Alley Cat
Cannoli and Periods

Todd and Shirisha challenge me to a race. Normally, I love running. I’m not the fastest, but I have my ways of getting around. I won’t hesitate to jump over heads, knock over trash bins in my way, and my knowledge of NYC’s shortcuts puts me at an advantage. Todd and Shirisha are half-a-mile behind me. My pride swells up with glee until I feel a stabbing pain in my abdomen. It stops me in my tracks. I double over, clutching at my belly. I’m suddenly short of breath, and I don’t understand why.

I end up having to walk the rest of the way, half dragging myself and trying not to pass out. Todd and Shirisha wait for me by the restaurant’s entrance with gloating countenances, each of them ready to attack me for my slowness.

“Oh Helene,” Shirisha says with a curled lip. She’s holding Todd in a Coach bag that I’m sure she stole on the way here. “I’m so disappointed. Todd really had me thinking that it was going to be a real challenge. Eating too many hotdogs lately?”

Maybe it’s indigestion, Todd says while peeking his head out of the bag. She does have a habit of eating too fast.

I clutch at my belly with one hand and lean against the brick of the restaurant to support my weight. I shut my eyes; I think I’m seeing stars. I want to lash at her with a witty comeback, but the pain in my abdomen occupies my mind. I only have enough strength to tell her to shut up before we walk inside.

I’ve never been inside Russo’s before. Upon entering, I’m bombarded with bleached white table cloth, folded napkins, greeny ivy encircling the walls, and delicate little lamps that dangle in every corner. A luxurious painting of Venus eyes me seductively from across the room, rousing the urge to leave. Before I can, a blonde hostess comes towards us with menus in hand. Her long elegant legs look like they’re meant for ballet dancing but her seven inch heels suggest otherwise. They don’t seem to be causing her the slightest pain and her ability to flaunt a black tie grabs my attention immediately. I recognize her now. She’s Daphne Russo, the second child to Luka of the Russo family. Sometimes I see her practicing her dance moves with her high school’s drill team. Some nights I can hear her melancholic violin from three streets down. And from what I heard, she’s an honor student who speaks three languages. Her looks aren’t half bad either.

Wow, she’s pretty. Todd comments from Shirisha’s Coach bag.

I hold my tongue and say nothing. I learned long ago that beautiful girls like Daphne will only ever hurt me.

Shirisha must be thinking the same thing but unlike me, she faces danger head on and tells Daphne that her lipstick compliments her radiant smile. I try to keep my head down as Daphne laughs and leads us to our table.

Everything about the restaurant makes me feel self-conscious. Men around me are dressed in black and white business suits, the women in Calvin Klein dresses. I look down to see that their shoes are sparkling under golden lamp light while soft sounds of violins play above me as I shrink in my seat. I’m deaf to Shirisha and Todd chatting away. They think alike; it only takes them a few minutes to settle on ordering one of each item from the menu. I snap back to attention at the mention of my name.

“Isn’t this exciting, Hel? Us, eating together at a five star restaurant? I can’t wait for the food to come out; I’m absolutely starved!”

“Oh, a few minutes won’t kill ya.” My eyes graze down her romper, and I smirk. “It might actually do you some good.”

A small but sharp gasp betrays her composure and my smirk cements onto my face as I take a sip from my glass of water. Shirisha fights back the urge to jump me and chooses to smooth down the ruffles of her romper instead. “At least I wasn’t the one lagging behind,” she says with a restored sense of ease. “I can smell the stench of your sweat from here, Helene. Perhaps they don’t have showers where you live?”

Todd tries to intervene by jutting in with a nervous laugh, but I speak before he could interrupt us. “No, you’re right. It’s just the honest smell of exertion because real girls sweat and smell.”

Helene, that’s enough! Todd’s nervous laugh falters. He could only watch in horror as Shirisha’s blue eyes glow with anger while I lean back in my chair to enjoy the chaos that ensues.

“Are you calling me fake?”

“What? No! I’m just saying that your breasts look like they cost a grand or two. Perhaps they were made in China like the rest of you.”

Shirisha grabs a knife off the table and draws it back over her shoulder. I think about dodging it or ducking under the table. I can think of countless ways to avoid her wrath, but the stabbing sensation returns. I double over in pain and find myself glued to my seat. Todd can only watch, petrified, as he imagines all the ways I could possibly bleed out. Only he knows that once I die, there’s no coming back.

Shirisha is two seconds away from unleashing the knife towards my carotid artery when a server comes by with a silver platter of appetizers balanced on the tips of his fingers. The smell of freshly fried calamari stops Shirisha in her rage and restores her to her former ladylike self. She sits poised in her seat as the server takes his place by our table and lays the food out. I expect Shirisha to politely thank the server before he leaves so she can dig into her food, only to realize that her sights are set on him instead.

