Chance Encounters

Part 1 of 2

Cursing, if only to herself, Cinnamon twisted the key in the ignition one last time, the part of her mind not focused on cursing, offering up silent prayers that for once, luck would go her way and the ancient Honda she sat it would start. Proving that if indeed a divine being existed that he or she had absolutely no time for Cinnamon Nolan, or her infant son, the car made one whining noise that sounded almost like a cough of protest, then went to making nothing but a clicking noise.

Cinnamon lowered her head until her forehead was hitting the steering wheel and fought back the tears. Nothing was going right today, absolutely nothing. Things kept going from bad to worse to horrible. No, not absolutely everything, the sunny, optimistic part of her personality, the part of her that was normally an old friend, but today had been making itself scarce, Neil is still sound asleep, that has to count for something!

As if she had spoken the words out loud, perhaps even bellowed them, her infant son woke up and started screaming at the top of his lungs, going from "Pleasant, beautiful, sleeping, baby boy" to "Code Ten Disaster Shrieking machine" in less time than it took for Cinnamon to raise her head from the steering wheel and twist around to make sure there wasn't an obvious reason why he was screaming, such as a platter sized brown recluse spider, riding on the back of at 50 foot anaconda, which was about the only reason Cinnamon could think of for the noise he was producing.

That's not fair and you know it! another part of her brain scolded her. This was Good Mommy brain, the part of her that wanted so badly to be a perfect parent, like the ones who hung out on the parenting message boards and chat rooms she sometimes went to on the internet. Mommies who made their kids diapers and breast fed their kids until they were past toddler hood, who always had an answer for everything. God, Cinnamon wanted to be that type of mother, but she wasn't. She was young, she had no family besides Neil, Neil's father had left her or she had kicked him out, depending on how you looked at it, before she'd even had a chance to tell him she was pregnant, and she was a mess. No college scholarship anymore, she worked as a waitress. She had a roommate, Lynn, who helped her so much with Neil, but it wasn't quite the same as having family. She wanted to at least breastfeed Neil, and was doing it, but between work and stress, she already was supplementing with formula. And now her son, her three month old son was sick and her car battery and possibly her alternator was dead and if that wasn't failure parenting, she didn't know what was.

Stop it, she ordered herself, yelling at Perfect Mommy voice, too. That bitch wasn't going to be of any use right now, because Perfect Mommies never got into these situations. Perfect Mommies had cars with batteries that worked. Perfect Mommies children never got sick and if they did, Perfect Mommies could kiss them and they magically got well. Cinnamon was not a perfect Mommy, so she had done what she could and taken Neil to the clinic. Which meant missing her shift at the restaurant, the shift that she was hoping would pay for a new battery for the car. Stop that too, she told herself. Stop thinking of what you should have done, what you wish you'd done, whatever, just look at the facts, assess the situation.

The situation was not good, no matter how she looked at it. She was stranded in one of the worse areas of the city, near the projects, the bad projects too, not the nicer ones that housed mostly elderly and single mothers of small children. These were run down and dilapidated and almost every square inch was covered with graffiti, and not the nice stuff either, where you could tell the person doing it had artistic talent, this was the obscene graffiti, the stuff that started with letters like C and P. Thank god Neil is too young to read, Cinnamon thought. And even though she was trying so hard not to play the coulda/shoulda/woulda game, she couldn't help but scold herself for being in this mess. She'd taken Neil to the clinic, which was just on the outskirts of the projects, which was why she could afford to take Neil there. She had been the last patient seen and the Nurse Practitioner had been about the only person in there by the time she was ready to leave with Neil and the woman had practically shoved her out the door, telling her the scripts she needed for Neil ("It's just a cold, I called in for some cough syrup and something to help with the fever") were called into the drugstore on the corner. The drugstore was further into area than she would have liked, but the car had worked then. She had stupidly decided to cut through the projects, rather than go around to save time. Now she was in this mess. And she couldn't go back to the drugstore, because they had been closing too.

