Starting from Scratch

The familiar cacophony of stray dogs, distant sirens, and the screams of junkie couples fill the air. You close your eyes and try to focus on the sound of some humorless sitcom playing on your TV, but it doesn't do much for you. Another long day at work just has left you exhausted. All to fight the growing stack of bills piled up on the coffee table where you have your feet up, a constant reminder that you're here forever. You take a drink of the off-brand light beer in your right hand, hoping to find that at the bottom of that bottle the edge of the day might finally get a little taken off of it--odds aren't good though. The meth addicts three doors down stay up until 4 A.M. at least, then the heroine addicts on the opposite side usually get out of their 15 hour trance soon after.

You lean forward and rub the dark circles under your eyes. It'd almost be easier to sleep in your car in the parking lot at work and take the risk of getting mugged--though if you're being honest it's probably about the same odds when you walk up the stairs to your apartment every day. If only your car actually had a decent heater.

A loud bang shakes the carpet under your feet, followed by another, then another. A few muffled expletives from a distant voice make it through the floorboards. Who knows what's going on down there. A few frustrated grunts and another set of bangs later you could pinpoint right where they were coming from: the apartment under you. You let out a groan and gulp down the last bit of your beer. You'd just gotten used to not being accosted by the old man that used to live there; seems cruel to add a new source of torment so soon.

A quick glance at the microwave on your right told you that it was already past eleven. Logic would dictate the banging underneath you at this hour was either someone getting violently robbed or someone had a really bad day and is currently taking it out on an empty apartment like a teenage garage band on PCP. Either way, you decided it might be a good idea to see what's happening just in case someone was being murdered or a fire was being started.

You set the empty beer down on the coffee table and let out a groan as you rise up to your feet. You're already exhausted from the ten hour shift at work and getting close to passing out, but you'd prefer to potentially prevent something and avoid giving another statement to the police at 3 A.M..

You walk out into the cold air onto the walkway of your run-down motel-turned apartment. Each breath you take is strained from the pollution of the city and the foul stench of spilled alcohol and refuse around the parking lot. With a quick glance down to the first floor, you see a faded red van with its back doors opened towards the apartment below. Robbery. A witness usually sends them running, since most burglars really aren't looking for a murder charge too. You lean over the railings waiting for a ski mask to pop something in the back so you can say hi.

Once you actually do see the perpetrator, you have to blink a few times to make sure your eyes were working right. Instead of a dirty, black mask, there's a girl's electric blue hair. Surprisingly well-kept too, even if it is spiking off of her head in a few different directions. The color isn't dull or running like you might see around here, and her pale arms flowing out of her tank top surprisingly show no signs of bruises of track marks, just a few neon bracelets adorning her wrists.

Accompanying the lack of the usual physical ailments, she's actually taking something out of the van instead of the other way around. She's doing her best to drag those musical gear cases you might see a roadie lug around at a rock show, though not nearly as elegantly. A few grunts and curses escape her mouth before she manages to drag it out of the van with a large clunk that'll surely leave a scuff. You glance around the parking lot to make sure nobody is scoping her out before you rush down the stairs to warn her about the imminent mugging.

She doesn't seem to notice the commotion as your feet pound the stairs on the way down. The girl jumps as you walk between her and her van. You have to blink a few more times in disbelief when you see her and her eyes catch you--she's the most beautiful girl you've seen on this side of town in years. She puts her hands up in a hasty defense. "Woah, look dude I don't have any weed, so just can--" The beautiful flow of purple hues in her eyes glance down over you before she raises an eyebrow. "A button-up and slacks? Probably not looking for weed or a blowie, huh? Am I behind on my taxes or something?"

"What? No," you say, after looking apprehensively down each walkway. "You know you're about to get mugged, right?"

Her expression quickly turns sour as she takes a step back and reaches for her back pocket. You put your hands up and shake your head. Really not looking to get maced tonight. "No! No... that's not what I meant. I mean if you don't hurry this up someone is definitely going to mug you."

Her posture relaxes and she lets off a quick chuckle. "Heh, yeah I kinda got that vibe from this place too. You looking to be my knight and shining armor or something? 'Cause I'm not giving out handies that easily."

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow with a smile and let out a quick chuckle. "Actually, I just didn't want to give another statement to the police at three in the morning."

She lets out another quick laugh before moving past you to grab another box. "How sweet. Well, if you want to play savior you can help me move in the rest of my stuff. How about it?" she says as she heaves out another massive case into the pavement. You glance back into the van to see an absolute mess of disorganized speakers, wires, and musical equipment, with only a few cardboard boxes in the tangled disaster. No actual furniture to speak of. She's definitely not about to have a good night without a trip to a hotel.

