Romeo is Homeless (14 page)

He pulled some bills out of his pants pocket and tossed them onto the bed near her crotch. “You were real sweet.” He grabbed her foot through the sheet and shook it.

The gesture turned her stomach. Her father did that to wake her on weekends when she didn’t have to set her alarm. How was she ever going to look him in the eye again? A sob caught in her throat and fresh tears welled up.

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart, was it that bad?” His stained grin looked evil. “I’d do you again for another fifty, even though you’re no virgin now. You’re nice and tight.”

She stared at him, her eyes cold. Death would be preferable to having him on top of her again. This is not how her first time was supposed to be, not the fantasy of her daydreams. It was a nightmare that would stay with her forever.

He picked up the room key from the side table. “There’s ten bucks for Ricki in there too. Tell her thanks.” He slammed the door shut.

She jumped up, the mattress like a bed of nails. Blood stained the sheets and was drying onto her thighs. She ran to the bathroom and turned on the shower full blast. Sitting in the grimy tub, she shivered while near-scalding water cascaded over her. Blood and tears mixed into pink swirls and spiraled down the drain. She grabbed an unwrapped bar of soap and scrubbed every inch of her body and hair, washed that man’s stink and touch from her. She ran the bar over her skin again and again until it slid from her fingers and landed on the floor. She tucked her knees under her chin and hugged her legs, then cried and rocked until the water ran cold.

The towels she rubbed dry with were stiff with age and rough as sandpaper. Every nerve ending was raw, every touch another assault. She raced to put on her clothes. She pulled up her old jeans and winced. Their soft comfort had disappeared. She caught sight of herself in a large mirror hanging askew on the grimy wall and inched toward it. She stared at her reflection, her swollen eyes and red splotchy skin. It was a stranger in the mirror.

She gagged on the smell of sweat and sex that overwhelmed the air, the walls closed in. She snatched the dirty money that littered the sheets and shoved it into her back pocket, slipped on her sneakers and ran out the door.

At the corner, Amber waited for her as promised. August barely let the light change. She sprinted across the street and fell, sobbing, into Amber’s arms.

Amber hugged her and patted her dripping hair, “It’s all right. You’re all right. Where the hell have you been?” she snapped.

August yanked away, but Amber was looking across the street.

Ricki ambled toward them, a brown paper bag in each hand, her face contorted by a sneer.

“I figured she’d need help recovering. I got provisions!” She tossed one bag to August, packs of Twinkies peeking out the top, then pulled the other bag down a bit to reveal two green, screw-top bottles. “Not bad, huh?” Her eyebrows flashed up and down. “September, give me my ten bucks.”

Amber took the wine from Ricki and leaned in close to her face. “She’s keeping every penny.”

*****

The moon shone brightly in the clear night sky, its glow guiding her way. August stumbled over a curb.

Amber grabbed her arm before she hit the asphalt.

Ricki snorted. “God, what a lightweight.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have kept shoving the bottle in her face. Why are you such a bitch to her?” Amber put her arm around August’s waist and guided her toward the bridge.

“Because she’s a lame-ass hick who’s never even had a fucking drink.”

“I had champagne once.” August’s voice sounded strange in her ears. “At my cousin’s wedding.”

They rounded a clump of trees. Reese paced by the rock.

He caught sight of them and threw his hands in the air. “It’s about fucking time! Shit, you’ve been gone all day – what the hell!” He ran toward them. “Oh man, you got her drunk?”

“I offered to get her high,” Ricki said. “But she wouldn’t go for it. What a wuss.”

He pushed Amber away and picked up August.

She smiled up at him, then laid her head on his shoulder. Everything would be fine now. She was home with Reese.

Acid burned in her throat and her mouth filled with saliva.

“Put me down, put me down!” She squirmed free, dropped to her knees and retched wine and Twinkies. Fingers grazed her cheeks, her hair was pulled back and held out of the way. A gentle hand rubbed and patted between her shoulder blades. Reese.

