Lola

Her eyes were fixed on the soda dispenser, Coke, Diet, Fanta, she rolled a dollar coin between her thumb and forefinger. Ice, cold, refreshing, she licked her lips thinking about the cool taste with warm rice and lumpia. From two doors down, she heard furniture crashing, but her eyes stayed fixed on the soda machine.

“Can you fucking believe the nerve of that asshole?!” A woman shrieked from her apartment, “With some hussy at work no less!” More crashing.

Viola closed her eyes. Kept her breath steady. She repeated to herself, “Coke, Diet, Fanta.” She heard the door open, she didn't even twitch; her finger hovered over the buttons, faded with age. Coke, Diet, Fanta.

“No, you know I am done with him and this goddamn hole! All his bullshit furniture, place was a piece of crap!” She continued shrieking down the stairway. Viola heard her voice fade and she pushed herself away from the soda machine with her finger. She stepped, facing the now empty apartment and looked around. Casually, her hand reached to her beanie and she pulled hairpin out. She traced the outline of the lock before inserting it, and started picking the lock.

“Come on, you're the same door as Lola's, don't give me trouble.” She whispered to it. She felt the pins push in and she opened the door. Clothes were strewn on the floor, mostly his. She turned her head, the flat screen – probably his – had 'you cheating pig' scrawled in lipstick. Her eyes traced down, the pink lipstick case – Limecrime Lipstick. Sixteen dollar lipstick, used to write an angry message. Viola shook her head and continued walking, stepping over the wreckage.

In the bedroom, Viola went to the dresser first, using her sleeve she opened it, rifting through underwear. “Jackpot.” She whispered, pulling out a wad of bills hidden underneath the boxers. She looked at the top of the dresser, picking the necklaces with rubies dangling from them, the matching earrings. Lastly, she scanned the floor, her eyes opened wide and she stumbled to the floor, picking up a diamond engagement ring. She looked around, then at the ceiling, mouthing 'thank you.'

At first Viola didn't notice the smell, but as she breathed in, she started choking. Whether it was the broken cologne bottles mixed with her perfume, or the smell of sweet, sickly revenge, she wasn't sure. All she knew was it was suffocating, and she had to get out. The smell was so strong, she tasted it deep in her throat. She coughed and stumbled as she walked two flights down to the second floor.

“Lola.” She called out. “I changed my mind about the soda.” There was a laughter coming from the room. The door open wide.

“Good, because lumpia and rice isn't good to eat with soda.” She said. Lola, was about eighty – or Viola decided she was eighty, her wrinkles and short stature, Viola wasn't sure of her name, but she told Viola specifically she would be referred to as Lola – Tagalog for Grandmother.

“Lola, can I smoke in here?” Viola asked. Lola moved to the kitchen, the rice was ready to be served, the lumpia was stacked on a plate.

It was one of those triggers, Lola would look with piercing black eyes, scowling so her entire face contorted. “You trying to kill your Lola with second-hand smoke?” She asked, talking quickly. “Cigarettes are bad for your health. They make your teeth rot and your lungs dirty, you won't get a man with your breath so foul.” Lola lectured.

Viola waited,

Coke, Diet, Fanta.

She exhaled.

Lola moved the lumpia and picked it up with her tongs. “Cigarette is like tax on the addicted.” Her final words on the subject. She smiled, looking at Viola with her tongs. “Are you hungry?” Her voice became sweet again. Viola looked over at Lola, her eyes trailed over the knick-knacks, jade Buddhas: skinny, fat, Buddhas with money fans in their hands.

Viola exhaled invisible smoke, “I feel a little nauseous.” She admitted.

Lola spooned the rice on her plate with the lumpia, and shuffled to the kitchen table. “You leaving?”

Viola nodded standing up, “Maybe next week.” She apologized.

Lola shook her head, “No, it's okay, you're a grown woman.” She set the plate down and walked over to Viola, “Maybe later this week.” She said, holding her arm for a hug. Viola leaned in, hugging Lola tightly, a faint smell of perfume and Viola felt like puking.

Viola stepped out of the building and pulled out her cigarette pack, a tax on the addicted. She patted her pockets for her lighter. Frustrated growl, she went through her purse. Through her teeth, Viola grunted, “Lola.” She set the unlit cigarette behind her ear and started walking.

Viola laid on her floor mattress, staring at the calendar on her wall. Daytime Tuesdays meant Lola, then evening she would walk to the Bingo Building and wait for Meredith to get out. It was always a coin toss whether or not to eat dinner, because sometimes ol' Meredith would insist on treating Viola and either she ate two dinners and felt like exploding or she told Meredith no and Meredith gave the silent treatment the entire walk home. Being an old woman and angry was like being a child and angry, they seethed for a short while and it pierced through your entire being. But like children, by the next time they saw you, it was like it never happened.

