The Scarlett Letter

March 9, 2010

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (Act II)

Filed under: Uncategorized — missscarlett19 @ 8:03 pm
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When we last left our brave and beautiful heroine, she being wined and dined, treated like a real lady by Dr. Jekyl– also known as John Sapoloco. Over the next several weeks, the whirlwind romance between Miss Scarlett and John blossomed. Finally, the two felt it was appropriate for Miss Scarlett to visit John in his hometown. And that is where our story picks up.


It’s Wednesday night. I’m talking with John over the phone, as I had done at least every other day, sometimes twice a day, for the last several weeks. We had been discussing my coming down to Gotham to visit him for a while, but he fell ill with food poisoning the prior weekend and wanted to make sure he was 100% before what was promised to be a glorious and romantic weekend together. We both REALLY wanted to see each other as soon as possible, but he promised to take his mother to see her old church friends in the next state on Saturday. Add another badge on to his Boy Scout badge! So he asks if I can come during the week. It’s after 9 o’clock at night, and I jokingly say “I can hop on the very next bus!” “Are you SERIOUS?” John responds. “What time’s the next bus!” he asks like a kid wanting to know when Santa’s coming. I tell him, unfortunately, it’s not feasible, but I can hop on a bus in the morning. After a little discussion, I buy a ticket for the noon bus and plan to return Saturday morning so he can be the loving son and keep his promise to his mom.

About 12 hours later, I begin my journey to see my Prince Charming. Antoher 4, and we pass a sign welcoming us into Gotham. Excitedly, I call John to tell him I should be there within the hour. No answer. I figure he’s busy at work and send him a text 15 minutes later. Still no response. My bus crosses the bridge, entering his neighborhood. I call again. Nothing. Finally, my bus arrives. One more time. Nothing. After waiting at the make-shift bus station for about 10 minutes, John finally calls me. His voice is weak. “Baby, I got sick again! It’s really bad. Call this car company and have them drive you over here. I’ll give you the money for it.” Such a gentleman! I tell him I don’t need a car, it’s only four blocks. I can walk.

After walking for about 6 blocks, not including the two I went in the wrong direction, I arrive at the home of the man who just hours after meeting me said he wanted to marry me. Graffiti is all over the doorway. I shrug it off because it’s Gotham. Punks tag everywhere and the city’s not able to clean it ALL up right away. Plus, the previous two buildings had nice entrances. I don’t know which unit to ring, so I call him up. He tells me to come to apartment 3 and buzzes me in.

Lumbering with my suitcase, I climb the marble stairs lined with seafoam green textured walls to the third floor. I come to a red door propped open by a wooden kitchen chair. I peer in and in front of me is the modest kitchen. Tiny, but with a brand new, probably never used oven and a sink with a single cabinet. Ok, not bad. Expected for downtown Gotham. The “cozy” bathroom is right next to the sink. Again, small, but didn’t appear to be horrific. “John?” I call out. No response. “John!” I look to the left and see my Prince Charming a huddled shirtless mess wrapped in blankets upon a leather futon. I take in the living room. The cheap curtains drawn, no light coming in at all. You can’t tell it’s a beautifully bright and sunny day outside in this dungeon. I can’t tell if the dingy, navy carpet was once sky blue. I wonder if this apartment was one of the sites producers scouted to shoot the Academy-Award Winning movie Precious.

“Baby, are you ok?” I say to him while trying to avoid touching the grimy walls. He apoligized for having me there while he was sick, but said he was fine last night, then got violently sick again about the time I was boarding the bus. I think about if I want to turn around and go back home, but I decide no, I’ll stand by my man and help him through this!

John, in his feeble voice, asks me to do him a favor. “Can you go to the store and get me some bottled water? And get yourself some milk & cereal and whatever snacks you want. Just grab a 100 dollar bill out of my wallet.” I pull one of the many mini-portraits of Ben Franklin out of his billfold and transfer it to my own wallet.