When the heaving stopped she sat back hard on the ground. Her head throbbed, she couldn’t focus. She closed her eyes, vaguely aware the others were still there, voices disconnected from faces but loud in her head.

“Why didn’t you bring her back after? I’ve been freaking out.”

“She was pretty unhinged,” Amber said “I wanted to calm her down.”

“Yeah, great job of that.”

“You’re bloody welcome. I’m outta here.”

“Take Ricki with you.”

August opened her eyes and squinted to clear the blur.

“She can do whatever the hell she wants.” Amber stormed away and threw one hand in the air, her middle finger extended.

“Get lost, Ricki.” Reese stood with his hands on his hips looking toward the river.

“I want to stay with you.”

He spun around. “What? Why?”

“I miss you. I brought us something.” Ricki dug in her pocket and held out her hand, palm up.

“What the fuck? You know I don’t do that shit anymore, it’s suicide city. Do you want to end up like Tanya?” He took a step back and pulled one arm away. “Hey, don’t touch me.”

“Can’t we be how we used to be?” She moved closer to him. “Before Princess Bony Ass came along?”

“Leave her alone. And what the hell are you talking about? All we did was tweak.”

“It was more than that.” Ricki stood just inches from Reese. She reached up and touched his face.

He batted her hand away. “Once, Ricki. Once. Like six months ago. Just strung out fucking. What – did you think I was into you or something? You were all over me and I was high on crank.”

His head snapped back at the impact of Ricki’s fist.

“Fuck you.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything at all. Just stood there.

Ricki threw something at him. It bounced off his cheek and landed at his feet. Then she turned and ran away.

He stooped and picked it up, stared at it, rolled it around in his fingers, brought it up to his nose. Then he tucked it in the front pocket of his jeans.

“Reese?” August’s voice was just a squeak. The bridge and rock and trees swirled around her and then tipped sideways. Everything after that came in spurts of clarity wrapped in fuzzy uncertainty. He had laid her down flat but she couldn’t open her eyes. Footsteps leaving, bushes rustling, a zipper, silence, footsteps nearing. Her face and hands were wiped with something cold and damp. Then she was sitting up and a cool breeze caressed her torso. Smooth softness brushed against her face and her arms, then she was in the air, then back on the ground. There was warmth and comfort and a kiss to her forehead, like when she was young and her mother tucked her in. Then nothing.

My darling August,

The police in the city put your picture on television and posters. The newspaper even ran a story about you. But no Amber alert. You chose to leave, no one took you away. All we can do is hope and pray the kindness of strangers will bring you home. They said it was good you weren’t abducted. Better chance you’d come home they said. Better chance you’re alive they said.

They said a lot of things.

We wanted to come and look for you. They said stay home. The city’s so big, so many people, so many places you could be. We wouldn’t know where to start. How can we know, if they barely know themselves?

Dad gave them your eleventh grade school picture. I would have sent a different one. I know how you hate that blouse. But it was all we had when we went to the sheriff the morning after you left. I’m sorry, August.

April slopped the pigs by herself this morning. I watched, just in case. Remember the first time you did it? You were only eight. That old sow almost knocked you on your butt. She was just being playful, but you were terrified. Wasn’t long before you just did it on your own, no fear. I know you think they stink, but they can’t help it. They’re just pigs.

Your sisters want to know why you left. They worry you don’t love them anymore. I told them it’s my fault. That you’d come home to us soon and we’d make up and everything would be normal again. Maybe better than what normal has been these days. I promise to work on that with you. If you’d just come home.

I miss your face.

Love always,

Mom

Caraleen put the letter under August’s pillow with the other one, then sat on August’s bed and wept.

Reese lay beside August, wrapped her in his arms and placed a gentle and lingering kiss on her forehead. He stared at her while she slept. The rhythm of her breath stirred warmth deep in his belly. Even the sounds of her drunken snores and sweet wine and sour vomit on her breath were wonderful.

