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Somewhere a little girl breathes firm, she is in the library studying.
The bustling noise of her city remains lost among the silence of her school’s study hall. She gently runs her finger along the edge of her laptop, wiping away some Cheeto dust in a fell swoop. The little girl brings her fingers up to her lips–held slightly ajar, and as she licks the powdered cheese away, turns a page of her textbook.
She sits in her favorite comfy chair, once called a grandpa seat by a particularly obnoxious classmate (the little boy got smacked after that one) with one knee held firmly to her chest as the other hangs loosely by the first layer of cushioning.
She isn’t sure when holding an object close to her chest became such a comfort, but she supposes some things shouldn’t be questioned, especially when History textbooks must be read.
Her thoughts are void of the strange and fantastical voice of her so-called, “helper,” Kaitlen.
Kaitlen appeared to her when she was just eight years old, the voice seemed just as confused as she was as if this was a real human brought into the realm of her heart, abruptly. The little girl hadn't believed in guardian angels, yet Kaitlen seemed to hold more wisdom than her own mother about the world (or at least was just better at sharing it). Kaitlen taught her about the possible fatality of strangers, where to not walk in the city, what streets to evade as a young girl walking alone, and basically how to keep one's head down in a busy banging city.
Especially when catcalled.
When the little girl had a horror movie phase-she thought it was like the Shining, the little voice in that boy’s head who just knew things. She still thinks this is possible. Just as the little girl gives up on homework and pulls her phone from her hoodie pockets she hears Kaitlen.
“Put that away.” The voice whispers.
The words vibrate through her head as if Kaitlen is everywhere in her body. Her mind, her skull, her heart. As if a guitar's string was plucked, the sound reverberating through the hollow inside, then flowing out.
Instead, the little girl elects to ignore her, shake her head (as she learned speaking back to Kaitlen leads to crazed and worrisome looks from on goers), and unlock the device. As soon as the little girl turns Do Not Disturb mode off, she is bombarded with bothersome beeps, boings, and dings, as her sound effects were still on and deafening from her alarm to wake up.
She startles, and fumbles to turn off the noise, trying desperately to ignore the aggressive glares shot at her from the librarian, as if the sun is trying to blind her, making her day worse through spite.
“I told you.”
“Yeah, yeah I suppose you did,” the little girl pouts.
And she swears, she can hear the smirk in Kaitlin’s disembodied voice. As this was certainly not the first time Kaitlen has proved to hold higher knowledge in all experiences. This is why Kaitlen is here, she infers quietly.
The little girl, sighing, scrolls through her recent notifications. It's all random snaps, mobile advertisements telling her to play a game (which always seems to work), and finally text messages. Most of them are meaningless, yet one stands out to her.
Go pick up some groceries, please 🙂
Sent from ✨Ma✨
We are out of milk, coffee beans, and rice
Sent from ✨Ma✨
The little girl sighs, and rethinks how she will get home, now having to stop at her neighborhood’s local bodega.
Kaitlen remains quiet—appearing to be gone or docile- until the girl checks the time on her phone. 6.28 pm. Normally, this wouldn’t be problematic, however, winter was approaching and so the sun had already begun its dip into the horizon, the beauty covered by pollution. Much like the little girl’s city itself.
“Don’t go grocery shopping,” Kaitlen worries
“It’ll be dark, already. You need to rush home.”
The little girl, already walking down deserted school stairs responds, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Kaitlen, a couple of minutes in a grocery store is nothing. Besides, I am much more afraid of my mom’s wrath than some grocer.”
“You don’t know who works the night shift though!” Kaitlen argues,
“Usually, those types are the people managers keep out of the public’s eye and away from customer service. The dangerous ones.”
“Everything is dangerous to you.” the little girl scoffs.
“‘For good reason,” the voice whispers, fading slowly.
But, Kaitlen was drowned out due to the little girl swiping her school ID in the sign-out computer. Swiftly laying a heavy beep of confirmation on her ears. She pushes the door open. It is surprisingly warm, the girl thinks as she unbuttons her cardigan-unveiling a modest sweater vest, the one with her school colors.
The little girl’s uniform is simple, almost cliche. Green and white checked vest with a black pleated skirt and sweater over it. The little girl would argue it is more of a cardigan, however, as it holds buttons, not a zipper. But this is a conversation for another time.
As the little girl passes home she receives curious looks, from all types of men. She wonders if there is something in her teeth, if her bag is open, anything. She even asks Kaitlin at one point, who is radio-silent after their altercation. Finally, when one man gets physical with the little girl on the bus, lightly gripping her waist whilst standing, Kaitlin interferes.
“Quickly, find another woman and sit next to her,” Kaitlen orders.
“if this man doesn’t leave you alone after this, get off the bus and wait for another.”
The little girl, becoming increasingly more disturbed by the situation, hastily follows Kaitlin’s directions. She sits next to a woman a couple of seats ahead and lets out a deep breath she was unaware of holding.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Of course,” Kaitlen replies easily.
“I will always be here darling.”
The little girl smiles and gets off the bus as Seventh Ave comes into view. She walks into the subway station across the street from the bus stop and fumbles to swipe her MetroCard, then scrambles through the gate. Anxious to rid herself of the men watching her from the entrance.