"The organized type, huh?" you say as you dig out a bundle of wires and put a cardboard box under your arm.

"You know it. I organized everything into this van and I even ended up being able to close one of the doors. Should hand out medals for this kinda shit, don't you think?" she says with a playful nudge as she passes you for another handful.

"Might give you a medal if you manage to untangle all this." You drop the mass of wires on a box in her apartment. There were at least ten different ends in the swarm of rubber and you definitely didn't envy her for having to work through all that. You take a wrong step to the left and barely manage to hold back a cringe as you look over the filthy mattress in the middle of the room. One of the good things about being a former hotel was that the rooms actually came with beds and occasionally some old furniture. The bad thing was that bed had seen more shit than a field medic in the Vietnam War. The dark stains and numerous rips told the story on the surface, but there was no telling what foul liquids had seeped into that thing over the years. The other bed that'd been in this room when it was a hotel was long gone, so it was going to be filth city sleeping on that. You do your best not to breath any of the toxic air in that general direction and go back to grab another box.

A half hour and a lot of grunting later, the girl's van is filled with nothing but cigarette butts, litter, and various bits of rubber and metal that used to be a part of something. Thankfully none of the usual thieves took notice as you finally close the van's doors and make your way inside with her. She wipes some sweat off her brow and goes to sit down on the bed, only to do a double take at some particularly hairy mold on a nearby corner. She quickly opts for a nearby box instead.

You do her a quick favor and lock her deadbolt and fasten the chain guard before turning back to face her.

"Uh... should I be worried? I think my mom might've mentioned something bad about strange men locking me into my own apartment," she says, a look of slight apprehension growing on her face.

You let out a breath and finally allow yourself to relax. A nearby wooden table would serve as a chair for now. "You're actually going to want to keep that locked as much as humanly possible. If not, someone will definitely walk straight into your apartment and I can promise they won't be trying to sell you cookies or something."

"Yeah... had six people ask me for weed after I drove up. When I told them no they asked how much for an hour," the girl said with an amused smile as she brought a foot up to sit on the box under her so she could cross her arms over her knee.

You raise an eyebrow. "For an hou--oh..."

"Yeah... I'm not that desperate just yet. I'd prefer they at least try to take me out to Taco Bell or something," she says before clearing her throat. "So, you got a name, Prince Charming? Gotta know what to tell police just in case."

"Still worried, huh? Guess I don't blame you." You tell her your name, the sound of it feeling weird on your tongue after everyone's ignored it for so long, then you return the favor and ask for hers.

"Vinyl Scratch. DJ extraordinaire and soon-to-be world-famous musician. Don't worry, I will do autographs... for a reasonable fee of course," she says with a confident smirk. You let out a sorrow-filled sigh and look away. This girl definitely didn't deserve to end up here, but here she is regardless. You aren't looking forward to watching her slowly lose hope before giving up her dreams altogether. A little piece of you dies as the thought of her ending up as some cashier or waitress living out the rest of her days from paycheck to paycheck just trying to keep her head above water. The curse of this place affected everyone, and it stung knowing it would probably claim someone else, especially a girl as pretty and confident as her.

You do your best to shake the unfortunate thoughts out of your mind and look back up to her. "Famous, huh? Do any big shows lately?" you ask, hoping you might actually hear something positive for once.

"Uhhh. I was the DJ at a high school dance a few weeks ago, if that counts." Vinyl offers you a sheepish smile. You look down to the floor and let out a silent sigh. "Look, it's not where we start, right? It's where we finish. A lot of my stuff is really experimental, but any day now I'm going to set the newest trend in the industry and be the girl everyone is begging to work with."

"I sure hope so," you say, trying to convince yourself that maybe she might actually do it. You know the truth though: No one ever leaves. You look around at all the expensive, unorganized mess of fancy equipment around the room. She's certainly serious about making music, if nothing else. Might as well give her a chance, right? "Well, you might want to get a dog or something, just to scare the creeps away from breaking in."

Vinyl taps one of her pale fingers tipped with electric blue nail polish against her thigh and looks around the room awkwardly. "Riiiight... Anyway, I'm gonna take a leap of faith and assume you're not an axe murderer or anything because you seem cool enough and I don't actually have any friends around here. But just to double check, no new plans of any rapes or murders on that schedule of yours, right?"

You give her a quick chuckle. "Nah. The only torture I put girls through are awkward first dates."

Vinyl gives you a coy smile. "Speaking of which... you wouldn't happen to have any beer or anything would you? You've got me a little freaked out about someone busting in and taking the edge off sounds pretty good right about now."

"I do, actually. I can go up to my apartment and grab it i--" Once you start thinking about your door, the realization hits you that you never actually locked it. You bolt up from the table and almost cut your finger trying to frantically unlock Vinyl's door.