Stupid bitches. They took a perfectly good, perfectly clean, perfectly perfect girl and turned her into one of them. She was so innocent yesterday. But not now. Another life, fucked over. Why would she go so willingly, give up something so precious? Just to contribute to this group of losers? They weren’t even her real family. He wasn’t her real family.

She rolled in her sleep and pressed her face to his shoulder, then tossed one leg across his.

The truth punched him in the face. His body stiffened.

It was him. She did it for him. It was his fault. He was the one ruining her, not Amber, not Ricki. Him. He shouldn’t have let her go with them. He should have just picked her up and carried her away, never let anyone touch her like that, soil her like that. Ruin her like that.

His mind raced, familiar self-loathing bubbled to the surface.

He tried to conjure the faces of all the girls he’d been with, but could only recall one. Shona. His first.

He was thirteen, wandering the streets, jonesing for a fix. He’d met her in an abandoned building. She was shooting heroin on the top floor, far from the horde of junkies that never ventured past the second. She was a fourteen-year-old hooker pimped out by her father to feed his drug habit. She shared her smack with Reese that day. When the warmth of heroin-love streamed through their veins, she straddled his legs and tossed a condom on his stomach. In five minutes he learned the joy of being on the giving end of sex. The intense release, the softness of girl skin, the sweet smell of girl sweat. Overcome with a rush of wonderful sensations he was unaccustomed to, he leaned in to kiss her. She turned her head and said, “No. No lips.” He went numb with her words. She was as cold-hearted as his mother. He’d felt nothing for a girl since. Rarely bothered to kiss any of them. Just used them for sex.

Until August.

He slid his arm out from under August’s head and sat up, then lifted her leg off of him, careful not to wake her. He ran his hands through his hair and then slapped his temples with open palms.

Stupid, stupid, stupid asshole. She needed to go home, she needed to be safe. He didn’t matter, what he wanted wasn’t important. He was screwed anyway, she didn’t need to plunge into the abyss with him.

He stood and paced between August’s feet and the rock, her feet and the abutment, her feet and the river. He sat on the rock with his head in his hands and sobbed. He hadn’t cried like that since he was a kid and wasn’t sure why he was doing it now. But he couldn’t make it stop.

He found no peace. He paced, he cried, and he stared at this beautiful girl who was twisting his reality, stirring confusion in his heart, breaking down his walls. Making him care. What was he supposed to do with that?

He dug into both of his pockets at once, pulling out the ring with one hand and the small bag of smack Ricki had thrown in his face with the other. He stared at the ring, running his thumb over the glass stone, then glanced at August. Here was the life he dreamed of, a real life with real family. A future. Happiness. A life he didn’t deserve. Would never have.

The small bag felt heavy in his fingers. He rolled it into his palm and brought it up to his nose. The nothing smell of plastic, with the faintest hint of vinegar. Ricki must have done somebody up right. She usually didn’t get paid with the good stuff.

This was his reality. The constant craving to get high and disappear. He’d found strength enough to avoid it for months, but every day was a struggle. Every day was a choice. When would he make the wrong one? It was just a matter of time.

The sun cracked the horizon and the faint light of dawn cut across his face. He shoved the ring and the heroin in his pockets, then kneeled beside her and pressed delicate kisses to August’s cheeks, her forehead, her sleeping eyelids. He touched his lips imperceptibly to hers, then took off and abandoned her to the morning light.

Daggers of sunlight jabbed into August’s eyes. She rolled onto her side and tried to push herself up but an axe came down and split her head open from her forehead to the base of her skull. A wave of nausea started deep at her knees and rolled over her, breaking on her chest. She lay back down until the wave quelled. At least she wasn’t puking. She sucked her tongue trying to moisten it, but it was like squeezing humidity out of a cotton ball. She sat up through the piercing pain. Blood rushed to her head. She closed her eyes and thought of nothing but breathing.

