Keep Me Where the Light Is

(part 24)

Tuesday, November 15, 2022

1:57 pm

Santana looked up at the black metal-framed windowpanes that defined the multiple levels of the apartment building in front of her. She could tell by the whitewashed brick and the modern metal accents that this was a newly renovated warehouse in this Nolita neighborhood. A warehouse loft was her dream apartment even before she moved to Manhattan shortly after high school. She had a vision of exposed ducts, brick interior walls, glossy hardwoods, an entire wall of floor to ceiling windows allowing vast amounts of natural light.

The 2pm reminder chimed on the phone in her jacket pocket called her back to reality. She double checked the address over the door, also in black metal – 6915 – before pressing the call button for apartment 8, hearing the standard buzz.

Her long, dark locks blew off her shoulders with the late autumn wind as she stood waiting for Miller Baskin to respond to the call. The young woman was about to second guess her memory and double check her phone when a voice crackled on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Miller?" Santana verified.

"Yeah."

"It's Santana. Lopez."

She had an appointment with this photographer for a potential job. Out of work nearly a year now, Santana not only needed the money, she also needed the motivation to dress up and get out among the living.

"Give me 3 minutes. I'll be down," Miller replied with recognition in his voice.

Santana stepped back to clear the doorway while she waited. She caught a glimpse of herself in a lower window and flattened her wool skirt over her firm stomach. Santana always wore her skirts tight which hugged the curves of her shapely backside and hips, ultimately giving way to the straight silhouette of her thin legs. Today, the hem on her dark green pencil skirt stopped above her knees, showing two inches of light brown skin above the tops of her leather boots. Green was a color that spotlighted the year-round tan her Puerto Rican ancestry gave her.

She twisted slightly to check her side profile in the window's reflection then tugged on the bottom of her denim jacket. Santana was picture perfect ready in her stylish fall outfit even if she was quite nervous for this meeting.

"Hello, Santana Lopez," Miller's voice boomed as he pushed open the front door and stepped out to the sidewalk. There was a light southern drawl to it that Santana had missed the previous time she spoke to him. Although, that was a brief conversation in a crowded coffee shop. She could admit she was initially put off by Miller's air of arrogance at first impression. After a few innocuous texts back and forth to set up today, she found his arrogance to be more of an impish confidence.

"Hello, Miller Baskin," she returned his light-hearted tone, hoping it would keep her nerves at bay.

"It's a perfect fall day. I thought we could take a walk while we talk," he said as he proceeded east up the sidewalk, turning to look back at Santana who was still near the doorway, "You game?"

"Sure…why not."

She trailed noticeably behind him, crossing when he crossed at the intersection then turning up a side street, trying to keep an eye on the tall man in the gray tweed blazer and faded blue jeans as he moved swiftly around various clusters of pedestrians. Quickening her pace, she finally caught up to him, stating breathlessly, "You said a walk, not a jog."

He laughed with the same boom of his deep voice. "Sorry. Professional hazard, I suppose."

She gratefully noticed he slowed his pace so they could walk more side by side. "I thought photographers were strollers by nature," she retorted.

"We can be I suppose…but I hate crowds," he replied with a snicker.

"Well, you are in the wrong city then," Santana chuckled, gesturing broadly to the large mass of people who were passing in both directions, going about their daily routine in lower Manhattan. "There are like 8 million people in New York."

"Haha, true." Miller shifted the camera bag he carried over his broad shoulder as they continued to walk, confessing, "Like they say…you can take the man out of the south, but you can't take the south out of the man."

Santana smiled. "I thought I noticed some southern in your accent."

"Guilty. Greenville, South Carolina. Born and raised until 2005," he dragged out for humor, playfully tipping the non-existent brim of an imaginary hat, adding, "Ma'am."

That got a big laugh from Santana.

"And you?" he probed.

"Not the south," Santana presented vaguely.

Miller feigned shock with an audible gasp. "Noooo," he teased, "I swear I heard a Texas twang."

"You caught me," the brunette beauty played along, adding, "I'm from Ohio."

"See I was right…a western girl at heart," he retorted.

