Romeo is Homeless (7 page)

“I used to lie in our cornfield at night with my parents and little sisters and stare at the stars.” Even laying on prickly stalks in the cornfield was more comfortable than a cardboard-on-concrete bed.

He reached out and laid his hand over hers. “You won’t see any stars from here. Not enough sky. Too many streetlights.”

“I used to keep count of how many shooting stars we saw. We wished on every one of them.”

“What did you wish for?”

“Candy mostly.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. In the bad years we’d wish for good crops. Once, April wished our chickens would lay golden eggs.” She smiled at the memory. “And of course when Grandpa was sick, we wished for him to be better.” The familiar knot that accompanied her grandfather’s memory grabbed at her stomach. “Turns out shooting stars can’t make people not die.”

He squeezed her hand. “Good to know.”

Reese lay beside August, closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He slit them open, glancing sideways at her every few seconds. When her drowsy breath became steady and easy and her hand relaxed inside his, he turned his head and stared at her face. She was so peaceful and calm, so innocent and untouched. So pretty.

He stroked her palm with his thumb, making her twitch and stir in her sleep before she gripped his hand and turned her face toward him. His heart raced ahead a few beats, his entire arm tingling from her warmth. It was excitement and comfort in one simple touch. Was that crazy? She was just another girl. Except everything about her was different than any other girl he’d had before. She was kind and open, honest and sweet. She was perfect. She even smelled good. And she smiled. A lot. He’d smiled more that day than he could ever remember. His cheeks ached from it.

His family had better like her, had better welcome her into their circle. Or at least not chase her away. How long would she last before it all got too hard, before she had to run back home? How would she handle the reality of his world? Of the things he’s done – the things he still did? And why did he even give a shit? He couldn’t figure that part out. He just knew he wanted to keep her. To tell her his secrets. To make this feeling – whatever the hell it was – last as long as possible.

She shifted again and rolled closer to him, her ball cap grazing his cheek. Then she snorted in her sleep.

He suppressed a laugh, but couldn’t stop a wide, cheek-aching grin. He eased her cap off and inhaled deeply. The smell of her hair, like strawberries or peaches, filled his lungs and soothed his mind. He tightened his grip on her hand and closed his eyes to sleep.

Caraleen lay alone in August’s bed. She closed her eyes and pretended her daughter was there with her.

Almost five years had passed since they curled up here together. Caraleen would sing softly into August’s ear and stroke her daughter’s temple. She would bury her nose into August’s soft blonde hair and inhale the scents that gave her such comfort – sweat, hay, herbal shampoo, and just the faintest hint of pig shit. That was the best part of motherhood – the smell of her child, the gentle touch that seemed almost electric, the love so deep there was no bottom to it. It was what made everything worthwhile – fights, misunderstandings, confusion, anger, the hatred she sometimes believed her own daughter felt for her. It was all fine when they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s embrace, secure in knowing, at least for that brief moment, that they shared comfort, serenity and peace.

There came a time when August didn’t need that nighttime ritual Caraleen still longed for. Didn’t want to be tucked in, fawned over, coddled. She would wait until her daughter fell asleep, then sneak in and kiss the top of her head, breathe in the smell of their past closeness. She wished for time to stop, for August to quit growing older. Quit growing up. It all passed so quickly.

Birth, breastfeeding, first steps, first words, first day of school, first lost tooth.

First fight, first slammed door, first cuss words hurled in her face. When did it get so hard? Thirteen. That’s when.

“Damn, damn, damn,” she swore under her breath.

Kids had too much freedom nowadays. Maybe she was too strict, but Don was too soft. Her daddy would never have allowed her to act that way at sixteen, and she would never have talked back to her parents then. No way. No respect anymore, no fear. No consequences.

Damn.

Sometime after sunrise August woke and stretched. The newspaper she had pretended was her patchwork quilt fell away to her side.

Reese stirred and sat up. “Morning.” He stretched too and rubbed his head with both hands, mussing up his hair even more than usual. He jumped up and headed straight to the river. “Got to take my morning constitutional,” he called back to her before disappearing behind a concrete pillar.

His morning constitutional. That was what her father called it too. What did taking a twenty minute dump have to do with freedom and independence?

She stared up at the morning traffic roaring across the bridge, the drivers all rushing to get who-knows-where. How strange to see all those cars and trucks from underneath, driving on a road full of holes. At least she didn’t have to smell the grease from here, like when she was under the pickup changing the oil.

She sat up and rubbed her lower back, she missed her mattress. She pulled her thin hoodie tighter around her shoulders. She hadn’t packed well for her new city life – hell, she didn’t pack at all. Then again, what had she expected? The Ritz? Yes that was exactly what she expected. The Ritz. Tiffany’s. Stupid, stupid girl.

Reese emerged from the river path holding a blanket in one hand. It looked as if it could have been pink at one time but was now just filthy, stained with she-didn’t-want-to-know-what.

“I found this behind the pillar.” He shook out the blanket. Dust and dirt flew up into the morning sunlight. A used Band-Aid fell from its folds. He placed the blanket around her and patted her back. “That should help with the morning chill.”