She used to smile back at the looks she and her friends received, but due to Kaitlin’s persistence, she stopped. As she strolls through the subway, more eyes turn. It’s getting colder, so there are more and more drug addicts and lost souls roaming the subways now. Misguided men, as Kaitlen says.
One male, with a long gray beard and matted black hair, hollers at her. “Hey sweetheart, you gonna show me some love, with that tight waist of yours.”
The little girl merely blinks, tilts her head, and keeps moving.
He can’t even see my waist, she thinks-becoming increasingly confused.
“Pull down your skirt and button your sweater,” Kaitlen commands.
Then mumbles to herself, “it's the uniform-that disgusting fetish.”
“What is the uniform?” the little girl questions.
She is lost in the situation, but Kaitlen seems to be done answering questions, so the girl keeps on her journey. She runs through the groceries she needs again, maybe I’ll pick up more Cheetos, she thinks hungrily.
The little girl used to question these strange orders to adjust her clothing–but sometimes the hollers and whistles become distant when she does them. They still happen–but once her uniform is covered not as much.
Kaitlin tells her it isn’t her fault. That the amount of skin showing wasn’t why. Just the childish uniform. The symbol of innocence.
Suddenly, she is standing outside the subway and walking towards the bodega. It's only two blocks away from the exit. The little girl realizes she spaced out again, something that happens often on her commute home. She’s done it so many times it's basically muscle memory.
The little girl steps into the bodega as the smell of cigarettes hit her. he unbuttons her cardigan, now having to adjust to the harsh heating system in place. Unbeknownst to the little girl-the greased up man behind the counter licks his lips. However, Kaitlen notices.
“Re-button your blouse,” Kaitlen whispers hastily.
“Why?” The girl questions, “It's far too hot for that, leave it be.”
“No,” Kaitlen presses, “I don’t trust the grocer.”
“You trust no one!” The little girl half-shouts. Earning her odd looks from a woman across the aisle from her.
“God, you can be so annoying,” she says, significantly quieter, “just back off this once. Please.”
The little girl hears a sigh, then nothing. She smiles to herself and continues shopping. She checks out and heaves the door open, exciting a bell above the door.
As she walks-bracing the cold, the little girl notices a construction man leaning against a wall. She notices his hungry eyes and with a gulp turns away and swiftly crosses the street. Desperate to get home. She supposes Kaitlen has taught her some things. She notices him behind her. The little girl's steps quicken as she buttons her blouse. She turns, he turns.
“Kaitlen,” she whispers, “Kaitlen! Are you there?”
She shakes as she makes one more turn, confirming her fears. He turns too, gaining on her.
“Kaitlin, I think this man is following me,” she states.
Shakely, “I know I told you to back off but please come back.”
“I am scared,” she admits.
Suddenly, Kaitlin’s voice appears in her mind.
“Take another right,” She commands, “Go back through the subway if you must. Just try to reach people.”
The little girl nods, turning around and jutting around him. She takes a right and enters the subway again-looking for anyone. An MTA worker, a cop, another woman perhaps.
She peaks behind her and sees the man again, hopping the gates. She starts to speed away, calling upon Kaitlen again.
“What do I do, what do I do,” she repeats as if in prayer.
“I-um hide? Kaitlen responds, “Yes. Hide.”
The little girl takes a left, walking into a restricted subway area. One of those mysterious doors in the wall. She steps in and finds herself in a storage room.
The little girl holds her breath; partly due to the smell and partly due to the fear of being heard. She hears the door squeak open and tries to duck behind a crate.
Just as she is about to jump into action the little girl feels a hand on her collar. In horror, she turns and sees a bright neon-colored vest with green strikes.
She hears a seam rip, feels cold air, then hears nothing but a familiar disembodied voice ringing in her ear.
“Not you too,” Kaitlen mourns.
The little girl wakes up in a dark space and looks up to see somewhat of a screen. The screen plays a recording of someone with chubby little hands playing with dolls. This person seems to be in her room. The little girl notes it is as if she is looking through another’s eyes.
“Hello,” she whispers. “Hello!” she screams.
The screen blinks, then startles as the world jumps.
“Who are you,” she hears a young girl’s voice quiver.
The little girl hears those words in her head-, in her mouth, and within her essence. As if this sound surrounds her, vibrating the dark and seemingly endless room she is cornered in.
Suddenly flashbacks to the first few conversations with Kaitlen appear before her: Kaitlen announcing her presence with a scream of hello-what is this? She remembers asking who it is. And that Kaitlen responded, “I am Kaitlen, and I’m just as confused.”
A flash and the little girl remembers another moment with Kaitlen, “I think I am here to be a protector, you seem terribly naive and so.” A deep breath is taken. “I will guide you.”
At the time, the little girl was indeed young and naive, and so she asked, “what am I being protected from, voice?”
Kaitlen simply sighs and replies she hopes the little girl will never have to know.
The flashes end and the little girl is back in the void. The walls of her empty void rumble,
“Well anyway, I am Sammy,” a nasally young girl squeaks, “And these are my dolls Samaya and Parker.”
The screen then tilts as two barbie dolls and a plastic hot pink dollhouse come into view. The girl sees two grubby hands holding the dolls tightly.
“I am Rosa,” the girl whispers. “And I-” Rosa sighs-a tear rolling down her now fading cheek, “promise to guide and protect you.”
Somewhere a little girl’s mother weeps, she is in an empty apartment.
Fin