She stood up and paced around, there was no harm in hanging around the Bingo arena a little early, only sometimes Johns would slow their car and ask where her pimp was. She often answered with a swift middle finger. She looked around, aside from her dresser, alarm clock, and bed, the room was empty, she was always ready to leave at a moment's notice. In the living room she had a floor pillow, a desk (that doubled as her dining room table), a chair, and a telephone. On her desk she had a bowl where all the jewelry she took sat, waiting to be pawned. The closet was the most crowded part of the apartment, exploding with knit caps, scarves, and a few sweaters. Some of the old ladies gave her ceramics and trinkets, which she in boxes and kept in the corner of the closet, next to her rain boots.

Finally, the time had come for Viola to begin walking to the Bingo Building. She grabbed her purse and walked out of the apartment, in other apartments the chairs scrapped the floor as people sat down to eat, a tv blared a different channel at every door. The walls were paper thin, it wasn't something you realized unless you lived in silence, on one side you could hear a couple fucking and on the other a couple fighting, Viola never slept much to begin with, but she liked being able to tell people a definitive reason why she looked so tired.

She walked the streets, alert to the cars passing by. She saw the fogged window and a man laying back in her chair, she was almost ready to knock on the window and tell him to take it to an alleyway. It wasn't even that late and he was already getting his fill. She stopped thinking about him and his acquaintance the moment she hit the next street, the woman she saw struck her. Leaning against the street pole, she looked like an old pro, but when she got closer, Viola saw it was an old woman, wrinkled, harmless, smoking a cigarette. The old woman wore a heavy jacket and bright Christmas pajama pants, running up the legs was HoHoHo written, Viola's eyes were bug-eyed as she looked at her. The woman took a long drag of her cigarette. As Viola passed her, she turned her head. The problem, Viola realized, with tending to old ladies, is you're always wondering if you were her fake granddaughter for a week or six months, the sudden fear that a random old woman on the street knows you're just as lonely and desperate as they are. The old woman never turned her head, Viola decided she was too cool to put out an Ad.

Viola reached the Bingo Center and waited outside the doorway, watching her breath condense. Oftentimes Meredith would tug Viola around, telling the other old ladies and men about her wonderful granddaughter: that Viola worked at a bakery or she's getting married and a soon-to-be mother. Viola often looked at the floor, embarrassed. Viola watched the empty lot, her mental clock ticking. Soon, the exodus of people started, some side-eyed Viola, others laughed together, like they've been friends since they started wearing diapers the first time around. She waited until the last person left, andwith Meredith nowhere in sight Viola stopped breathing easy. She stepped into the building.

“Hello?” She called out.

There were a few young people cleaning up the chips on the floor. Mercy Church Bingo Night banners hung behind them. One of the males got a chair and pulled it down.

“Hello?” Viola called out again. All of them looked at her.

“Are you looking for someone?” The oldest in the group said.

Viola smiled, “Meredith... ah...” She trailed off, not knowing a last name.

They stared at one another, “Meredith... Polinzinki?” The older asked.

Viola shrugged, “Kind of old, faded red hair.” She described.

“Meredith... passed away over the weekend. Weren't you there for the service?” A girl asked. She was stacking chairs.

“Did anyone even go to her service?” Someone asked. A few people murmured.

“Valued member, she'll be missed in the church and bingo nights.” Someone else cut in, loudly. That was the downside of not really knowing your pseudo-grandparents, Viola thought, outside of the people they introduce to you, you aren't really in their life, you don't get to know the important stuff, like their funeral dates. She took a deep breath.

“Thanks, then.” She swiftly walked out the room before anyone could ask her for her name. After Viola escorted Meredith home, she would always thank Viola for making sure she made it home safely, she would admit, laughing a little, she was afraid of of being robbed and Viola made her feel secure. She often laughed and said, nonchalantly, if it wasn't for Viola making sure she got home ok, she might end up dead on the streets. Viola shivered and quickened her pace home.

When Viola opened her apartment door and unlocked it, she instantly headed to her phone and dialed Lola's number.

“Hello, Lola speaking.” The familiar voice.

“Hi... Lola.” Viola hesitated, “Sorry for calling so late.”

“It's okay, I was watching old movies.” Viola could indeed hear voices in the background.

Viola searched for the words she was trying to say, it would have been easier if she had waited to call Lola with the words already figured out, but impulses seldom worked like that. Finally she took a deep breath, “Thank you for choosing me.” She finally exhaled. They shared silence. It was one of those things you never pointed out, that this was an Ad, that I answered it, this isn't real. You were just suddenly a mother or grandmother for a child.

Lola chuckled on the other line, “Come by tomorrow and I'll make you lumpia?” Lola suggested. Something funny happened in the movie because Viola could hear the background sound

“I'd like that.” Viola agreed. “I'll come by after work.” She hung the phone up and collapsed on her bed, smiling.