Twenty Minutes

"I didn't know Ms. Paula was your mother."

The woman didn't respond. Robbie wiped her palms on her pants, not sure why her hands were suddenly sweaty and shaking. Probably because seeing this woman brought up every feeling she had just spent time trying to bury. She swallowed.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."

The woman paused for a second, but didn't turn around. She resumed her task before answering.

"Shiloh Long. Shy."

"I'm Robbie Peterson." She swallowed again, watching the woman work for just a moment longer. "I have to get back to work. I wanted to thank you for last—"

"Don't worry about it."

Robbie nodded and turned to leave the room. She hesitated at the door.

"Uh, maybe I could buy you dinner or something? As a thank you?"

The invitation sounded strange to her own ears. Strained...half-hearted. It was sincere, she just wasn't sure where it came from. And she already knew the woman's answer.

"No thanks."

"Oh, okay. Well, thanks again. Maybe I'll see you around."

She left the room, closing the door behind her. She doubted she would ever see Shiloh Long again...Shy. She liked the name. It certainly suited the woman. Not feminine, frilly or girly. Robbie shook her head, wondering why she cared if the name suited the woman or not.

*

"Robbie?"

Robbie paused at the nurses' station over an hour later, "yeah?"

"Do you know if Paula's daughter left yet?"

"No, why?"

Sabrina, the only Administrator still on duty, examined the computer screen before her.

"She has an outstanding balance I wanted to talk to her about before she left."

Robbie walked around the desk to look at the computer screen. There was a $900 balance highlighted. She thought for a moment and, although it was a bit steep, made a decision.

"You know what? I'm going to take care of that."

Sabrina looked at her, raising a brow. "Why would you do that?"

Robbie shrugged, "just make a note that I'll take care of it. I'll need to do it in installments, but I'll pay off the balance."

Sabrina hesitated for another moment and then shrugged, "okay, whatever."

Robbie watched her fingers fly across the keyboard, making a notation that she would pay off the balance in three installments. Robbie smiled to herself. Shy may not have wanted a 'thank you,' but she intended to give her one anyway. She left the nurses' station quite content with herself.

***

At 11pm, she wasn't willing to risk waiting for the bus once again, calling for a cab instead. She was absolutely exhausted, having been unable to fall asleep the day before. She was regretting it now as she stood in front of the nursing home waiting.

"Hey, you."
She turned her head, recognizing the large frame belonging to Shiloh Long. She was happy to see her for a moment, swallowing the fear she knew would be a part of her life for a while. But when she realized it was not joy on Shiloh's face greeting her, she prepared herself for battle.

"Where do you get off paying my bill?" Shy demanded.

Robbie opened her mouth to respond, but Shy pressed on.

"I don't accept hand outs, you hear me? I'm no fucking charity case."

"I didn't think you were. I wanted to thank you and you wouldn't let me buy you dinner." Robbie defended herself.

"Yeah, whatever. I told them I would pay my own fucking bill. I don't need your damn help."

"Fine, I was only trying to say thank you."

Shy took in Robbie's slight frame, watching her carefully, waiting for the woman to tell her what shereallywanted. No one offered to pay a $900 bill just to be nice. When Robbie didn't say another word, instead walking past her when the cab pulled up, she regretted her approach for just a second. Then she shook her head. She didn't want the woman's help. And she wasn't some needy, desperate person that couldn't pay her own bills. She'd made her own way for years, she wouldn't start leaning on anyone now. She watched the cab pull away from the curb before turning and heading south.

***

It was amazing to her what time could do for a person. In just two weeks, she felt like nothing had happened. She had not been mugged and almost raped, she had not been rescued and then accosted by an oversized thug, and she certainly had not had $900 thrown back in her face. Robbie smiled, denial was a very good thing indeed.

She was, however, still on line at the bank, her patience wearing thin. She wasn't sure why she still banked with the Philadelphia Credit Union. Their interest rates were poor in comparison to other, larger banks, the tellers were unfriendly and the lines were always long. Still, she was not one for change, so she found herself tapping her foot impatiently, waiting to get to one of the tellers. After another 20 minutes, she was relieved to feel theswooshof the bank door closing behind her. She had only about an hour before she had to report to work. That was enough time to grab something to eat, shower and change.

