left, Stephanie. All the good ones are practically taken."

What! So she expects me to settle for leftovers and the unwanted? Been there, done that. Not going there again after the Dick who couldn't hold it in his pants for longer than the ink to dry on our marriage certificate.

"You should marry that Morelli boy while you can. He is always pleased to see you. He has a good job and is a fine upstanding citizen. You could become a housewife, like me, and then you won't have to work with that dirty, disgusting job for Vinnie."

How ironic since he was my first skip, AKA, criminal. I rolled my eyes. Big mistake.

"Now listen here, young lady. I'll have none of that sass from you."

Before she could start Round Four I leapt up suddenly, causing my chair to tumble back loudly onto the kitchen floor. My mother was momentarily stunned into silence as the abruptness of the falling chair broke her ranting rhythm.

Taking my opportunity, I asserted firmly, "I have to go. Places to be, people to see, criminals to catch, you know how it is. Thanks for the yummy food Grandma."

Grandma winked at me and was holding my 'survival' tin of cookies while she held the front door open for me so that I could make a swift escape. I kissed her goodbye and ran to my car after she also handed me a brown paper bag with a sandwich for later and a container of soup that I could microwave. See, I can cook, sometimes. Reheating is cooking too.

After three hard pulls, the door finally opened and I started the car. With a noisy backfire it roared to life. Take that Mother Dearest!

I did have one skip, only worth a couple of hundred. He was a relatively easy catch and came along agreeably to spend a night in a safe place, a dry cell with a bed and a warmish meal. I was avoiding the Bonds Office. Lula always expected me to bring food and there were no funds for that. I collected my receipt and decided to bite the bullet and collect my cheque. Money in the bank would scare away all the moths.

Just after I turned the corner two blocks from my destination, my car was suddenly side-swiped by an oncoming truck. Why was he on my side of the road?