Stress by: Hillarree Hamblin, Acrylic on canvas, 2010.
Katie Lynn on the Corner
by: Celia Sonnier
Katie Lynn was the girl on the corner; every Saturday when her coworkers would see family or go on dates or even go out on their own she was standing there.
Well, not the corner exactly. That was too dangerous. Katie Lynn kept herself only in the nicest parts of the town and would stand with her back against the solidest building she could find. Never against a window; someone could smash through, and she would get glass in her back, and they could push her down, even out into the street, or pull her back into the building through more glass and…
No, never against a window. Solid walls only.
People would try to give her money sometimes, but she refused most of it. Some of the people looked like the money could be marked, or it could have traces of dangerous drugs or chemicals on them. Katie Lynn was never without gloves, one of the reasons she insisted on living in a cooler part of the country, but she still didn’t want tainted money.
Besides she didn’t consider this as way of making money. She had her job at the office. Working as a secretary could be nerve-wracking but she made a good living. Still people who saw the signs, or her odd dress, would automatically run away or reach for their wallets.
Sometimes she was the one who ran. Some of the people gave off bad feelings like a trash can gives off bad smells.
Her signs were nice though, and the reason she stood there every Saturday. She spent all her free time on them, artistically rendered in nice lettering that was easy to read if you just gave your eyes a few moments to adjust. Sometimes she experimented with nice colors, or little pictures from the letters themselves.
They gave advice too, telling passers-by that they should avoid heels because in the event of a mugging they wouldn’t be able to run away; or the other one telling everyone to check their oven regularly to be sure it wasn’t malfunctioning. Yet another explained that everyone should become practiced in self defense and listed the multitude of reasons in a beautiful Asian motif. There were occasionally offers to buy a sign, but they were for learning, she would explain, not to hang on some wall and be seen only by a few.
The clothes she wore were only the most practical, in a way that made people stare. Loose t-shirts were her favorite, belted around the waist to keep them from flopping around or snagging on things or giving someone else a place to grab her. And she only ever wore shorts and leggings. Never a skirt, they were either too constricting or too loose, and shorts only when the weather was at it’s hottest.
On her feet were, invariably, large combat boots, military issue.
There was never any jewelry; her ears weren’t pierced, and her hair stayed no longer than shoulder length at worst.
Katie Lynn made pamphlets too. She was working on a book, but sadly knew she had little hope of publishing. She didn’t even have a title yet, only a few thoughts for chapters. One on self defense, that was important. One on how to ride a horse. One of using a borrowed car. One for cooking in the wild. One for navigating by the stars.
Well, maybe more than just a few thoughts.
Titles were hard though. She like ‘Street Corner Wisdom,’ but it seemed not right. ‘Facts to Live By’ or ‘How to Survive’ were both nice, but rearranging words and endless possibilities was both frightening and annoying. Nothing politely tapped her on the shoulder or proudly stuck it’s check out to say that it was ‘the one.’ So the book she hadn’t written stayed nameless.
The pamphlets were more fun. She had a whole series on knots and uses for them; edible vs poisonous plants was another big run she had planned. They were short and easy to come up with, and almost as fun as the posters to create.
Katie Lynn even had a few fans, but she ran from them as best she could. Once she had gotten an email from a man saying he collected all of her work and always looked out for her on Saturday mornings.
After that she made a point of staying clear of people she saw too much, and she changed her email too. That one, the one that was printed with the pamphlets, was strictly for questions now, and she never replied to her ‘fan’. Luckily he didn’t say anything more, but the fact that she couldn’t figure out which of her customers he was always left Katie Lynn uneasy.
Saturday evenings were the worst. She would arrive at her chosen corner early in the day, bringing a light lunch to eat so she wouldn’t have to leave. All day she would stay there, smiling nervously and sometimes even talking to people with her back firmly against the wall. Those evenings she passed out the most pamphlets, had the most questions, and came away feeling like she had really made a difference.
