Siren

Sarah loves to sing.  Usually in the shower when alone.  She could not tell if her voice was good or not, but she could hold a note, any note.  She is not a shy person, rather gregarious by some accounts, but she never sang where others can hear.  All because of the accident that claimed her parents.

When she was little, maybe four or five, she saw her parents die.  They were driving on the interstate, driving fast to keep up with traffic.  Sarah heard a song she liked on the radio, and she started to sing along, tentative and softly at first, then found her voice and sang!  Mom must have heard her over the radio because she turned it down and Sarah’s voice filled the car.

Mom and dad suddenly turned around in their seats, looking mesmerized.  Sarah too young to understand something was not right, found even more volume, happy for her parents to be her audience.  The car, no longer being controlled, started to drift across lanes, crossed the median and hit another vehicle.  This caused young Sarah to abruptly stop her performance, her parents looking dazed for a second, then realizing what is happening.  Sarah’s last memory was of dad wrestling with the steering wheel, mom reaching for her, terror and tears transforming her beautiful face into a screaming caricature of herself.  Then darkness.

Many years and many foster homes later she started singing to herself, softly and always in the shower.  Except for one experiment in her teenage years, to test her theory that her singing voice does something to people, she has never sang in the presence of others again if she did not have to.

The experiment was performed on a boyfriend, a horny little shit that never stopped trying to get into her pants.  Lester!  That was his name.  Lester the pester!  One of those times when his whole body seemed to try and assault her, she sang a simple children’s song.  He immediately became still, his eyes fixed on her, pupils dilating.  Sarah gave this experiment some thought beforehand, and had a few things she wanted to try if Lester fell into a trance.  

The moment he did enter a trans like state, Sarah was overcome by the confirmation that she indeed caused that fatal accident so many years ago.  Her voice faltered, and Lester blinked and seemed to regain his faculties, his hands automatically reaching for her boobs.  This made Sarah mad and she resumed her song, Lester the pester again becoming Lester the zombie.  She slapped him, hard.  His head snapped back, his eyes fixed on her again.  She slapped his other cheek, harder still.  Same result.  She moved away and he followed her, shuffling like someone walking through a dark room barefoot, knowing there are furniture that will crack toes, but not knowing where!

Sarah punched him in the nose.  As hard as she could, hurting her hand.  Blood gushed, Lester’s eyes watering, but still he just stared, transfixed by her song.  ‘Fucking bastard’ she thought, realizing all he wanted was to push his pecker into her.  She kicked him in the balls.  His knees buckled just a bit, but still the song held him.  Sarah stopped singing and Lester’s eyes rolls back in his head as he collapsed to his knees, now crying with snot and blood on his shirt and chin, clutching his crotch.  ‘No means no!’ Sarah said into his ear. ‘Stay away from me you hear!’ she said, gathering her things and left him by himself.

She never saw Lester again, but heard from others that he became quite the gentleman.  Amazing what a swift kick in the balls can do for a man’s disposition.

Adult Sarah works as a custodian for the city.  The night shift from nine to six.  The top two floors empty and quiet and all hers.  She does her job well, meticulously, taking pride in transforming work areas from messy to neat.  She even has nicknames for her faceless clients.  Andrew Jones for instance she calls squirrel guy.  This guy loves nuts and seeds and leaves shells everywhere.  She always takes great care to get every piece of shell, once finding a piece under his nameplate, curious if he put it there on purpose.

Jane Hoffman is the chips lady.  Her trash can always full of empty chip bags.  She loves Doritos and Cheetos.  Sitting next to her must be challenging, listening to her chomp chips all day.

Every cubicle has a story.  It’s occupants leaving evidence of what they like or love.  

Gary Shed has tons of pictures of his wife, kids and a shitload of grandkids.  Him she simply calls ‘the great grandpa’ because everyone in the pictures look so healthy and happy.  The beaming bald guy in the pictures must be Gary.  She doesn’t know, she has never met anyone that works here during the day.

Sarah has a systematic process to her job.  Top to bottom.  First clean desktops, then empty trash cans, then vacuum.  She usually sing and dance while vacuuming.  Just like the shower, the vacuum provides cover, something she can sing into. 

After work she stops for breakfast at a diner that’s on her way to the subway.  One slice of toast, one egg sunny side up, hash browns and sausage, black coffee.  Then the forty minute subway ride, followed by a fifteen minute walk to her apartment where she lived alone.  

Sarah made peace with her ability.  She accepted the fact that an accident took her parents.  On occasion she has used her siren song to her advantage.  Once to get away from a drunk, another time a crazed dog.  The most recent incident she used song to help another woman being pawed by her date in a shared elevator.  She was pleased to see the brain to balls connection works as well on men as it did horny teenage boys.

Sarah gets by.  

Sarah is happy.  

She only sings in public when she is not.