"Woah, dude. You alright?" she asks. There was no time for an answer. You squeeze out of her door and run up the stairs as fast as your tired legs can take you. Just as you round the corner you spot the friendly, neighborhood homeless guy pushing in your front door.

"Stop! That one's occupied, Howard," you say as you attempt to edge yourself in between the raggedy vagrant and your apartment. He takes a few awkward steps back and gives you a blank stare, obviously stoned out of his gourd on whatever he found in the parking lot today.

"Damn, you weren't kidding," Vinyl says as she makes her way up the stairs.

You cough a few times at the intense odor coming off of the man in front of you. "209 still has the door kicked in. Just go down there, alright?"

"Cocaine?" he manages to slur out from under his mangy beard.

"No, no. Kicked in. I don't have cocaine, Howard. Just get some sleep, alright?"

"Is reasoning with the obviously very high homeless man the best move here?" Vinyl asks, timidly gripping the support beam, primed and ready to jump off the stairs and over the railing just in case.

"He's usually fine unless someone gives him bath salts."

Howard takes a lazy step forward. "Got salts?" he grumbles out.

You put a stern hand up and shake your head at him. "No, absolutely not. I will never get the image of what you did with those stray dogs out of my mind and I really don't want to see something like it again."

Vinyl leans forward to look at you with amused disbelief on her face. "Haha, what? I've gotta hear about this."

Howard turns his attention to your new friend, awkwardly sauntering over to her while reaching into his torn coat. Vinyl raises an eyebrow and slowly slinks down the stairs before the homeless man yanks out a rusty metal object and points it at her. "Money," he growls at her.

Vinyl gears up to jump over the railing, but glances down at the shiny object in his hand and laughs instead. "Is that...?"

"A rusty metal spoon, yeah. Howard, just get out of here. I'll give you some quarters in the morning if you leave, okay?" You say as you carefully nudge the junkie down the walkway. As soon as you touched him you felt something wet and sticky cling to your hand, almost making you gag at the feeling.

With some unintelligible grumbles and the brushing of old shoes on concrete, your ratty friend makes his way down the balcony, his eyes trailing down to another doorknob to turn like he forgot any of this just happened.

"I think I'm going to go lock my apartment real quick," Vinyl says, pointing down the stairs, her face a mix of confusion and fear over what just happened.

"Probably a good idea. I'll get you a beer."

Back to home sweet home. A wave of anxiety almost grips you as you realize you're about to have a girl over and your apartment still has dirty clothes and a few food wrappers strewn around it, but considering the deep, ugly brown stains that you'll never be able to get out, you figure there's not much you could do anyway. You open up the cabinet that houses your cheap mini-fridge and pull out a couple bottles of barely-cold off-brand beer. At least it's not hot, right?

"Hey, pisswater. My favorite!" Vinyl exclaims as she walks in. She's careful to follow your example, closing the door behind her and twisting the deadbolt. Once the two of you are mostly safe, she swipes one out your hand and uses the bottom of her tank top to pop off the cap.

"Well, hey, if I knew you were coming I'd have gotten the fancy beer."

She gives you a smirk as she invites herself onto your couch, the springs creaking and wood thumping as she falls into the mostly-clean cushions. "What, that hipster IPA stuff?"

"Oh no. What do you think I'm a CEO or something? I mean the kind with the cool little label that turns blue when you know it's cold enough," you say as you go back to the door and put the chain in place.

"Wow, can't believe you'd go to such lengths to spoil me like that."

You pop the cap off your own drink and get a satisfying fizzle for your efforts. With your couch taken, you slump into the cheap, wooden hotel chair on the other side of your coffee table. Your back already begins to ache, but might as well keep up a good spirit for your guest. "Me? I pull out all the stops."

Vinyl perks up and takes a quick look around the room. "Yeah... You know, this is actually the cleanest place I've seen since I got here, honestly. Well, besides the usual bachelor decorations. What's a working stiff like you doing in a place like this, anyway? An outfit like that belongs in a three-bedroom house in the suburbs," she says, motioning her bottle at your white button-up.

You let out a sigh. "The clothes are probably the most expensive thing in this apartment... Life just had other plans, you know? But hey, try to get the best out of a bad situation, right?" you say, a little surprised at your sudden burst of optimism. Really trying to impress this one. You clear your throat and let your arms relax. "There's only so much you can do, but there's only so much cleaning you can do to make a former crack den look presentable."

"Crack den, huh? Well maybe the good there is a secret stash of hundreds hidden under the floorboards or something," Vinyl says with an accompanying knock of her foot on the floor.