And of course, my cell phone service was cut off two days ago, she thought, wanting to burst into tears. She had assessed the situation, she was in a bad part of town, really the worst part of town. She had a sick infant screaming in the back seat, and she had no way to call for help. Her car was DOA and she had no clue what to do. She wasn't even sure if it was the battery or the alternator anymore. She had just managed to coast to the side of the street. Now she was stuck.

What's around here? She thought, trying to remember, which wasn't easy because this wasn't an area she frequented. She had known a couple of people who had grown up in this area, one of them being Neil's father, but he didn't live here anymore, at least she was pretty sure he didn't. And the girl she had known who lived in this area with her parents, she had rarely visited here. They had been childhood friends and had spent more time at Cinnamon's house, with Cinnamon's family, than Cinnamon had spent with hers.

She peered around, looking through the darkness. Even the streetlights in this area were mostly non-functioning, but off in the distance, peeping out from a couple of buildings, she could make out some light that vaguely looked like it might be a sign. Gas station or convenient store, she thought. Maybe they'll have a payphone, or if not, they'll let me use their phone. It's a long shot, but at this point, it's the only shot.

The last thing she wanted to do was walk around this area at night, but she really had no choice. Drawing in a deep breath, she got out of the car, locking it. Then she walked to the right side passenger's door and opened that up, unfastening her screaming son from his car seat. The moment her arms were around him, his screaming died down to a whimper, as if all he had really been looking for, was comfort. "Hey, sweetie," she murmured, holding him in one arm as she locked and shut the door with the other. "Poor baby, not feeling well and now stuck with this. Just your luck, you got stuck with less-than-perfect, Mommy. But, don't worry, Neil, we'll go to that store and call Lynn. She'll come get us."

With the door shut, she was able to put both of her arms around Neil and he snuggled into her, his whimpering calming down, slightly. Neil was such a good baby normally, almost never crying, but he had a cold and she couldn't fault him for being out of sorts, poor thing. "We'll get you safe and sound soon, baby. I promise." She kissed the top of his head as she left the street for the sidewalk, noticing that not one car had come down this street since her own had died.

It was March, and spring had been taking it's sweet time in coming. There were still patches of ice and dirty gray snow around. She was wearing her white Keds, about the only shoes she ever wore. They had rubber soles, but they weren't designed for ice, so she picked her way carefully down the street, holding Neil closely, trying to keep him warm with her own body heat, and keeping her eyes focused on the light ahead, a beacon that might be the answer to her prayers. Cinnamon was not a religious woman, but she was a spiritual one, and while she didn't believe in God, as the Christian bible taught him to be, she did believe, especially in moments of stress, that there were forces beyond what mankind was aware of, and it never hurt to call upon a little help when needed.

She was so focused on keeping Neil safe and getting to the lights, that she didn't even notice a group of young men, hanging out on one of the stoops she was starting to walk past them, but unfortunately, they noticed her. Almost instantly, they moved off the stoop and surrounded her. "Hey, lady, where you going?" one of them asked.

Cinnamon looked at the person who addressed her, a giant of a man, standing well over six feet tall. Neil's father had been 6'4" so she was used to tall men, but this person seemed to loom even taller than Mox. And this guy was huge too. Not all muscular, but husky, a combination of muscle and fat. Cinnamon knew by instinct that he was the leader of this group, so she tried to be diplomatic. "I'm just trying to get to a pay phone." She smiled, her arms curling tighter around her son.

"Well, what's your hurry?" the leader asked as the group, there were five of them, moved in closer.

"Yeah, don't you want to stick around a bit?" another one called out. "Get to know us a little better?" This brought a few short barks of laughter from another one.

"No, really, I have to get to a phone," Cinnamon tried to keep her voice even, not to show fear. "My car broke down."

"And you don't have a cell phone?" the leader asked, then shook his head in mock sadness. "That's irresponsible. I thought all white people had cell phones." He looked to another member of the group. "Don't you have a cell phone, Tommy?"

Tommy, a stringy kid who looked like he'd eaten his last decent meal sometime around the turn of the century, nodded and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. "Got it right here, Mad Dog," he said. "I never go anywhere without it."

"See?" Mad Dog said, a smile curling his lips. "Even Tommy got his cell phone on him. Where's yours, pretty lady?"

