Upside Down in the Middle of Nowhere (24 page)

The man with pockets up by his armpits stood close enough to where I could smell the peppermint coming from him. The sweet, fresh smell didn't match the look of him—all dirty and most likely homeless.

He reached his arms out to Khayla and nodded his head, staring at me the whole time. Khayla reached her arms up to the tall man.

“What?” I asked him, still feeling uneasy.

The man nodded at Khayla again, but this time he moved his arms up and down.

“You want to hold my sister?” It was bugging me that the man wouldn't just open his mouth and speak.

He nodded his head and smiled so big it took up most of his face. Sealy was right: There was
something
about his eyes.

“Yes, sir, you can hold her,” Sealy said, all polite.

As soon as the man took my baby sister from me, she went and snuggled her head into the soft-looking spot where long, silvery hair bunched into a pillow up on the man's shoulder. My empty arms felt like stretched-out rubber bands just hanging off my body.

Sealy took hold of Mr. High Pockets's hand. My breath got caught somewhere up in my chest and settled like a chunk of dry cornbread. They took about two or three steps, then the man turned with that smile of his and motioned with his head for me to follow.

Sealy never looked back. Not one time.

“You're being rude again, Armani,” Sealy said. If you asked me, my sister took the prize for rude right then.

“How am I being rude? I'm just standing here.” And that's exactly what I was doing—just standing there.

Good ol' Mr. High Pockets managed to scoot us right on by the long INTAKE line and took us to a corner clear on the other side of the huge people-packed room, stopping in front of what looked like the only two empty cots in the whole entire place.

Someone must've hit a switch, 'cause the overhead lights went from blinding bright yellow-white to flickering gray. A loud buzz filled the room. The kind of buzz them lightbulbs at school make right before it's time for Daddy or one of the other maintenance men to change them.

As far as I could tell, the shelter was at least ten times bigger than our school gym, and smelled ten times worse. Thinking about our gym made me think of our table. The scuffed-up table made me think of Mama, and suppertime, and Memaw with nut dust, and the attic.

“Hello.” The little voice belonged to a very old Chinese lady not much bigger than me.

“Hello,” I mumbled. I sure didn't want Sealy thinking I was rude.

“You are very pretty girl,” the little lady said, smiling so big her eyes all but disappeared. She nodded, admiring my sisters.

“My name is MawMaw Sun.” She offered me her hand.

I shook her small, soft hand. The lady called MawMaw Sun smiled and nodded some more.

“You kids need anything, we right there.” She pointed where two more MawMaws—one black and one white—sat on a cot side by side just a-waving at us.

I gave a little wave back. Sealy tipped up on her toes and waved, all excited.

“You kids in right place. You bring good energy.” She nodded at the man who brought us to the corner, then she patted Khayla on the head. “You be okay,” she said to my sister.

We stared after her while she made her way back to the other two smiling MawMaws. I didn't know what they had to be so dang sappy-happy about.

The man laid Khayla down slow and careful on one of the cots. It had one itty-bitty paper-looking pillow and a thin brown blanket. I couldn't see why anyone would want a blanket with it being so stiflin' hot and sticky. Khayla stayed rolled in a ball and didn't move an inch when Sealy lay down and curled up with our sleeping baby sister.

“Armani,” she said in a sleepy voice, “you said that you'd leave me. Would you really do that?” Her eyes were barely open. She blinked slow and heavy.

I stood there feeling stupid for even saying the hurtful words to her. “No, I'd never leave you, Sealy.” I stopped staring at the floor and
looked at my sister. She wasn't much bigger than Khayla. “Just go to sleep.”

“I'm sorry for making you mad,” she said with her eyes closed.

A heavy wanting came over me. A wanting for everyone and everything that used to be.

Mr. High Pockets was tapping on the back of his head. I glanced over at Sealy. She was already sound asleep. I looked back at the man and there he was just a-tap-tap-tapping with one hand on the back of his head. He looked at me for just a second with twinkly eyes. He smiled, looked up at the ceiling, and then he turned his freckled face back at me with a startled look. The whole while, he was tapping away on the back of his gray-haired head. My mouth hung as wide open as my bugged-out eyes.

I ain't lying when I say that all of a sudden, that man, with his pants the color of old and pockets all but buried in his armpits, pulled a shiny quarter right out of his nose. He looked at it this way and that, like he was admiring some long-lost treasure. Then he flipped it way up high in the air, caught it, and stuck it down in one of his too-high pockets. He looked at me just then, and I seen the warmth of Daddy in his old man eyes. He walked over, keeping his eyes on me, and picked up the scratchy-looking blanket from the empty cot. He held it up against hisself and nodded. I nodded back at him. He smiled real big, tilted his head to the side, and silently thanked me with the grin in his soft copper-colored eyes.

I watched him walk over by the concrete wall. He shook out his blanket, letting it float down to the hard floor. He stretched both arms up over his head, like he was reaching for the ceiling. He yawned and
gave me a little wave. Then that tall, skinny ol' white man laid hisself down, flat out on his blanket-bed.

I seen the empty cot beside me, and was fixin' to holler at him to get up off that dirty floor, but just then he folded his hands up under his head, let out a sigh, and smiled, closing his eyes.