I head back out into the bright daylight and look a familiar name, Duane Reade, Rite-Aid… But none are to be found. It’s just a sea of Chinese characters on awnings lining the block. Finally, I see “99¢-Cigarettes-Lotto.” I enter the small store, and in front of me are pallets of bottled water. Packs of 35. I ask man at the counter if they have smaller packages, maybe 6 or 12. He says no. I try to lift the pallet. There’s no way I can carry that thing to the other end of the block. Then I spy the pretty little gallons of water, not the milk jug ones, but the other ones in the crystal clear containers. So I grab two of them, plus a single sports bottle out of the cooler. I figure I’d give him the one and then refill it as needed. After paying for the waters, half a gallon of milk and a box of cereal, I haul the goods back up to John’s third floor dungeon. Then the beast begins to bare his ugly head.

Figuring John hadn’t had any fresh water to drink all day, I immediately open the single sports bottle and hand it to him. He takes a swig. Then asks “Where are the rest of the bottles?” “Oh, I they didn’t have anything smaller than a case of 35, and I couldn’t carry it, so I got two gallons instead.” “WHAT!!!!!!” John roared, and somehow through his near deadly illnes was able to rise up on the futon. “I TOLD you to get the individual bottles!!!” My mouth is wide-open, in complete in utter shock and disbelief. I try to explain the situation to John, but vicious monsters are incapable of reasoning.

Finally, I am able to tame the beast, and my Prince Charming once again emerges. John asks me to bring over the menu for a Spanish restaurant so we can order dinner. He asks what I want. “Baked chicken” I tell him. “White or dark meat?” he asks. “Dark.” I respond. He calls the restaurant and is put on hold. Fifteen minutes later, he’s still on hold and puts the phone on speaker as he rushes to the bathroom with the return of his illness. After about a half hour, we get through. John’s still in the bathroom though, so I get on the phone and take it off speaker. The woman on the other end says they don’t deliver to his address. It was just maybe 2 blocks outside of their delivery radius, so after asking the manager, she said they could bring it over. So I place our order. A large chicken soup for him, and baked chicken for me. “White or dark meat?” she asks in a heavy Spanish accent. “Dark.” I respond. Just then I hear a noise coming from the bathroom. The door swings open, exposing John in all his, um, glory. “DARK MEAT! TELL HER YOU WANT DARK MEAT!” He barks. I don’t know why he’s so adamant about this. I mean, if I forgot to tell her I want dark meat, then it’d be no one’s mistake but my own and I’d either have to just eat the white meat or nothing at all.

About 30 minutes later, the delivery man rings the bell. John tells me to get his money and pay the man. But before the delivery man arrives at the door, John gives me one more order. “Give him a two-dollar tip! Don’t give him more than two-dollars!” he says sternly over and over. Now two dollars again was not an adequate tip, especially since the man had to go a few blocks out of his way. But I tell John ok, then secretly slip the young man a five.

After dinner, the beast is weary and retreats to his bed. Somehow I survived day one with this monster. I put sheets on the futon and prepare for bed myself. As I lay there in the dark, dank apartment, I debate in my mind if I should leave on the first bus in the morning or hope John’s sickness was causing him this mental illness. Finally, the thought of big city shopping helped me make my decision. I would stay, but if he didn’t straighten up, I would spend the day hunting for deals and only return for food and shelter.

Ok readers, so in Act I I told you this story would have just two parts. Well, I didn’t realize how long and complex it really was and did not want to deprive you of anything from my experience. So stay tuned for the FINALE of this harrowing tale! (Dun-dun-DUUUUUUNNNNNNN!!!!)



  1. It seems the cheapness is a recurring theme.

    Comment by Tyrone M. — March 9, 2010 @ 8:11 pm | Reply

  2. I love it. I really do. This is hee- hee- larious. I can’t wait to hear more about your “assistance” LOL.

    Comment by Soul Mirror — March 10, 2010 @ 11:58 am | Reply

    • Glad you find humor in my pain. :-/ BTW, you know this is all YOUR fault! LOL!

      Comment by missscarlett19 — March 10, 2010 @ 5:56 pm | Reply

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