"I left it at home," Cinnamon confessed, trying to fight the growing panic. She was one woman, holding a baby, and there were five guys surrounding her. She shivered as a cold breeze blew around her, cutting into the jacket she wore, as if it were made of tissue paper.

"That was stupid and irresponsible," Mad Dog said and again, shook his head as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. The cold wind wasn't bothering him at all, and Cinnamon had the feeling he'd stood outside in far worse weather situations.

"It isn't working anyway," Cinnamon continued, more out of nerves than a desire to share information. "I got cut off, due to lack of payment."

"Aww, that's too bad." Mad Dog yet again shook his head. "Well, maybe Tommy can let you use his phone, would that help?"

Even though part of her knew this was stupid, that they were setting her up, the optimist in Cinnamon found herself nodding. "Yes, that would be wonderful." She looked over at Tommy. "Would you mind?"

"You don't ask Tommy, you ask me," Mad Dog said. "It's Tommy's phone, but I decide if he should let you use it or not."

"All right," Cinnamon smiled, what she hoped was a fearless smile, but suspecting it was nervous instead. "Would you let Tommy lend me his phone so I can call for help?"

Mad Dog frowned as if thinking about this heavily, then nodded. "All right, I guess that's okay, as long as you let me hold your baby there. I wouldn't want you to drop him while you're making your phone call."

Cinnamon froze and clutched Neil tighter. If there was one thing she couldn't do, wouldn't do, it was hand Neil, her only child, her only family, over to this "Mad Dog" for five seconds. "No," she finally managed to say, "That's all right, I'll just walk up to the corner there, and see if they can let me use their phone."

"Chick ain't very friendly," another one called out.

"I know," Mad Dog said, then turned his attention back to Cinnamon. "Scott's right, that isn't very friendly of you, lady. I like kids." He moved even closer, and reached out as if to try to take Neil from her by force.

"No!" Cinnamon twisted away from him, but the other four boys began closing in around her, blocking her from making any type of escape. Panic, both hot and cold, raced through her as she realized they had her trapped and all she could do was cling tighter to Neil, who started to wail loudly, not used to being held so tightly, She found her shoulders slumping as if she could form a protective ball around Neil, draw him so far to her that maybe he'd even go back into the protection of her womb. "Leave me alone, I just want to get some help, leave me alone!"

"We're all the help you're gonna get," Mad Dog said, and the mock friendly tone was gone in his voice and he was speaking louder, angrier, to be heard above Neil's pitiful sobs. "So, hand over the kid, treat us right, and maybe, just maybe, Tommy will let you use his phone."

"No!" Cinnamon refused to look at Mad Dog, just kept holding Neil as tight as she could, refusing to stop, even though he was screaming loudly now, wanting to stop being held so tightly, and no doubt feeling her fear. Part of her even hoped that maybe his wailing would attract someone, anyone, who could help her, get these young men away from her.

As if a prayer was answered, the front door to the stoop the young men had been standing on was flung open so hard that Cinnamon could hear the door knob hit the wall adjacent to it with a loud crack, and a woman's voice filled the night, harsh, gravelly and demanding, "What the fuck are you boys doing?"

Cinnamon refused to look up, still hunched over, trying to protect Neil, grateful to the woman, but afraid these men would laugh at a lone woman trying to stop them. But she sensed Mad Dog moving away from her. Unable to support herself, so hunched over and so wracked with fear, Cinnamon fell to her knees, still holding Neil who was still screaming. "Help me," she whispered.

"Hey, Ms. A, calm down," Mad Dog said, and he sounded, of all things, nervous.

Cinnamon sensed that the other four men were backing away from her too. What was it about this woman that could cause these five guys to back off? She turned her head slightly and looked in the direction of the doorway, still holding Neil so tightly mindless of his screaming. The reason for the fear the young men showed was obvious the moment she looked.