Going home was a different matter entirely.
She left right when the sky turned pink, and Katie Lynn always used her bicycle to get home. She lived in a central part of the town and felt it was safer to have a getaway vehicle ready, even if it was only two wheels. It was never a problem to get there if she was ready to put in a little effort.
Today she has no bike.
A week ago she had been making her way home during dusk when, just a few blocks from the building, a bat flew into her hair. It somehow got caught in her short hair and she crashed; the bike managed to warp the front wheel dramatically in that small collision and was now completely unridable.
She seethed with embarrassment at the memory. How could she have panicked like that? Katie Lynn, survival expert, scared into a crash by a flying rat.
She hadn’t picked a place far from her apartment to stand today, and the walk was a short one. Still she was only two minutes into the walk when someone came up on her left, and while she didn’t tense, Katie Lynn immediately memorized what he looked like, just in case she had to inform police later. He was slouching. Hiding something? A weapon?
To disarm a knife, it is best to stay calm and step around them, grabbing their wrist so they can’t move it. Then it should be easy to knock them over, or knee them in the groin or stomach to keep them from being able to do you any harm.
Guns were harder. Guns you should avoid. You should run or try to get it from them before they could really get it out and even start trying to aim it towards you.
The man walked on and turned right into a little bar, filled with people. Katie Lynn let out a breath.
Up ahead was a corner.
Katie Lynn slowed and glanced behind her for just a second as she halted, no one was there — good. She listened intently; she couldn’t hear anything…. Her mind whispered to her of people laying in wait, being just as silent as she in their efforts to throw her off guard. Of creatures with flashing eyes leaping at her in disturbed anger. A trap. A sudden catastrophe.
Wasn’t she braver than this?
Before another thought could surface, Katie Lynn was around the edge; nothing was there, and now she was only a minute from home.
Someone could still be behind her. Come out of a store or alleyway between the time that she looked back and hesitated at the turn.
She kept walking, a little faster. If someone did come at her from behind she could stop abruptly, to throw them off and bring them in closer before they realized it, and then elbow them in the stomach before sweeping them to the floor with a hook to the knee.
At the apartment she pushed through the door with a minimum of fumbling. The glass felt like steel behind her, enough shut out the follower.
The elevator was empty, and she rode up eleven floors breathing deeply, staring at the emergency stop, wondering just how much truth was in that old ‘Jump at the last moment when an elevator falls’ tale. It couldn’t hurt she decided as the lights dinged at her floor.
The hallway looked foreboding as always. She clutched her bag of unused pamphlets up in the crook of her arm and walked quickly. No windows was nice, but so many doors made her even more nervous.
It would be so easy, if one were inclined, to just reach out and grab someone along this hall. The doors were wide and well greased; if you didn’t make any weird noises, you would be able to grab them before they noticed you. Simple. And such a nice apartment had sound proofed walls, no one would make out the muffled screams of a kidnapped victim, and surely someone staying here would be able to afford the drugs to keep their victim too debilitated to even make a decent attempt to escape or cry for help around being bound and gagged.
One-one-one-four. Here she was. Home, after a fashion. It was full of second hand books on every subject that could be considered useful. From gardening to architecture to physics, even a small book on sewing patterns. Assorted oddments lay on top of stacks of those books; her only furniture.
The door was triple-locked, just in case.
In one of the two adjoining rooms she had a bed. It jutted diagonally from the corner, she had wanted it opposite the window — also locked three different ways at all times — but couldn’t sleep that close to the door or her reaction time, and thus chances of getting out of any attempts at ill will towards her at night, would go way down.
Katie Lynn dropped onto the bed face down for a moment, then carefully rolling over. She took off her boots, keeping them within arm’s reach, and switched her clothes for a different tee and shorts. Her feet were sore and chafed despite a double pair of socks. It would be best to fix the bike as soon as she could; her nerves lasted so much longer with her getaway ready.