"Mid-western…yes," she confessed, "But I don't feel much tie to my state these days."

"Me either, for what it's worth," he joined, "I think the Trump years had all of us redrawing our lines in the sand."

"Oh lord…don't even say his name aloud," she playfully pushed on his shoulder for emphasis.

"The new 'He who shall not be named'."

They both laughed boldly at Miller's commentary.

"Trump jokes never get old," he added with a long sigh, slowing to a stop in front of a standalone coffee hut, "Coffee?"

"Sure," Santana was relieved for a break in the steady pace.

Miller waived her forward toward a sliding window in the metal hut where they placed their order. Leaving him to wait at the pick-up area after he insisted on paying, Santana took a seat at one of the empty café style tables set up near a decorative fountain. Miller stood for a few minutes among the other patrons then joined Santana, carrying two large paper cups.

"Thank you," she told him.

"My pleasure."

He set his camera case safely between his feet and removed a camera with a long, attached lens. "So you moved here from Ohio. How long ago?"

"Ten years."

"TEN…wow! Were you twelve?" he complimented.

Santana laughed, mid-sip of coffee, "Nearly."

"What brought you here specifically?"

"The bright lights of Broadway, of course," she confessed jokingly.

Miller raised his cup and tipped it in her direction, "Of course…a Broadway baby."

"Well…more of an off-Broadway baby really."

He took a test shot of the coffee hut then of the fountain then of Santana, checking the screen for the lighting.

"Don't tell anyone…but I took passport pictures for six months when I first moved here," he winked.

Santana laughed heartily, "Our secret."

After making a few adjustments on his camera, Miller snapped another of her, mid-laugh, smiling at what he captured.

"What?" She laughed again, this time self-consciously, using her pinky finger to remove a wayward strand of hair that stuck to the corner of her mouth.

Miller shrugged and teased, "Nothing." He snapped another few shots in quick succession.

"What's funny?" she faked a frown, "Did I break your camera?"

"Far from it," he focused the camera and took a few more rapid shots of her then asserted, "The camera loves you Santana Lopez from Ohio."

"Is this part of the interview?" Santana teased to break the awkward silence that hung around them.

"Maybe." Miller snapped two more quick shots without even looking at his screen.

"Ok, stop," Santana insisted good-naturedly, holding her hand out in front of the lens. "I can't enjoy my coffee."

"Why?" he shrugged. "Am I making you nervous?"

"It's just…weird," she offered, "I'm not doing anything interesting."

"Weird?" he chortled, "It's what I do. I'm a photographer, remember? The mundane is interesting."

"Yeah, but you didn't give me a chance to pose."

"Pose?" He dragged out with his southern drawl, laughing. "We're not doing head shots. I want to capture the real Santana…the woman behind the easy smile."

The dark-haired beauty blushed and looked down at the little table.

Miller used his index finger to frame Santana in the space between them. "This is exterior…the perfect hair, polished teeth, posh clothes. That's what the general public sees when you pass."

"I'm far from perfect," she divulged with emphasis, fidgeting with the drink spout on her plastic lid.

"But…," Miller trailed off into silence, leaving the thought hanging.

"But?" Santana urged him to continue.

"But…I sense you have something haunting behind those deep brown eyes of yours," he suggested, pulling up an image of her on his camera's screen, "There's a complexity there, a reservation. Maybe even…sorrow?"

Santana looked at her image on the screen. Miller had it pulled close up on his subject's eyes. He moved to the next image, a profile picture, Santana looking off into the distance, sunlight fading. Then she saw it, the capture was able to penetrate the makeup and the polish of any self-applied glam. She could actually see all of the despair she felt every day of the past few months, cloaking her in a heaviness from deep in her soul.

She had not drunk or smoked it away, and now it was clear, pretending it did not exist had not pushed it away. The beast was there, hiding like it always had her whole life, waiting for the moment it could break free again.

Miller was right, on the surface, she did look sad, but worse than sad, she looked…lost.

4:45 pm

Santana Lopez leaned forward from the backseat of her uber ride, instructing the driver, "This next corner is fine."