“Thanks. What would I do if I hadn’t met you?”

He sat next to her and flicked a roach away with his thumb and middle finger. He put his arm around her shivering shoulders, pulling her in so she could lean against him.

“You’d have gone home already, where you belong.” He brushed a kiss against her forehead.

She wanted to object to his gentle assertion that she didn’t belong there, but was far too distracted by the tingling sensation where his lips had touched her skin.

With her head against his shoulder, she had a close-up view of his long neck and scruffy chin. Grouped to the right of his Adam’s apple were three scars. Three perfectly round spots. She rested her fingers on the side of his neck, the heat of his skin warming her hand, and grazed one spot with her thumb. “What are these from?”

He reached up and moved her hand. “Burns.” He turned away and lit a cigarette, cupping his hand around the match to protect the flame from the wind, then put his arm around her shoulder again.

She looked from the scars to his cigarette and then back. “Did you do this?” She touched each scar with one fingertip.

“Nah.” He brushed her hand away again. “A souvenir from one of my mother’s boyfriends. Can’t remember which one.”

“Why would he do that to you?”

“Because he’s a sadistic prick, I guess.” He took a long drag and dropped the lit cigarette on the pavement next to what looked like a puddle of dried blood, and exhaled straight up into the air. He sighed and gave her shoulder a faint squeeze before releasing her, then rolled up the sleeve on his left arm and pointed. “This is my handiwork.” Several thin scars crisscrossed his forearm.

“Reese! Why?”

“Sometimes things just get too screwed up. Too weird. I start to lose control. Cutting helps me focus, you know? The pain, it makes you know what’s real. Makes the other shit in life disappear for a while. Makes you feel… I don’t know. Free.” He picked up the cigarette from the ground and put it between his lips. It hung from the corner of his mouth, one eye squinting to keep the smoke out. “I’ve thought about doing it here.” He drew a finger across his wrist.

“Don’t say that.” She slapped him on the arm of his jacket, searching his face for some indication that he was joking.

He just looked toward the river. “Whatever. I haven’t cut in a long time. Hey, I’m starved. Let’s go get some grub.”

She rubbed sleep from the corners of her eyes. “I’ve got no money left.”

He shrugged. “I could work, but I hate doing that this early.”

“You have a job? That’s awesome. I tried to apply at a video store but, well – they didn’t hire me.” She wasn’t about to explain it to him, didn’t want anyone to know what that creep had asked her to do.

“I don’t have that kind of job. I… ” He brushed hair away from his face and sucked on the cigarette again. “I do favors for people,” he said on the exhale.

“What, like mow their lawn?”

His laugh snorted out of his nose along with blue smoke. “Uh, no.” He flicked the ash from his cigarette, then turned to look at her. “Sexual favors.”

“Who would ask you to do that?”

“Lots of people. Mostly men.”

“Men? You have sex with men?” He was a prostitute. Did boys do that too?

“Yes, August. I have sex with men. Sometimes it’s women, but mostly men. Usually older.”

“Like how old?”

“Like thirty-five, forty. Older.”

“You have sex with men.” She deadpanned, waiting for it to sink in. “Men my father’s age?” The shrill of her own voice made her wince.

“God, relax would ya? It’s no big deal. All of us do it. It’s the only way to get any money.”

She looked around then put her head closer to his. “Are you…”

He laughed. “Only for pay.” He looked her in the eye. “Look, I like girls, okay? I just do that for cash. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She stared at him. How could it not mean anything? She was saving it, holding out for someone she loved, because it meant everything.

“Why can’t you just get a normal job?”

“No one will hire me. I’ve got no permanent place. And under the bridge doesn’t count.” He winked at her. “Besides, I’ve got no skills. Well, not the right kind of skills. And I’ve gotta eat, don’t I?” He stood up, grabbed her hand and pulled her up beside him. “Now come on. We don’t need money for breakfast.”

*****

August and Reese walked for blocks before turning into an alley behind a row of shops and restaurants. A few yards in, she wrinkled her nose and then plugged it against the foul stench with one hand.

“It smells worse than an outhouse back here.”

Splashes of green and yellow stained the building walls, flies buzzed all around, their steady drone the soundtrack to her filthy new life. The acrid air burned her nostrils, the smell of aging human waste like caustic poison. The manure on the farm stunk, but at least it was earthy and natural. Sweet, even.

An indigo Dumpster, scarred with deep dents and stained with rust, sat cockeyed in the laneway as if the garbage truck that last emptied it had just tossed it aside.

Reese pushed a pile of boxes up to it, scaled them with ease, sat on the edge of the bin and held a hand down for her to grab. “Come on up.”

She hesitated, looked up and down the alley. “What if we get caught?”

“It’s garbage. I don’t think they mind so much. They dump leftovers from last night in here just after dawn, so it’s usually fresh.”

“Gross.”

“Yup, but it will keep you alive for another day. Just look for stuff that isn’t moldy. And I hate bread with lipstick prints on it. Too much like Mom used to make.”

She clasped his hand and he hauled her up beside him. The bin was more than half full, boxes of discarded food tossed in next to bulging garbage bags held shut with twist ties.

