Page 1 of Conquered
Chapter 1
The girl crouched by the wall was wearing a flamboyant red sweater. With arms wrapped around her abdomen, her sweaty face flinched as pain flashed sporadically between her legs. In between bouts, she lit a half -smoked Marlboro, holding the stick delicately between trembling fingers, blowing the smoke into the air above her head. Her straggly hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, emphasizing the gaunt lines of her face.
Noelle Mancini spotted her as she turned the corner leading to Eats Well, the delicatessen she owned in Queens, NY. The first blush of dawn struggled with remnants from the night sky, and like a silent siren, New York’s unwashed denizens responded to the call. The scene was familiar to Noelle. A week didn’t pass by that she didn’t find a drunken tramp, bag lady or a street urchin just outside her door. They didn’t cause any trouble, just needed a warm cup of coffee or a sandwich she could spare. Anything always tasted better on an empty stomach.
“Hey,” Noelle called cheerily, “I have a turkey sandwich with your name on it,” Noelle said grappling with a set of keys to open the café entrance.
The girl looked at her in surprise, hesitated, then backed away ready to flee.
“Come in,” Noelle encouraged, surprised at her hesitation.
Her surprise turned into alarm as the girl doubled over and fell down on her knees. It was then Noelle noticed the red stain seeping through the girl's crotch and pants.
“Are you alright?” Noelle asked with concern rushing towards the stooped form.
“Please…please, don’t call the police,” the girl replied in a panicked whisper.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Noelle asked.
“No. I haven’t done anything wrong. I-I just had an abortion…a bad one.”
Noelle immediately knew. An illegal abortion is done in a seedy part of the city without proper hygiene and post-care. Women entered and left like they just got a manicure. But the girl was in really bad shape. Her ashen face may be a result of too much bleeding.
“I promise I won’t call the police. Just come inside and let me help you,” Noelle entreated.
The girl staggered back to her feet then swayed lightly. Noelle placed an arm around her waist and half-carried her inside.
“I have a bed at the back office,” Noelle huffed with strain from the girl’s weight.
They traversed the front of the store, down a narrow hallway, and into the back. Noelle deposited her gently down onto the bed. The girl grimaced in pain as another wave of pain hit her.
“I’ll be fine. The doctor said to expect some cramping. That’s all this is, really.”
Noelle was curious about the girl and where she came from. But now wasn’t the right time. She needed to get her off her feet immediately. Noelle hoped the doctor was right and the bleeding was only a side effect. If things didn’t improve in the next 30 minutes, she could then decide what to do next. She fervently hoped it wouldn’t be too late.
“I have some overnight pads and a clean set of clothes by the drawer. You can use them. In the meantime, can you at least tell me your name?”
The girl looked up at her. Indecision was clearly written on her face. Then she mumbled softly, “My name is Miranda…”
***
Noelle looked around the 1800 sq. ft of her little kingdom and whispered a prayer of thanks. The coffee machine was spotless, the sandwich prep table was clean, and the chrome on the pastry case and display cases were gleaming. She had paid for all the equipment, all thanks to hard work and determination. The cheap rent, plus constant flow of changing demographics with her customers added up to culinary gold and an assurance that there will always be hungry regulars to feed. The café was doing well and provided her with a semblance of life.
A stab of fear ran through her heart. The thought was always at the forefront of her mind like summoning bad juju, not really wanting it to come, but knowing that eventually it will.
The letter came today.
It was from the Immigration Office reminding her that her work visa was about to expire, in 30 days to be exact. The letter was electronically generated and impersonal, but it had enough to fill her with dread.
Her application for adjustment of status was still pending and her work permit was based on the sponsorship of her Afro- American mother who passed away before the proper documents could be filed. If she didn’t get the adjustment status soon, there was no way she could apply for another work permit and continue operating the café. It was a tedious process and Noelle knew the clock was ticking.
The possibility of being deported, together with her son, was something she feared. Going back to Italy was not an option. She had no family there, having lost contact with her dad when she was still a child. Besides, she had put so much of herself into this little café and had amassed a constant stream of regulars.
Sometimes the desire to lash out at the memory of her mother assailed her. Why didn’t she do what needed fixing during the years Noelle was growing up? Instead, she wallowed in sadness because her marriage to Noelle’s Italian father didn’t work out. All her life she kept saying they would go back to Italy and work things out with her dad. That day never came.
Meanwhile, Nikko, her son, was starting kindergarten. They were still engaged in the constant battle of tears and separation anxiety. Her daily promise to be "right here at the gate when you come out of school,” didn’t always work. The long hours she had to put into running the café provoked tantrums. It was all part and parcel of the day-to- day tribulations of being a single mom.
Noelle shrugged the thought aside. There was work to do. In a few hours, a hungry crowd expecting their usual orders would come trooping through her doorway. She hoped the sick girl at the back, Miranda, was only a temporary problem. She was sleeping soundly when Noelle left her. Noelle wondered what Miranda’s story was and then decided to attend to her later.