The driver made her way all the way over to the left side curb as the one-way traffic instantly shifted around her to maintain speed. The typical honks of city drivers could be heard through the closed car windows.

"Here?" the driver confirmed.

"Yes, thanks," Santana responded as she opened her door and stepped to the adjacent sidewalk, closing the door behind her. The uber took off immediately.

She went inside the corner bodega for a few minutes, emerging with two bags filled with milk, bread, and similar grocery staples. Making her way up the sidewalk toward her building, Santana shifted the bags to one hand as she tried fishing out keys from her purse. Her attempt unsuccessful, she was forced to stop at the bottom of the building's stoop to dig through her oversized leather bag, a birthday gift from Rachel.

"I told her this was too big," the brunette light-heartedly complained to herself.

Santana remembered Rachel's insistence, "It's bold…Bold is what New York is all about."

She sighed and squatted down to steady the very bold bag on the ground at her feet. She knew better than to argue with Rachel. Santana had dealt with the smaller brunette's interpretation of "bigger…and brighter…is always better" since the girls were teenagers back in Ohio. At this point, Santana had learned to appreciate her adopted sister's je ne sais quoi and to interpret her audaciousness as generosity of heart.

Keys in hand, Santana twisted to pick up her groceries just as a tiny meow sounded, followed by gentle pawing at the canvas sack from the bodega.

"Aww, hi there," Santana replied, eliciting another curious meow from its source. "You're so tiny, little one. Are you by yourself?"

Santana looked around, hoping to see a mother cat who would claim the wayward ball of fluff. Seeing none, she scratched the gray kitten behind its ear, receiving friendly purring and tiny scratches to the leg. "Alright, my furry friend. Don't scratch the boots," she warned.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" She didn't know what she had in her bags to give the kitten, not being a big fan of cats…or animals in general. Brittany is the animal softie, Santana laughed to herself then sighed as that void was reestablished.

Santana shook off the shiver of memory and looked around for something she could pour milk into. One downside - or upside, at this moment - of living in a massive city like New York was you could always find discarded garbage nearby. She found a lid that would make a good enough bowl and poured out a little milk.

"Cliché, I know," Santana snickered, but she was glad to see the gray poof lap up the treat.

"That will have to do for now, my friend," she explained with a shrug, picking up all her bags then stepping up to the front door of her apartment building.

Inside the apartment, Santana busied herself with putting away the groceries then giving a quick sweep to the floor. Though spacious, the studio apartment had limited exposed floor space between the defined bedroom and living area that this proved to be a rather simple task. Santana had been doing much better with household chores recently. She made a weekly schedule every Sunday afternoon, something she never used to do when living with Brittany. Back then, she always took more of a triage approach, and whatever seemed most dirty got the attention…which really meant, Santana only cleaned up if Brittany asked her to help.

The brunette turned the light on in the bathroom – the apartment's only room with a door besides its front door – and paused a moment at the mirror. It made her proud to see a clean reflection with no toothpaste spatter or streaks, a minor triumph that her new approach was working.

Her earlier conversation with photographer Miller Baskin was still weighing heavily in her mind as she leaned closer toward the mirror. She pulled down her naturally full cheeks, exposing the redness around the whites of her dark brown eyes.

She wondered when that spark of her youth went out entirely. Life had been a rough journey for Santana with plenty of low moments…really low moments, like laying in the gutter, sinking in quicksand moments…but there had been so many highs too. She still remembered the joy of her wedding day with Brittany, the excitement of moving to New York City, setting up their apartment together, the day Santana first landed the lead role in a musical, even the glory days of high school glee club winning its national championship.

Those memories were vivid, the bliss then was unmistakable, even ten years later, so what was missing from her life now that kept her from tapping into sincere emotions? It's not like I don't have happiness now…right, she asked herself. Her birthday party yesterday, seeing all her friends again, being center of attention, cake…cake always made her happy…sex with Brittany last night…Brittany.

The brunette looked toward her still unmade bed, seeing the remnants of where two bodies slept in its covers. She expected to feel happy at the memory, but the silence of the empty apartment was deafening. Her wife had kissed her and walked out again that morning, leaving Santana alone…again.