I force myself to look at him despite my cramps and lo and behold it’s Luka. Now that I get to see his face up close, I see lots of similarities between him and his sister. I’ve mentioned it before. Good looks, wealth, and talent seem to run in the family. Whereas his sister is blond and fair with a lithe figure, Luka is darker in complexion and wears a more rugged look. He wears facial hair well and the gold necklace exposed from his strained button up reminds me of the Sopranos. Despite his ruggedness, he speaks with a gentle voice and he handles Shirisha’s flirtations with humility and grace.

I would rather reach for a crispy piece of calamari than watch Shirisha shamelessly flirt with our serverboy if it weren’t for the sneaking suspicion that he’s taking quick glances at me. It pisses me off, so I glare at him. To my annoyance, he just smiles back at me.

Eventually he leaves to bring back more food, and we all eat in peace. Shirisha sneaks some food into her Coach bag for Todd to eat while the rest of us eat in silence. Good food satiates our hunger, quelling our feisty spirits. Our moods improve when the entrees come out, and it seems that all is forgotten until Shirisha opens her mouth to speak.

“I should come here more often,” she says as she twirls her fork with more fettuccine. “The food’s not the only thing that’s delicious around here.”

Because I’m enjoying my food so much, I decide to ignore her ridiculous comment and continue eating. I pluck a mussel from its shell and bring it to my mouth. The buttery richness of its flavor, enhanced by white wine, brings a few tears to my eyes. I can’t remember when I’ve had food that tastes this good.

Shirisha’s expression sours; she’s not used to being ignored. She repeats her comment again, this time louder, and I feel inclined to answer. “Oh, I heard you the first time. But I’m not going to fight you on this because you’re paying.”

“I am,” she says haughtily.

“With what money?”

Shirisha picks up her folded napkin and begins dabbing her lips. “Well if you must know, I pickpocketed twenty people on the way here. AND I managed to beat you in our race.”

Todd lets out a dreamy sigh from the Coach bag and says, Wow, Helene. She’s better at pickpocketing than you!

“Clearly.” Shirisha says with a mighty scoff.

On the subject of pickpocketing, I have nothing else to say. Shirisha had taught me almost everything I needed to know in order to survive. She was the master and I was her pupil. And after countless centuries, the student has yet to surpass the master. Not like I cared. I never strove to be the best at anything. I only aim to survive, to do the least amount of harm to sustain my life until it’s all over. Shirisha was always the overachiever; she had to be the best at everything. When we were still together, she was the reason why I got pulled into trouble in the first place.

I finish my clams and drink all the broth until there’s not a drop left. I’m full. When I’m full, it makes everything pesky and annoying much more tolerable. I listen to Shirisha ramble about our past to Todd as if we were good old friends, as if she hadn’t been the one to abandon me in a Chinese city like I was nothing.

“...so there I was in Cuzco, Peru––and this was in the 1500s––Helene and I are just chilling with the Incans. Helene wasn’t really happy that day though. I think she was pissed off that the Incans were celebrating some holiday––”

“They were sacrificing children!”

Shirisha waves her hand dismissively, and I’m silenced. “Alright, they were sacrificing some children this day because apparently one of the prophets had predicted that something catastrophic was going to happen. Coincidentally, I happened to run into a very handsome Portuguese explorer.” Her brows furrow as she struggles to remember. “Helene, hun, what was his name again?”

“Francisco Pizzaro?” I said boredly.

“Yes!” Shirisha’s expression brightens. “Francisco, good old Francisco!”

“No, Shirisha.”

“––so he asks me to take him to the Incans, right?”

I sigh and groan with my chin propped on my elbow against the table. “Shirisha caused the extinction of the Incan Empire.”

“Helene!” Shirisha gives me a hurt look as if I had slapped an innocent baby. My abdomen seizes up again, and I clutch the tablecloth. I don’t fall back down into my seat. I refuse to succumb to the pain. “You ruined my story.”

Yeah, Helene. Todd mimes after her. You ruined her story.

All the grudges and anger building up inside me results in a climactic explosion. I yell at them. “Screw you! Screw both of you!” People in the restaurant begin to stare at me; I’m the only one standing. If only they knew that I don’t care about what they think. I point at Shirisha and say, “You’re a horrible person.” Then I turn to Todd who is looking at me with remorse in his eyes. “And you? You’re a horrible friend. Ever since you met her, you’ve been doing nothing but flattering her and praising her as if her inflated ego needed any more. It never even crossed your mind to even think, to wonder, what she did to me to make me hate her.”

I realize that I’m crying when hot tears streak my face. The slimy sensation of if it angers me, and I roughly scrub them away with the back of my hands. “But maybe,” I say in a lower and more leveled voice, “she’ll tell you the story of how she swore that she loved me, only to leave me the next day in some foreign city with no explanation, to abandon me for the next five hundred years and show up one day in New York City and pretend that she had never hurt me in the first place.”

I run out of the restaurant and make it halfway down the street. Tears blur my eyes as another stab renders me motionless once again. This time, I feel a familiar wet sensation and examine the strange splotch that marks itself between the legs of my black leggings. All the clues click in, and I hate myself for not realizing it sooner. I’m on my period.