Her eyes sprung open. Suddenly aware she was alone, she looked in all directions but saw no one, heard nothing but the traffic humming overhead.

“Reese?” Her voice sounded foreign, a deep-throated croak. She looked down at herself. When had she put on her old t-shirt? Pieces of the night before flashed through her head, her heart racing. She’d thrown up in front of him. And he had changed her shirt. Oh, God, he would have seen her in just her bra.

Clamoring behind the bush she found the shirt she got from the shelter hanging on a branch near her back pack, stiff like the laundry that air-dried on the clothesline at home. He must have washed it out. Washed her disgusting vomit out of her shirt. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks, but was overlapped by a sense of comfort. Of belonging. He cared enough about her to do that.

She pulled out her toothbrush and headed for the river. The taste of regurgitated wine was sour in her mouth. Saliva pooled under her tongue, what little there was in her stomach threatened to spew all over the path. She swallowed repeatedly and pushed the bile back down.

Maybe he was at the river brushing his teeth too. But he wasn’t at their usual spot, so she continued down the path. There was no sign of anyone.

She walked as fast as her pounding head would allow and rushed to the park. Memories flitted back, disjointed images running together like some crudely drawn flip-book. Amber leaving. Reese angry. Ricki punching him. It took a minute for the truth to break through the fog. Reese and Ricki. No wonder Ricki hated her so much. Where the hell did he go?

She crisscrossed the grounds, eyes darted in all directions, her whole body vibrated. A loneliness she hadn’t felt since before she had met him ached in her bones.

Men stared as she passed, scrutinized every inch of her like they knew what she had done. Like she had slut emblazoned on her shirt, prostitute tattooed across her forehead. She clutched her hoodie tighter over her chest and slumped her shoulders.

At the far end of the park, just beyond a line of weeping cherries, Guy’s thick, black hair glistened in the sun. She drew a deep inhale and released the grip on her jacket. Reese would be there. She ran toward Guy, but when she broke through the trees she found only him and Amber.

August stood, mute, and stared. They turned and looked at her.

“Have you seen Reese?”

“Well, good morning to you too, September.”

“Reese is missing!”

Amber shook her head and sniffed a small laugh out her nose. “I see you survived yesterday.” She sat cross-legged staring down at the grass. “He’s probably turning dates. Or maybe he feels bad about how he treated Ricki and is drowning his sorrows like he used to.”

“Ricki? She punched him. Maybe she should feel bad.”

“She does. But not for hitting him.” Amber glared at her. “She was bawling. I’ve never seen Ricki cry before.” She crushed a cigarette butt between her thumb and middle finger, rolling it back and forth. Tobacco dropped out onto a small pile. She flicked the empty butt onto the grass next to several others. “She took a date with some geezer last night. Don’t know where the hell she is. Probably on another binge. I swear we’re going to find her in an alley one day, dead like Tanya.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know about them, honest. I really just need to find Reese.”

Guy accepted the new cigarette Amber had rolled from discarded newspaper and lit it, sucking hard before handing it back to her. “He was flipping out yesterday,” he said on the exhale, smoke puffing from between his lips with every word. He stood and slapped fresh dirt from the back of his jeans. “C’mon, I’ll help you look for him.” He gave August the up-down. “Man, you look like shit.” He pulled the pink ribbon from his hair and turned her around, then tied her hair back into a ponytail. “There, downright respectable. Let’s go.”

Amber let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, hell. Wait for me.”

Guy led August and Amber to a dingy crash pad where he knew Reese and Ricki used to shoot up together. The two story building was boarded up in preparation for demolition. Warning signs and caution tape didn’t slow down the flow of junkies in and out. Guy climbed through a broken window and left Amber and August waiting on the street. He exited a few minutes later and shrugged – Reese wasn’t with him.