7:08 pm

Santana was just putting the pillows back on the bed after changing its sheets and duvet when her cell phone rang. She tossed the dirty bed covers into a laundry basket then plopped down on the couch, tucking her legs under her and answering, "Hello?"

"Busy?" a peppy voice on the other end said.

"Hey Quinn," Santana acknowledged her longtime best friend, "No, I'm back home now."

"How did the interview go?" Quinn Fabray was eager for Santana to get some positive news for a change.

"Hmm…," Santana pondered how to answer that question, "It was…unsettling."

"Unsettling? That's an odd way to leave from an interview," Quinn pushed, "He didn't try anything creepy, did he?"

"No, no…nothing like that. Our conversation was deep, it just made me think about some things," she assured her friend, knowing Quinn was always protective, "He is actually really nice…and very talented. I will enjoy working with him."

"So you got the job?" Quinn squealed.

"Haha, yeah I guess so. Details to come, but he is putting together a coffee table book with images of New Yorkers," Santana recited the information Miller gave her, "In addition to photographing me as one of its subjects, he wants me to be sort of an…assistant…I guess you'd call it."

"That's fantastic, Santana!" Quinn congratulated.

"Yeah, it feels good to be useful again," she confessed.

"Plus a steady paycheck…yay!"

"Yes, my landlord will be excited," Santana grimaced, remembering her last conversation with the elderly man.

"Okay, so changing topics, don't forget about Friday morning," Quinn stated firmly.

"Friday, 10am. It is in my phone calendar with four reminders between now and then," the Latina confirmed confidently. Quinn will always be head Cheerio, Santana smiled to herself, remembering their high school days on the cheerleading squad together.

"And you have the correct address," Quinn verified.

"I have Rachel's text plus I wrote it in my daily planner."

"A phone schedule and a written planner," Quinn teased the brunette, "I'm impressed."

"Ha! I picked it up this afternoon," she giggled, "New job, new me."

"Congrats again, my dear…you deserve good things."

"Thanks, Q. See you Friday around noon."

"10am, Lopez. Not a minute later!"

Santana could never pass up a chance to rattle Quinn's cage. "10am! Bye."

The young woman slid her phone back into the side pocket of her light pink joggers, adjusted on the couch and opened her journal to a blank page. She pondered her earlier exchange with Miller then started writing. Before she knew it, she had turned to the next page then the next page, putting her thoughts and emotions of the last two days in permanent black ink. The demons may not be far from the surface, Santana wrote, but they will not overtake me this time.

She was just closing her book when a crack of lightening lit up the now dark apartment, causing her to jump. She leaned toward the side table, setting down her journal and turning on the lamp.

Santana pulled on a Temple University hoodie over her lightweight t-shirt. It was an old sweatshirt of Brittany's that the brunette confiscated as her own long ago. It even still smelled of Brittany – like sunshine and lavender – no matter how often Santana washed it. Perhaps that was just a scent imbedded in Santana's core memories that she associated with her wife. Lord knows, I've smelled that scent for over fifteen years, she smiled internally.

The rouse of memory made her shiver. She looked over at her freshly made bed, remembering being close with Brittany the night before. Santana shivered again which brought a naughty grin to her lips.

Looking out the window behind the couch, Santana said aloud to nobody, "Oh yeah, it looks like it's going to rain."

She moved toward the kitchen, grabbing a clean bowl and spoon with one hand and a new box of Lucky Charms with her other hand.

"I guess it's me and you again tonight," the young woman said to the cheerful leprechaun on the red box, setting down the milk jug as she pulled out a chair to sit.

Habit was an interesting thing, Santana thought as she chewed. Lucky Charms was Brittany's favorite cereal, and Santana only ate them because that was what was always in the cupboard. Today, she could have bought any type of cereal at the store, but she didn't even stop to think about it. I don't even know what other cereal I would like, Santana mused, taking another bite. Maybe Brittany was right this morning, she thought back to their conversation. They had always been Brittany and Santana, together, a pair, and now her wife wanted time to establish her independence and figure out who she was as an individual.