Her day at work sped by and before she knew it, she was glancing at her watch and grimacing. It was after 11pm and she still had to file the incident report. Mrs. Miller had fallen and broken her wrist in four places. They planned to keep her at the hospital overnight, but that didn't prevent her from having to fill out the requisite forms. She tried to hurry, forcing her stomach to settle down as the minute hand continued to make progress on her watch. By the time she was done, it was after midnight.

She didn't get paid for another two days and she simply didn't have the money for a cab. She had called for the bus schedule and knew one would be at the bus stop around 12:20am. So, she gathered her belongings, swiped out with her ID card and made her way to the bus stop. She was armed with a can of mace now, as well as her keys. And she'd been seriously thinking about purchasing a gun. You could carry one with a permit in Philadelphia. If she planned to continue working the evening shift, she might just have to let go of her humanistic, anti-gun philosophy and carry one, even if she opted not to use real bullets. They had rubber ones that stunned an attacker and would allow her time to get away.

The sense of déjà vu was quite unsettling as she glanced at her watch and waited for the bus. It was only 12:15. Sometimes the buses arrived early and she was hoping tonight hadn't been one of those times. Her heart was racing so fast it was drowning out her ability to hear anything else for the most part. Otherwise, she would have heard the sounds coming from that dreaded alley she'd been dragged into weeks ago. Once she realized there were people in there, she listened to the muffled sounds, the groaning, the nasty laughter. Someone was being attacked!

She froze, wondering what she would do now that it was her turn to rescue someone. First, she found her newly purchased cell phone and dialed 911 as she made her way toward the darkened space between two buildings. But before anyone could answer, she heard a young male voice say "oh shit, you see that? Fuck that, let's go!" and then four young males, all of them dressed in tee shirts and very, very baggy jeans, two of them sporting fresh bruises and a little blood, hightailed it past her. She didn't recognize them, although any one of them could have beenherattacker.

When she was certain they were gone, she hurried into the alley. Sure enough, there was a person lying on the ground, face down, moaning. It took a moment for her brain to catch up with her eyes, but as soon as it did, she recognized the tank top, fatigues and combat boots. Her heart began to pound even faster. Shy!

She heard the woman on her phone repeat a question, something about the 'nature of her emergency,' before she thought to respond. She gave them the location, quickly described what she'd seen, and then told the woman she would stay with the victim until the police arrived. She ended the call and knelt beside Shy's form, wincing at the sight of blood and the quickly swelling areas on her face. Her knuckles were bloodied, the back of her tank top filthy with what looked like footprints, but her chest was rising and falling pretty evenly. Robbie wasn't sure what to do, so she sat beside her in the alley and waited. Waited for the police and waited for Shy to open her eyes. She'd deal with which ever came first.

As she sat there, it suddenly dawned on her that the boys had run off afraid. Considering Shy had not been winning the fight, she wondered what had scared them off. She glanced around the alley, squinting in the dark, when she saw it. A dark, metal object just a few feet from Shy's form. She stood to pick it up, not sure what type of gun it was or if it was loaded. What she did know was that if Shy didn't have a permit, she was probably looking at a serious criminal charge. So she did what any idiot would do, she stuck the gun in her knapsack and zipped it closed.

She resumed her seat beside Shy, her fingers trembling at just the thought of the police searching her bag. It was probably unlikely since she'd call the attack in, but how did she know? If they asked, she would give them the bag and just take the consequences. Perhaps she would be able to thank Shy that way? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. How could she have lived in this city for seven years, made it all the way to her 32nd birthday with no major incidents, and now, in the space of two weeks, she and the police were becoming best buddies?

She blew out the breath she'd sucked in and looked down at her charge again. She hadn't noticed the tattoos on Shy's arm before. There was one on her bicep, easily visible for the most part. It was two poorly drawn Old English letters overlapping, rather crooked actually, she thought. It looked like a "G" and a "D." Then there was a smaller tattoo, also in black ink, on the inside of her arm just above the wrist. She bent down to take a closer look, recognizing the shape of a star with letters and figures in the different triangles and what looked like a pitch fork drawn through it. The detail was great but the color seemed a bit faded.