I scream in frustration. Street pigeons fly away at the sound of my fury and people give me dirty looks. I should have seen this coming. This is the longest I’ve ever been in human form. I prefer to stay in my cat form because it makes periods more manageable. Because I’m broke. Pads and tampons cost a lot and it’s not like I’ll ever come across any Midol that can ease my pain. The pain brings up memories of the innocent girl that lived long ago. Her family threw her in a shed every month. She choked on smoke to avoid freezing from cold. She only ate what her family brought to her. She was left to lay in her own filth for days.

I think about changing back to my cat form when I hear rapid footsteps approaching. My body tenses up. I stand tall, ready to fight, but I end up lowering my defenses when I see Luka coming towards me with a small to-go box in his hand. His curly hair bounces as he brakes to a halt. I can’t help but cross my legs together and clutch my stomach.

“Hey.” His chest heaves with graceful movements. I would think that running halfway down the street would make anyone breathless, but he seems invigorated. He stands taller and more confidently as the boy I saw in the restaurant was crushed and compressed into servitude.

My eyes trail down to the to-go box in his hands, and I quickly reply. “I didn’t order anything to-go.”

“I know.” His accent punctuates his words with a nasally staccato. He seems nervous. I can tell that he’s rushing through his thoughts on what to say, but all I can think of is what I should say to leave. As if he could read my mind, Luka confesses before my patience runs out. “I made cannoli.” He awkwardly juts out the box in his hand towards me like some kid showing their mom what they made in art class. A shy smile rises to my face before I could fight it off. “I also wanted to tell you that I like your hoodie. It makes your eyes stand out. You have very beautiful eyes.”

My face suddenly feels hot. I forget that I’m bleeding through my leggings until Luka points it out. “I have a pair of sweatpants that would go very well with your hoodie.”

My embarrassment rushes in all at once like a tidal wave. I blabber a bunch of nonsense, mortified. “It’s...It’s okay! I was about to head on home and––and––”

Luka places the box in my hand. “Wait for me.” He says this with all the seriousness in the world before sprinting back towards the restaurant. I wonder about what I should do. I’m left with a box of cannolis that I never asked for while I’m standing in the middle of some sidewalk in my bloody leggings. To my surprise, Luka comes back in less than five minutes with a pair of black and white Adidas leggings and a handful of pink pads.

“I’m really sorry if the leggings are long. We’re not exactly the same height as you can see. But the pads should be enough I hope.”

I’m speechless as I take the offerings. “There’s a public restroom near here. I can lead you to it if you don’t mind?”

I make sure to keep a good distance behind him to mark all his vulnerable spots. His neck is exposed. His back is turned. If he decides to play a nasty trick on me, I’ll climb up a small building and make a run for it. I think of all the ways I can avoid the consequences of his possible betrayal until we arrive at our destination.

I enter the public restroom to take care of business. When I come back out, I’m surprised to see that he’s still there. With the box of cannoli still in his hand, he asks me if I could stay to talk with him for a bit.

“Don’t you have a job to get back to?”

Luka shrugs and hands me the box for me to take. “They can wait.”

We find a street bench not too far from the restaurant and sit. I open the box of cannoli to see three little shells filled to their limit with ricotta. One is dipped in chocolate while the two others are flavored with strawberry. They look almost perfect and taste perfect too. Their crispy shells break apart in my mouth while the sweetness of it all makes me salivate. I offer Luka the last one, but he politely declines it.

My full stomach emboldens me to say things that I don’t normally dare to ask aloud. “Am I the first girl you’ve done this for?”

“No,” Luka says, cracking a smile. He’s embarrassed but he shouldn’t be.

“To tell you the truth, I always carry an extra pair of pants with me for my sister. She can be a bit of a demon when she’s on...you know.”

“And the cannoli?” I raise a quizzical brow.

“I’m learning how to cook. Cannolis are my family’s specialty and apparently mine don’t meet my noona’s standards.”

“So you went through all this trouble to give me pants that were meant for your sister and feed me subpar cannolis?” I lean my head back on the park bench and sigh. “Just when I thought that I was special…”

Words catch at Luka’s throat, but he lets them go. His ease returns to him once again and now it’s just us enjoying the peaceful quiet between us. I feel so much at peace that I could fall asleep, but Luka’s phone blares anxiously loud and it ruins the mood.

The moment Luka answers the phone, I hear an angry man yelling from the other side in Italian. Luka apologizes and hangs up before the man can finish.

“It’s my dad,” he says sheepishly. “I really need to go. Uh, I’m Luka.” He extends his hand for me to shake it. I pretend to act slightly interested as if I never knew his name.

“Helene.”

“Well, Helene. I’ll see you around.” He turns his back to leave but spins to face me again. “Just so you know, if you ever need another pair of pants––”

I don’t give him a chance to finish. “Bye Luka!”

I watch him leave until his back disappears around the corner and look down at the six pads in my hand. A smile fights its way to my face. Perhaps I might have misjudged the Russos.

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