They rushed to the stinking laneway a few blocks away where she had watched him pick up a date the first time. It was crowded with hookers, but Reese wasn’t there. They checked the high-backed booths at a twenty-four hour smoke-filled dive of a coffee shop Reese sometimes sat in at night before he claimed his place under the bridge. Guy ducked into the bathroom to check the stalls, but Reese was nowhere. Guy was running out of ideas where to look.

They turned into the alley where August and Reese first met. Near the back of the deli a denim clad leg stuck out from behind a garbage bin, a familiar red, high-top runner on the foot.

Reese was leaning against a pile of trash bags, his head hanging down, one jacket sleeve rolled up. Blood smeared his hands and stained his left arm, fresh drops oozed from a slash near his wrist. Shards of broken glass were strewn about, a large piece held together by most of a Jack Daniel’s label in his limp right hand.

August threw herself down beside him, her breath heavy. The stench of rotting meat emanated from the garbage behind him, like heat rippling off the asphalt.

“Reese. Oh God, Reese!” She brushed his hair back from his face and patted his cheeks. “Wake up, damn it.” Adrenaline fueled blood pounded in her ears, muffling Guy’s curses and Amber’s assertion that Reese was a stupid fucking idiot.

Reese stirred and looked at August, his eyes dull, his breath reeking of bourbon. “August.” His voice was weak and small. “August.” He started to cry. “I’m sorry.” He reached up and touched her face leaving a wet smear of blood on one cheek. “I’m sorry.” Then his arm fell back to the ground, his chin dropped to his chest, and he lost consciousness.

*****

The painted brick of the two-story building had aged and faded from what might have been white at one time to tapioca pudding beige. Some of the windows on the second floor were broken, wood planks hammered crookedly over them.

Guy carried Reese piggyback style, bloody handprints staining the front of Guy’s shirt where Reese’s limp arms hung. Amber followed behind them, her hand resting on his back as if that would keep him from keeling over. August led them all through two sets of double glass doors so filthy and fingerprinted they had lost their transparency.

The stench of fresh vomit, pungent with alcohol, ambushed her. She covered her face with her sleeve. The smell in Dr. Robertson’s office back home was bad, but August would take the mustiness of old carpet and old ladies over this place any day. Dr. R.’s examining rooms were peppered with Norman Rockwell posters depicting quaint rural life. Here she was confronted with posters about HIV and AIDs, IV drug use, STDs, and violence against women.

They joined a steady stream of drunk, stoned, and bleeding people who had stumbled in the dirty doors and accosted the triage nurse behind the admitting desk. The man at the front of the line banged on the Plexiglas sheet that had saved the nurse from being spit on many times.

Along the edge of the walls was proof the floors were once blue. The old linoleum was worn through, revealing the dirty underside, creating a road map of paths often traveled – around the waiting room chairs, cigarette burns and blood stains marring their fabric; past the TV set, a hole the size of a bullet killing the picture tube; and ending at a big stainless door smudged with greasy prints of fingers, hands, and even whole body parts.

August wanted to push everyone else aside and scream at the nurse to take Reese in first, but Guy and Amber showed a quiet calm borne of experience. Amber held August’s hand, tugging straight down to get her to stop fidgeting, like her mother used to do when she was a kid.

More than one police officer came and went. She turned away from them. Were they looking for her? Coming to take her home? No, they were much too busy to care about her. One of them tossed the violent glass-banging man out the front door. Another handcuffed a guy stoned on something, said he had outstanding warrants and told him he had the right to remain silent as the cop dragged him out. Fine with her, two less people ahead of them.

When they got to the front of the line, the nurse took one look at the cuts and fresh blood dripping off Reese’s fingertips and hit a big red button. The stainless door buzzed and a loud click released the latch, her voice like a muffled robot through the speaker in the glass. “Bring him through. No, just you. Girls, stay out there.”

“No! I have to go with him! Please?” August couldn’t stop a gush of tears.