"Maybe I need to find out who just Santana is," she said aloud to the leprechaun, "The adult version of Santana."

She stared at the red box of cereal after taking her last bite. Suddenly, the Latina stood up with determination, walking over to the cupboard and putting the box inside, slamming its door. She stood silently a moment, tapping her perfectly polished nails on the tiled countertop. She opened the cupboard door again and pulled out the red box then shoved her feet into some sneakers, grabbed her wallet and keys and left the apartment with the box tucked under her arm.

Almost breaking into a run down each flight of stairs, Santana bumped into an elderly lady gingerly coming in through the main door of the building.

"Hi Mrs. Cosgrove," Santana politely stepped back to wait.

"Good evening, Santana," the 70-year-old woman greeted the younger one.

Realizing she was still holding the box of Lucky Charms, she handed it to her neighbor, "Here, Mrs. Cosgrove…for Billy. When he visits."

The older woman removed her light scarf, hands shaking slightly with age as she turned the box around to see the treat for her young grandson. "Oh how kind of you, Santana. He'll be so happy to have the name-brand box this time."

Santana smiled at the sentiment. "Have a good evening."

"You too, sweetheart. Be safe out there, it's about to rain," the old woman warned helpfully.

The brunette darted down the steps then up the sidewalk to the bodega, already feeling drops of water falling. Inside the small store, Santana walked with resolve to the breakfast aisle and stood in front of what seemed like endless choices of cereal. Bypassing anything rainbow colored or with a giant animal on the box, Santana settled for Honey Bunches of Oats.

With closer inspection of the box, she saw the words "Wholesome" and "Vitamins". Her nose wrinkled in disgust at first then she reminded herself, You are an adult, Santana Lopez…act like one.

With a deep sigh, she said aloud, "New job, new me."

After paying, Santana stepped back outside where the rain was falling harder now. She dashed faster toward her apartment building, stopping for a moment where she saw the little gray kitten earlier. Feeling guilty ever since she left it, she was pleased to see the glow of its eyes when a car passed them.

"There you are," she said gently, trying to lure it toward her, "You're getting wet out here, aren't you?"

The gray kitten crawled toward her with some familiarity, meowing desperately.

"Okay, okay…I hear you." She picked up the damp furball, tucking it inside her sweatshirt and making her way up inside the building. "I know I'm going to regret this in the morning."

Once inside her apartment, she kicked off her wet shoes and grabbed a towel to dry off her face and her little stowaway.

"We can get more necessities tomorrow, I guess," she told it, "but, I did get you this." Santana held up a little can of cat food.

Grabbing a small saucer, she took her furry guest over to the couch, popped the tab on the can, and portioned out some dinner for it.

It ate all the food in the saucer before Santana could even sit down. "Okay then…good thing I got two more of these," she laughed, putting the rest of the can down on the plate.

The young brunette watched the tiny animal finish off round two then lick the saucer clean. It looked up at her and meowed. "I think that's plenty for now, my furry friend. I don't want you to puke on my stuff."

She poured some water from her water bottle in the little plate and was happy when the kitten drank from it, seeming satisfied finally. She picked it up and placed it in her lap as she stretched out on the couch and grabbed the tv remote.

Crossing her thin legs at the ankles and pulling a dry blanket over herself and the kitten, Santana flipped through the channels until she found a show she liked, telling her visitor, "I hope you like The Real Housewives of New York."

Author's note:

Surprise! I'm back to writing. Life has settled back down for me now that my trio is older. I read your messages and kind words. This update is for those truly dedicated readers…and for Naya.

Even though the story is set in 2022, and we're now literally in 2022 (crazy!), I have chosen not to incorporate the covid pandemic into this storyline. (Side PSA: please wear a mask and avoid crowded rooms – stay safe, my friends!)

You will however, in 2022, continue to see references to my country's great embarrassment – Trump.

Leave me your thoughts in the comments. Let me know if you are here for the rest of this story. The more I know readers are back, the more likely I will continue to update. Much thanks, Kim (mamatots)