"I think the only thing under here is the piss and vomit I couldn't get out of the carpet. Would be nice, though."

"Yeah..." she swishes the liquid around in her beer for a moment, looking over the coffee table filled with bills, a few with some big, fat 'past due' stamps on them. "I mean, this is a good place to save some money, right? Rent is dirt cheap... though I guess you get what you pay for, homeless muggings and all."

You let out a sigh. Wasn't the first time you've heard that excuse. Won't be the last. "You should really get out of here, Vinyl. Don't you have friends to stay with? Parents? Relatives? You don't belong here."

Vinyl purses her lips and wraps herself up in her arms. "That's... that's not a happy topic, but I can handle things on my own, dude. I'm just staying here for a few months until I make my hit. It's all high-rise penthouses and fancy mansions from there," she says, leaning back into the couch with her arms behind her head, seemingly lost in the fantasy.

Aiming for the sky. You slump down further into your chair and look up at the ceiling. Memories of the hours you spent fantasizing about your own dream house, the high life of giving out autographs and being able to buy some badass sports car and turn every head in the neighbor hood filled your mind. Four years of "saving up" and all you had to show for it was a flip phone that can get on the internet and a TV from the 80's you got at a garage sale for five bucks. You do your best to not spew your misery all over her for now.

"Whatever you can do, seriously, just get out of here while you can. Stay too long and you'll never be able to leave."

"What? Somebody going to chain me to the radiator or something? It's just a cheap apartment, dude. No need to be such a downer. I'll be out of here in a few months, tops."

"I hope so. I've seen way too many people come here to save up chasing a dream. Vicodin usually gets to them first. That's a real popular one," you say, taking a swig out of your drink.

Vinyl rubs the back of her neck. "Come on, man, you're kinda bumming me out. Things can't be that bad around here, can they?"

You lean forward and look down at the carpet through the brown tint of your beer bottle. The stains don't look quite as bad through the alcohol. "Everyone comes here looking for a break. The cheapest apartment within a hundred miles is like a beacon of hope for those wanting to keep as much of that meager paycheck as possible, but every single person I've seen move into this place has gotten eaten up by it. Whether it's constantly having to replace stolen property, the mountain of repair costs, or whatever debt they dragged in with them, no one ever actually gets enough to leave. You either give up and start doing crack or you live the rest of your life..." you swing the bottle of your bottle towards the stack of letters on the wood. "...playing catch up." So much for not spewing misery.

You lean back into the stiff, uncomfortable seat and look out into the parking lot shimmering under the moonlight. Asphalt coated in broken glass like the shards of broken dreams the people here leave behind. You glanced back over to Vinyl who's looking down at the carpet too, lost in thought. Another broken bottle for the pile. You let out a frustrated breath and lean forward again. "Don't mean to be a downer... just make sure those plans of yours don't get lost to time, alright?"

She grimaces and shakes her head. "That won't be me. Everyone will see..." she says without looking up, more to herself than to you.

"Well, don't mean to crush your spirit so soon," you say as you rock yourself up out of the chair with another worrying creak. "I've got work in the morning, so I think I'm going to try to pass out before the meth-head next door get back to yelling at each other. So..."

Vinyl casts a worrying look at your door. "Right... so..."

You rub the back of your neck as you think. You do your best to resist the urge to do something really stupid, but on the other hand, cursing someone to sleep on that mattress you saw downstairs might as well be a death sentence. "Well, look, you can stay on the couch if you want... at least until you get a dog or something. Just don't rob me or anything, deal?"

"So, you trust me not to stab you in the middle of the night and steal all your fancy dad shirts?"

You furrow your brow at her. "...Dad shirts? I'll have you know I got this one from the mall."

"So... cheap, mall dad shirts then."

You laugh and shake your head. "Honestly, at this point if you're going to stab me just get it over with. I'll never be able to overcome the shame of being labeled a dad-shirt wearer."

She gives you a quick giggle, putting a smile back on that beautiful face, and one on yours finally as well. "Haha, yeah. Seriously though, thanks, dude. Hey, if nothing else, at least we've both got a friend now, right?"

You give her a weak smile. A friend. You don't remember the last time you called someone that. "Friends... Yeah. That'll be nice. Anyway, I'll get you an extra pillow and blanket. I've got like a solid two dozen channels on cable if you want to watch something. Sound like a plan?"

Relief washes over Vinyl's face as she finally takes her eyes away from the door. "Sounds awesome, dude. I'll be sure to keep it down," she says as she goes ahead and turns out the light as you fish around your closet. You toss her a clean blanket and a deflated pillow. "See you in the morning, I guess."

"Yeah... night, Vinyl." You flop into your bed and give her a smile. A friend. You feel just a little bit better with that word on your mind for once.