The nurse’s mouth soundlessly said shit, then through the speaker, “Fine.” She looked at Amber. “Sorry, sweetheart. Have a seat.”

They were whisked into a tiny room. Guy backed his way into the examining table and eased Reese onto it as a young doctor in mint green scrubs strode in.

Without ceremony or a single word the doctor snapped on a pair of latex gloves and covered his nose and mouth with the mask that hung from his neck. He stripped Reese of his jacket, laid him back and checked his pulse at the wrist of the injured arm.

Guy put his arm around August’s shoulders. The gesture and the smell of Reese’s blood on his hand, like a fistful of dirty pennies in her nose, released a fresh stream of tears.

With his back to them, the doctor cleaned and bandaged the wounds and reeled off his diagnosis and instructions as fast as he tended to his patient. “There’s dried and fresh blood. He cut himself a few times over a few hours. Nothing deep, nothing dangerous, he won’t die on you. Not today.”

Her legs went weak. She took hold of Guy’s t-shirt in her fist, then collapsed.

Guy grabbed her and propped her up, holding her firmly around the waist. “It’s cool, he’ll be all right, trust me. We’ve been down this road before.”

The doctor glanced back at her. “I’m giving him a shot of antibiotic for good measure.” A syringe was nimbly filled and shot into the uninjured arm. He took some things from a drawer and turned, speaking directly to Guy. “In a few hours remove the bandages. Clean the cuts with the antiseptic towels,” a sealed packet was held up, “apply antibiotic cream,” a tube of ointment was held up, “and redress the wounds with the bandages.” The supplies were pressed into Guys hands. The doctor handed August the bloody jacket and helped Reese to his feet. “Now take him home and let him sleep it off.”

Guy shoved the supplies into his pants pockets. He braced his friend against his side, throwing the good arm over his shoulder and hung on to Reese around his middle.

“Thanks, Doc.”

The doctor stripped off the gloves and shoved them in a yellow bin marked “Biohazard Waste.” He brushed past August and left without another word.

*****

August walked on shaky legs. Amber held her hand. Ahead of them, Guy half supported, half carried Reese, moving quickly down the sidewalk and away from the clinic. After two blocks, Reese passed out. Guy picked him up with surprising ease and carried him like August’s father carried the newborn lambs, belly around his shoulders, grasping limp arms and legs that hung in front.

Within a block of home August ran ahead and pulled the cardboard mattresses and blanket from their hidey hole in the bush. She laid the cardboard side-by-side in their spot, shaded by the bridge overhead, and shook out the blanket. She held it on one edge and flipped it up in the air, then floated it over the mattresses like her mother did with fresh clean sheets over her bed on Sunday mornings.

Guy and Amber helped Reese down to the blanket. He slumped to the ground and rolled onto his side.

Amber strolled over to the rock and lit another newspaper cigarette. She perched atop the boulder and polluted the summer air.

Guy sat next to Reese and stared at him while he slept. August hadn’t seen this side of Guy. He was always sarcastic and cracking stupid jokes. He never seemed to give a damn about anything. Today proved he cared about his friends. There were still no tears, no real emotional displays – but he didn’t leave Reese’s side. And he knew when to shut off the sardonic comic routine.

August grabbed Reese’s jacket. At the river’s edge, she knelt at the shallow spot where they brushed their teeth. She dunked the coat in the cold water and rubbed the sleeve against a rock, doing her best to get out the blood. But the stains were persistent. Guy’s words at the clinic echoed in her mind. ‘We’ve been down this road before.’ Reese had shown her the scars, told her he cut himself. How long ago had he last done that? And why now?

She wrung out the jacket and climbed back up to the others, pink water dripping from the sleeve leaving a diluted, bloody trail in the dirt.

“He’s going to need something to eat.” She hung his jacket on the bush and sat down at Reese’s feet. She stroked his jeans below one knee.