The cot was so comfortable. I laid there on my own cot, all by myself, wondering if maybe someday I could get one of them things for my bedroom. If I had a bedroom. If I had a house. If I could just be nine again.

I couldn't stand it for another second. I scooped Khayla up into my arms and brought her to bed with me. I pulled her in close and forced my eyes shut.

I sat straight up on my cot. The room was filled with a buzzing and a spooky gray. But
not
quiet. Tramping feet and songs and screams echoed through the air. My ears felt like they were stuffed with Mississippi mud, making the sounds muffled and loud at the same time. I stuck a finger into each of my ears and gave them a wiggle. It didn't do no good, so I sat there wide awake with clogged-up ears and gray lights flickering down on me.

I got up as quiet as I could from the cot. The paper pillow crinkled and Khayla flopped from her tummy to her back. I tippy-toed in the
dumb boots till I was standing right over sleeping Sealy. “Hey, Sealy, you awake?” I whispered. Nothing. She didn't move a speck.

I unzipped her book sack enough to let my hand slip inside. I found the pad of pink Hello Kitty paper and went back in for something to write with. I was feeling around when my hand stumbled up on something that made me stop. I didn't have to see them to know what they were.

Georgie's glasses
. “What are these doing in here?” I said out loud to nobody. I touched the little part that holds the glasses up on a person's nose. Georgie's nose.
He won't be able to see. Mama always says that boy can't see his own hand in front of his face without his glasses on
.

Real slow and careful, I put the glasses back where I'd found them. Right there in plain sight was a pen. I grabbed it and headed over to the man lying up by the wall.

I bent down and nudged him with one finger. He didn't move. “Hey, mister.”

One eye popped open.

I about fell out of my boots. “Sorry for wakin' you up.”

He sat up and yawned big, stretching his long arms about a mile. He smiled and tapped the floor next to him. I sat down. He made it easy to ask.

“You can't talk, can you?”

He shook his head slow from side to side, never breaking the look between us. He had wrinkles running every which way across his face deep enough to hold that quarter that fell from his nose. I wanted to reach out and touch one of the creases, but I didn't.

“Can you write your name so we know what to call you?” I offered him the paper and pen.

He scrunched his shoulders up and held them there.

“You can't write.” I didn't ask, I just came right out and said it. I wasn't surprised. I ain't trying to be hurtful, but he had that look about him—the look of someone who can't read.

The man shook his head one more time and smiled.

“Do you mind if I give you a name?”

His whole face lit up.

“Well, I think your name should be Mr. High Pockets.”

He took his chin between his pointer finger and thumb. He scrunched his eyes and lips like he was thinking real hard. I was fixin' to tell him to never mind, that I knew it was a dumb name, when he popped in his seat and burst into an even bigger smile. He was on his feet so fast, I forgot he was old. He pointed at his own high pants pockets and slapped his knee. The man was belly laughing with no sound coming out. I couldn't help it, I laughed too.

I swear I seen Sealy stealing a look our way, but when I turned my head to look at her, her eyes snapped shut. Her eyelids fluttered like butterfly wings. I could tell she wasn't for-real sleeping.

Mr. High Pockets had me on my feet with his arms around me quicker than a lizard lick. He gave me a good squeeze, and I squeezed back.

I stood over Sealy for a long minute, her eyelids fluttering the whole time. It must've been hard for her to keep from opening her eyes and letting me know she was really awake. I slipped her stuff
back into her book sack. I leaned over and kissed her on the back of her head and wondered if she understood how far we'd drifted from home.

I cozied back up beside Khayla. I wrapped one arm around my baby sister and one arm around me.

It was strange the way quiet came with the morning. Used to be that the dark of the night turned everything to a whisper. Not no more. It was morning, and mostly quiet, except for the sound of the big push broom lazy-sweeping back and forth across the cold floor and the drowsy motor sounds vibrating off Khayla's lips. The girl had been lying belly-down on the cot pushing an empty water bottle from one side to the other since before they'd turned the daytime lights on. I'd already done taken her to the toilet twice. Every time we passed by the MawMaws, all three of them would holler “Good mornin' ” like they hadn't already said it twenty thousand times.

Sealy was busy writing in her journal. I slid on up behind her and kept myself busy foolin' with her braids and trying to get them cute again.

Mr. High Pockets had woke up and stretched his long arms higher than the heads of people shuffling about. When he stood up, he seen me looking and gave a nod my way. I was fixin' to holler “Hey” when a highfalutin' voice came out of nowhere.

“Well, hello, dears! Ain't y'all just the purdiest things?” If it wasn't the squeaky-clean-shiny lady herself, with that big ol' triflin' grin on
her face, staring down at me and my family. The temperature in my face went up by at least one hundred degrees.

“Hello,” I mumbled, trying my best not to actually look at the woman, hoping the whole while that she couldn't see the fear oozing out of my skin.

“Is your mama here, precious?” The woman's body smelled like a flower garden and her breath smelled like Juicy Fruit gum.

Sealy tried to turn her head. I swear I felt her mouth fixin' to speak just by the way the hair on her head moved. I gave one of her braids a quick tug like a person riding a horse does to get the animal to stop.

“Ouch,” Sealy said, and rubbed her head.