Out of the blue, something moved near her with lightening speed. It took her a moment to realize Shy's arm had shot out and her fist now held a large patch of her hair. Shy was suddenly on her feet, hauling Robbie up and slamming her, face first, against the brick, her massive weight brutally pressing Robbie's much smaller frame into the wall, cutting off her air. It all happened so fast Robbie barely had time to blink, much less speak.

The sound of sirens made Shy pause for just a second and gave Robbie enough time to find her voice.

"Shy, it's me," she croaked, "Roberta Peterson. Robbie?"

The large woman behind her didn't respond, but she did feel her ease up a bit, allowing some space between her and the brick wall and providing her with a chance to breathe. Another moment of silence passed between them before she heard Shy growl an eloquent question.

"What the fuck?"

"I called the police, some guys jumped you."

Another moment of nothing and then Shy released her. She could see Shy size up the situation quickly and then reach behind her to feel the back of her jeans. When she didn't find what she was looking for, she started to search the alley. Robbie retrieved the knapsack that had fallen from her shoulder during the tussle and removed the gun. Shy snatched it from her and left the ally, walking quickly, yet unsteadily. The police had not arrived yet and Robbie hesitated, not sure what she should do. This time she decided not to wait, following Shy instead.

She followed her for three blocks, watching as Shy moved on wobbly legs and wiped impatiently at the blood trickling down her forehead. Then, without any warning, Shy fell to the ground like a sack of bricks. Robbie rushed to her side, wondering what she should do next. It was clear this woman wanted nothing to do with the police. Well, she could understand that, most blacks didn't trust them. But what wasshesupposed to do? The cut on her head didn't look serious enough to need stitches, but it needed to be cleaned and bandaged. Her face would need some ice to keep the swelling down. And there was a lump on the side of her head which might be indicative of a concussion. She needed someone to sit with her for at least 12 hours. She glanced at her watch. It was 12:30 and it would be almost impossible to call for a cab, not that she had the money for one anyway. She sighed.

She wasn't sure why, but she decided to rummage through Shy's pockets in the hopes of finding either enough cash to call a cab or something that would give her another idea. In the pocket of her fatigues, she found a single key, some cash, and low and behold, a driver's license. It was a license for a motorcycle, but it held information that was far more important, Shy's address, which was less than two blocks away.

She wasn't sure she could wake Shy, but she had little choice. There was no way she could get the woman to her apartment otherwise. After a few light slaps on the slightly less bruised side of her face and some shoulder shoves, Shy moaned and opened her eyes. It was pretty clear to Robbie she was out of it, so she simply compelled Shy to get to her feet and pushed/shoved/dragged her to the front door of a rather run down 3-story apartment building. She hoped the single key worked on the front door, but it wasn't necessary, the lock on the door was broken. She maneuvered her charge inside and then began searching for Apartment H. The letters ended at E on the first floor, so she used all her remaining energy to get Shy into a tiny little elevator and up to the second floor. Apartment H was a few feet down on the right. She used the key to open the door and then found a way to settle Shy onto a well-worn sofa.

She was sweating and breathing hard from the effort. She leaned against the front door after locking it and simply took a moment to catch her breath. Meanwhile, she looked around, reaching behind her to turn on the overhead light. There wasn't much to see. It was a tiny, tiny studio, half the size of the living room in her spacious 1-bedroom. There were a few plastic "chests" shoved in a corner and stuffed with clothes. There were also clothes folded on top of them and clothes in an overflowing hamper right beside them. All the clothes looked pretty much the same, fatigue pants, jeans, tee shirts. A few feet to the left there was a kitchen area. A few cabinets, a sink, a stove, a fridge, a small rectangular table with a microwave on it, a trash can beside that. A few feet to the right of the plastic chests was the living room area, a battered wall-unit with a 13 inch television, an outdated compact stereo with a CD player, some CDs. In front of the wall unit, in the middle of the room for the most part, was the sofa Shy occupied. Beside it was a rather comfy looking, but very old and worn, arm chair. There was a closed door right beside the front door, and that was it. She assumed the closed door led to the bathroom.