The woman, tall and stringy as Tommy, was holding a rifle, a sawed off shotgun, really, pointed right at Mad Dog and from the look on her face, lit up from the dim light spilling out of the hallway, she wouldn't mind an excuse to use it. "I've had enough of your shit, Mad Dog," the woman said. "Back off, go find a hole to crawl into, and leave this woman alone, do you hear me?" She stood on the stoop, defiantly pointing the gun at him. "And if any of you other freaks want to be brave and touch that girl, go for it, I'll blow Mad Dog to hell and then you and the fucking city will probably give me a medal for my troubles, so go ahead and try me!"

"Ms. A, don't be stupid," Mad Dog said, his voice taking on a cajoling tone, "we were just having fun, we weren't gonna hurt her, just scare her a bit."

"Yeah? Well, not on my watch," Ms. A, declared, still pointing the gun at him, right at his head. "You heard me, get the fuck out of here and leave her and her baby alone. And if I ever catch you anywhere near her again, I won't kill you, I'll just blow your balls off and let you live your life as the dickless wonder you should be. Now get the fuck out of here!"

"But we live here," Tommy whined.

"Not right now you don't," Ms. A said, not even glancing in Tommy's direction. "Right now you live anywhere but here. Maybe later you can live here, but for now, you live somewhere, anywhere else, and I suggest you go there, right, now!"

That was the only argument given. Realizing that Ms. A had the sawed off shotgun, and thus the upper hand, they took off, running down the street.

Cinnamon stayed on her knees, not daring to move, part of her wondering if she really had been rescued, or if she and Neil were in even worse trouble. She wanted so badly to believe this "Ms. A" was a savior, but she was holding a gun. Now that Mad Dog and his group were gone, would she turn on her and Neil? Demand money and get furious when she realized that Cinnamon had exactly three dollars, a nickle and a few pennies and some kid's medicine in her pocket? And not even decent medicine either, not by street standards. She had a fever reducer and a bottle of kid's cough syrup.

"You okay?" Ms. A. asked, once the men were well down the street. She shifted the gun so it was pointing into the air, rather than at the ground and stepped off the stoop, walking over to her. "They're gone now, it's okay. No one is going to hurt you."

Cinnamon slowly uncurled her body, straightening herself out, and stood up, daring to loosen her grip on Neil only slightly, only enough that her son didn't feel like he was being suffocated. Swallowing, she nodded. "I'm okay," she said, although she did not feel okay, she was still frightened and part of her mind kept playing what could have happened, had her tall, stringy, angel with a sawed off shot gun not come along to help her. "Gotta… get a phone," she mumbled, "car broke down."

"Yeah, I figured it had to be something like that," Ms. A said, looking at her. "You're a far ways from home and nobody goes strolling around this neighborhood at night." She paused as if thinking, then sighed as if coming to a conclusion she wasn't sure of. "You'd better come with me, I have a phone you can use."

Cinnamon didn't hesitate, she merely nodded and followed the woman into the building. Maybe Ms. A was crazy, but, she had rescued her and Neil from Mad Dog and his crew, who might be waiting now, at that very corner she had been heading for. She would be better off to trust Ms. A. Beside, if Ms. A was out for robbery, she would have likely made her move already. And if she wanted the three dollars in Cinnamon's pocket? Cinnamon would happily hand it over. Even if she didn't ask, Cinnamon already planned on giving her the money to thank her for letting her use the phone.

End of Part One.

Author's Notes: I wrote story! Don't laugh, writer's block has been nipping at my heels like an angry dog. I have two ideas I've been working on, playing that game of writing a sentence, then having to walk away or do something else while I think of the next sentence. Then, this idea came to me the other day, and for the first time in a long time, I sat down and started writing and it felt right.

Whether or not it is right is up to my readers to decide. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope even more you take the time to tell me what you thought. As usual, if you want to be critical, I can take it. I'm not guaranteeing I'll believe what you say, but I will take it under advisement. If you don't wish to be critical in public, you can PM me. Flames, however, will either be ignored of dealt accordingly. Anyone who knows me, knows I don't tolerate fools who hide behind keyboards easily.

But for everyone else who's read this far? Thank you. And if you take the time to let me know what you thought, even if it's just a simple, "liked it" I would appreciate it.

Until Next Time
Peace Out
Willow