Blackbird by Christina Strauch

Her black, suede boots stamped footprints in the freshly fallen snow. Beating her hip in rhythm, a Louis Vuitton handbag swung at her side. Snowflakes glittered in her sleek, ebony hair. She pulled her leather gloves tight on her thin, delicate fingers. Confidently, she strutted down 5th Avenue.

The names of the greats loomed above her: Gucci, Chanel, Prada. Their store windows illuminated by strings of gold and silver Christmas lights. On the corner of 5th Avenue and East 17th Street was her little shop. Across the top of the white, brick building, a luminescent sign read Blackbird. It was a fashion boutique designed for high-class, working women. In the front window, Ivory mannequins shaped like Victoria Beckham posed, modeling the season’s latest trends. Blazers with crisp, clean lines. Emerald dresses with full, pleated skirts. Diamond studded bobbles draped around their plastic necks and dripping from their ears. The display’s centerpiece was a grand fir delivered all the way from upstate New York and decked out in ornate, hand-blown glass bulbs. She breathed a sigh of admiration, and her warm breath fogged in the sharp winter air. This was her legacy.

She greeted the husky, Italian security guard posted at her door and pushed her way into the building. The bells tied to the brass door handle tinkled, denoting her arrival.  She threw her purse and black pea coat on the store’s velvet love seat and was immediately swarmed by employees. An intern handed her coffee — she took it black. Her personal assistant delivered the latest sales reports while the associates scrambled to ask her questions regarding the impending holiday rush. Diligently, she attended to the needs of her employees and promptly retired to her back office for the day.

From up front, the chatter of her youthful sales team flooded in:

This scarf would be absolutely lovely with your complexion.

You should treat yourself; Christmas only comes once a year.

Your wife will adore this mink coat.

These tiny nudges were the key to successful sales. All was as it should be.

Around 1 p.m., her intern brought her fresh coffee. Taking a break, she sipped from her mug and stared out her office window. Taxis whipped by in a flash of yellow, skillfully meandering their way through the dense traffic. Tourists crowded the sidewalks. Their cameras flashed, taking in every inch of the city. Holiday shoppers hustled across the street, bags in tow. It began to snow again. Large, white flakes peacefully fell to the earth, so slow they almost appeared suspended in the air. This was the New York she loved, beautiful and bustling.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something. Something off. Ugly. It was a man dressed in ripped jeans and a blue down jacket. His hair was grey, dingy, and shaggy like a mutt’s. The tops of his shoes were separated from the soles, exposing his toes to the elements.

She sneered at the man, perturbed by his uncouthness. Suddenly, as if in response to her indignation, the man unzipped his pants and urinated on the exterior wall.

Her eyes widened, and she slammed the mug onto her desk. Furious, she ran from her office to the sales floor.

Fuming, her eyes darted to the front door. “Where is Gino?” She questioned her staff.

“He’s on his lunch break, ma’am,” a timid associate interjected.

“Does he realize there is a vagrant defiling our establishment?” She hissed and pointed to the man loitering behind the glass.

The associate winced. “I’m sure if he did, he would–”

“Well he’s not here is he?” She repeated. “That lazy son of a bitch. I’ll take care of this myself. Bring me my coat!” She demanded.

“Ma’am, you really shouldn’t settle this yourself.” The sales associate looked genuinely concerned. “He could be dangerous. We should just call the police and let them handle it.”

Unfortunately, the associate’s pleas fell on deaf ears. The intern handed the coat off to the woman, and she stormed out the door. Meanwhile, all the employees abandoned their posts and flocked to the side window, hoping to catch a glimpse of their boss’ fury.

The woman stomped around the corner of the shop and called out to the man, “You!”

The homeless man lifted his head and stared at her, puzzled, as if a flower was sprouting from the crown of her head. He pointed a greasy, meaty finger at his chest.

“Yes, you, fucker. How dare you defile my establishment!”

The man diverted his pewter eyes and began to turn away, slowly shuffling through the snow.

“Don’t you dare run!” She shouted. “I’m not done with you! Your broke ass is going to jail.”

Across the street she spotted a parked police car. “Officer!” She called out. “Officer, please help.” She began crossing 5th Avenue, waving her arms in a frenzy to catch his attention. “Hey, buddy! Can’t you hear me?”

Suddenly, without warning, the sound of a careening taxi rang out, followed by a thunderous crash, and the cracking of human bones. The woman’s coat and hair whipped around her like wings as she descended to the snow below.

From inside Blackbird, a collective gasp could be heard.

And the vagrant marched onward, down 5th Avenue.