When she opened that door, she realized she was right. She rummaged through the medicine cabinet, but unearthed only a bottle of rubbing alcohol. She grabbed it and a clean washcloth from atop the hamper in the tiny bathroom and made her way back to Shy's side. She dabbed at the cut just beneath Shy's hairline, pushing aside the short, silken curls of her 'fro to examine the wound. As she suspected, not too deep. She cleaned it to the best of her ability, wishing she had something to cover it with. Then she found her way to the kitchen area and removed an ice tray from the freezer. Thank goodness there were a few cubes left. The rinsed off the washcloth, dumped the ice into it, and folded it. After refilling the ice tray, she made her way back to the sofa and sat beside the large, unconscious woman, holding the homemade ice pack against her rapidly swelling cheek.

She sat there, in the eerily quiet little space, for about an hour as the ice melted. When there was nothing left but a dripping washcloth, she returned to the bathroom to wring it out and hang it over the sink. She splashed some water on her face, trying to wake herself up just a bit. Glancing around the bathroom told her nothing more about her patient, other than the fact that she was neat and clean, if nothing else. She was about to shut off the light and leave the tiny room when a shadow behind the shower curtain caught her eye. She moved the shower curtain aside and found a brown paper bag in the tub. There was nothing unique about the bag, just a brown bag like you would find in any grocery store. The contents of the bag, however, were quite fascinating. Money. Lots of it. The bag was filled to the rim. She stared at the bag for a moment longer, amazed to see so much money at one time, and then pulled the shower curtain closed. She wanted nothing to do with a shopping bag filled with money. At least she now knew why Shy seem to avoid the police.

She left the bathroom quickly, glad Shy was still out of it. She knew she couldn't leave, so she did what she could to make her patient comfortable, and then grabbed her cell phone and stood before one of the two windows that looked out onto the street. She had three messages, all from Janet. She had called Janet to tell her she was running late, but hadn't had a chance to call her again. She dialed the number now and quickly filled her in. Janet agreed that she had the worst luck, wrote down Shy's name and address 'just in case,' and then wished her a good night. Robbie could feel herself getting sleepy. The adrenaline rush, along with the difficult task of getting Shy home, had exhausted her. She collapsed into the arm chair beside the sofa, set the alarm on her phone for an hour, and then dropped into sleep.

She woke every hour to check on Shy, making sure she was sleeping and not unconscious. But when she opened her eyes this time, she realized it was not the alarm that had roused her. Shy was awake, sitting on the edge of the sofa, staring at her. It was the intensity of that gaze that had awakened her.

"You're awake, that's good—" Robbie started, but her next words were interrupted.

"What the fuck you doing here?"

She blinked, a little surprised. She wasn't sure why she was expecting anything else.

"Uh, you were bleeding and you fell...I didn't feel right just leaving you lying in the middle of the street." She responded defensively.

"You touch anything?"

Robbie scrubbed her face with her hands and stood slowly.

"I didn't steal that money, if that's what you're worried about. I just stayed here to make sure you didn't slip into a coma. Don't worry, I'll see my way out."

If she expected some magnanimous gesture stopping her from leaving the tiny apartment, she was sorely disappointed. She did hear the locks click into place behind her as she waited for the elevator. She shook her head. What was that old saying? 'No good deed went unpunished.'

***

Shy paced the limited floor space in her tiny apartment for the hundredth time and then sighed. It was the second time she had treated the woman as if she was an enemy. The second time the woman had gone out of her way to be helpful. She wished she could trust her gut, the sense that this woman was okay, but she couldn't. No one who did time ended up trusting every person they came in contact with. And given her mother, her lovers...she had a right to be suspicious. But she couldn't swallow down the fact that this woman had not asked for anything. And although she had plenty of opportunity, she hadn't touched the money.

She grabbed her cell phone when it rang, expecting her boss to fire her for not showing yesterday, surprised when he didn't. Then, after she told him about the assault, he told her to take the night off and get some rest. It paid to never miss a day's work in over a year. She sighed, seems she was being given quite a few second chances today. Guess she had to pay for at least one of them.