Reese ripped one of the bags open and the stink of rotting meat assaulted the air. He didn’t even flinch, just tossed it to the far side of the bin, grabbed another bag and ripped into it.

She turned away and stared toward the end of the alley, forcing down the queasiness that was rolling up her throat.

He tapped her arm with the back of his hand and held up two partial sandwiches. “Pastrami? Or tuna?”

“Yuck. Tuna, I guess.”

He swung his legs over the side and jumped down, holding his hand out to her.

She couldn’t help but smile. He was a complete gentleman, kind and considerate. She took his hand and accepted his chivalry, scaling down the cardboard, protected and safe in his strong, firm grasp.

They sat on some discarded newspaper on the alley floor. Reese took a big bite out of his breakfast. She just stared at hers.

“I can’t do it. I can’t eat someone else’s leftovers.” She started to cry. “It’s disgusting. I could get a disease.”

“You won’t get a disease. The runs, maybe.” He grinned. “Besides, it beats starving."

“But just barely.” She took a tentative bite. Nausea gripped her stomach before she could even chew and she spit the food into her hand. “I’m going to puke.” She ran behind the other side of the Dumpster. It was bad enough he was going to hear her vomit, he didn’t have to watch.

A girl sat cross-legged on the concrete with her back against the bin, shoulders slouched forward, head hanging to one side at an awkward angle. A needle stuck out of the girl’s left arm, a pink ribbon hung from the crook of her elbow. Her skin was chalk white. Bright purple bruises covered her forearm.

August screamed and turned away, almost falling over a short pile of wooden crates. She doubled over them and threw up, spattering vomit all over a grey cat that rested there. He ran down the alley hissing and screeching.

Reese was behind her, pulling back her hair. When she stopped heaving, he turned her around to face him, engulfing her in his long arms. “You okay? Why’d you scream?”

She peered around his arm and looked down at the dead girl behind him.

Greasy copper hair was pulled back into pigtails high up on each side of the girl’s head, a dirty pink ribbon hung wilted from one side. A half-eaten lollipop lay on the ground next to her limp hand and a skipping rope, curled neatly and tied in place with its own ends, lay atop a worn pink backpack covered in filthy, tattered bows.

She pulled away from him and pointed. He turned and looked down.

“Oh shit! It’s Tanya.” He kneeled beside the girl and touched her ashen face. He pulled one eyelid open with his thumb, then held the girl’s hand and bowed his head. “She’s dead. We better bolt.”

“Shouldn’t we call the police?”

“What good will they do her now? They’ll just harass us. C’mon.” He took August’s hand and pulled her away, then they sprinted down the alley.

Blocks later, when they were well inside the park, they slowed down. She dropped to the grass, pulling him down with her, and gasped for breath, her heart racing. When it found a slower rhythm she sat up and looked over at him.

He lay with one arm thrown over his face. He didn’t make a sound but what few tears he’d cried left track marks on his dirty cheeks.

“Were you close to her?”

He rubbed his face with both hands and propped himself up on his elbows.

“She’s part of the family. One of a bunch of us that hang together. Shit. I’ve got to tell Amber.” He got to his feet and pulled August up.

She followed him. He led her through the park, never letting go of her hand. He wasn’t alone after all. He had friends. Her stomach filled with butterflies and her hand trembled inside his. Was it finding Tanya dead in the alley, or meeting this group of his friends that had her so freaked out? Maybe both.

Three teenagers sat under the shade of a massive tree. The faint smell of coffee and cinnamon floated on the air, getting stronger as they approached the group.

“Hey, Reese-man!” The only boy in the group flashed a peace sign. “Who’s the chick?”

Reese sat next to the boy and pulled her down right beside him, her hand still safe in his grasp.

“This is August. That’s Guy, Amber. And that’s Ricki.” Reese pointed to each of them as he said their names.

“Nice to meet you,” August mumbled. She sat cross-legged on the lawn and stared at the grass, pulling up individual blades.

“Hey, September,” Guy said. “Welcome!”

“Her name is August, dude.” Reese lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Don’t call her September.”

August lifted her eyes to peer at the group, her hands trembling. She was comfortable with Reese within minutes, put at ease by his casual nature and his kindness. But these three scared the shit out of her.

Guy’s olive complexion was deepened by dark eyebrows and long black hair. Eyes almost as dark as his brows were framed with thick, luscious lashes. His hair was tied back with a dirty, pink ribbon – just like the one around Tanya’s arm.

Amber was tall and skinny and blonde, her flawless skin deeply tanned. The palest green eyes seemed to jump out from soft brown lashes. She was remarkable looking.

Ricki scowled at August with smallish eyes, their color so unexceptional they were barely noticeable. She was curvy all over, her too-small top straining against the heft of her breasts. Any movement made them bounce and jiggle like water balloons about to burst. August was a stick figure, an underdeveloped little girl, by comparison.

They sat in a ragtag circle, sipping coffee from cardboard cups and eating sweet-smelling pastries. August swallowed the saliva that filled her mouth, her stomach announcing its emptiness.