'Run'

Run

“The most terrible poverty is loneliness, and the feeling of being unloved.”

Prologue

            I used to lie on my roof and stare at the clouds. I would point and smile when I saw one that looked like a turtle or a horse. I remember seeing one that looked like a woman. She had long hair and a white dress flowing around her. I told my mother she looked like a bride. Then, a gust of wind came and blew her dress to shreds. Her wedding dress was now just a tattered shirt. When I asked my mother what she looked like now, my mother said she looked like a vagrant. I stared up at her. Broken and worn. And then I looked back at mother. Her blue eyes were looking up at the sky. Her long, black hair cascaded over the bricks of our roof like a puddle on concrete. Its frayed ends curled, tired. And as I stared, she turned to me and frowned.

“Don’t ever be a vagrant.” She said. “You wouldn’t like it very much.”

“Why?” I asked curiously.

“Because you don’t want to be an outcast. You don’t want to be a freak.” And she took a puff of her cigarette.

            An outcast. Like Shelley at school. With her fat stomach and limp leg. Nobody was her friend. Nobody talked to her or laughed at her jokes. I didn’t want to be Shelley. I would never be Shelley.

            When I looked back up at the sky, the woman was gone.

Chapter 1

Eyes

            The trees have turned red. Their leaves, falling to the ground like feathers. Twirling in the cool air before gracefully landing on the freezing concrete. They cover streets, driveways, park benches. Just like every winter. And then in spring they will come again. Birth. Death. Every year. The same thing.

            I look over at an old woman, she’s glaring at me. I’m used to it. They always glare. The rich. The normal. Her eyes like daggers. Bright green daggers. I flinch and wrap my skinny arms around my jacket.

It’s windy. Howls and screeches fly through the air, carrying dirt and leaves. I hate it. The static in my hair, the tightness in my lungs. I cough, raspy and dry, and look back at the old lady. She’s walking into a drug store. JOE’S, the sign screams in flashing neon.

“Joe’s.” I say aloud. “Joe’s.”

The woman walks out with a plastic bag in her hand. I can see something blue sticking out of it, and some cheap brown hair dye poking out of the top. She looks at me again. I frown, imagining what she’s thinking. Oh, look at that freak. I bet she snatches up kids in her free time. I mean, honestly, just look at those torn up shoes. That filthy beanie. What a failure. I’m sure her mother worries every day. Crack head. She blinks slowly, and crosses the street towards me. I turn around and walk. I can’t deal with the judgment anymore. She can stab somebody else with those cruel eyes.

Chapter 2

Lonely

            I walk. Alone. Smoking a cigarette. Nobody cares. Nobody ever will. My head throbs and my feet ache. I want to disappear. Just slip through a crack in the ground, and sink into the depths of the earth like a mole. Live in the dark. Eat worms. Yum.

            A man walks past me, talking on his phone, almost shouting. His thick eyebrows are furrowed into what looks like a big, black caterpillar. He slicks his hair back tiredly, and lets out a sigh. He’s stopped walking now.

“Marie.” He sounds like he’s pleading. “Please. Think of the kids.” There’s a few seconds pause. “Well, screw you too, Marie.” He slams his phone shut and I watch as tears fall down his cheeks.

When he glances over at me, I look at the frosted ground and pretend to kick a rock that isn’t there.

            “You ever been left by somebody?” he asks.

            I look up, meeting his bloodshot, brown eyes. “I’ve never been with somebody.”

            A faint smile crosses his lips, but disappeares. “Maybe that’s the way to go. No pain.” He nods his head as he says this. Like he really believes it.

            “I guess.” I say, and shrug. But on the inside, I’m twisting and screaming. Because this man, this man with his Blackberry and slicked back hair who has everything…just told me I’m better off.

            Me.

            The homeless girl you see on the corner of Broadway and Eighteenth, smoking a ciggy and holding a vodka bottle. Yeah, I’m better off.

            And then the man asks me if I want a five. And I tell him no. Because I don’t want his money.

Chapter 3

The Ballerina

            She dances, her arms like the wings of a swan. Her eyes flicker, sadness, loss, love. She is beauty. She is grace. Her hands fly up, caressing the air with her soft fingertips.

            Her body is slim. Fit. A black leotard grasps her pale white skin. Her point shoes are the color of a pearl. Worn. She leaps in the air, her neck flying back, letting the thick bun plastered to her head hit her back.

            I watch, through the dance studio’s frosted windows.

            She stops, and rests on of the bars, her head down. Disappointment drips with each bead of sweat. Her head shakes. A teacher, older, walks out and says something to her. And she begins again.

            My eyes follow the girl. She is a thing of beauty.

            I crave that beauty. I yearn for the ability to bring tears to somebody’s eyes without speaking a word. I want to be special.

            But I’m not. I’m not even normal. I’m scum. Disgusting garbage.

           

            And that’s what hurts the most.

Chapter 4

The Music Man

            I walk through a park. I need to get away. Some trees here are still green. They’re still alive. Nobody wants to be out in the cold. I’m all alone. I take out a ciggy and light it, watching the flames consume the tobacco. I look up, and watch a sparrow fly. It beats it wings against the thin air, trusting it to hold it up. So naïve. So trusting.

            I look back down at the ground, paved with stone. It’s freezing. The sun hides behind layers of clouds and fog. I’m shivering.

            I decide the grass will be warmer than cold concrete and stones. I step onto the short grass and look around. Nobody is here. Just me and the trees. Exactly how I like it. I walk through, brushing my fingers against the harsh bark of the oak.

I wrap my arms around my chest, and slide down a tree. I take a puff of my ciggy. I’m so peaceful. And then I hear music. It’s coming from above me. I look up, and see a boy, sitting in a tree. His fingers strum his wooden acoustic. His eyes are closed. His head back. All I can see is his neck. Black stubble covering his jaw.

I let him play. It’s beautiful. I don’t listen to music. I have no radio or iPod, but this…this is stunning. I watch him play. His fingers move rhythmically against the strings, like magic. After he’s done, he opens his eyes.

Turquoise. The purest blue I’ve ever seen. I want to drown in them. He sighs and looks down. At me.

I blush and look away.

“Were you listening?” he asks. His voice is deep, raspy, but gentle. Not too harsh.

“Sorry. It was just really pretty.” I say quietly. My face burns with shame. I should have just kept walking.

The boy smiles, his teeth pearls. “Thanks.”

I look at him closely. Why is he talking to me? Why is this handsome boy talking to a trashy, homeless girl?

“Well, nice talking to you. Bye.” I say hurriedly. I stand up, and step on my ciggy, charring the grass.

“No! Hey hold up!” he yells, I can hear him sliding down the tree. I walk faster. “Girl!” Hold up! He says even louder.

I turn around. “My name is Nia. Not girl.” And I run out of the park

Chapter 5

Nights

            Nights kill me. Remind me. Every one is a struggle. A walk through the cold air and slippery sidewalks.

I take a swig of vodka. It rips open my throat with its fiery whip. I shudder.

The streets are empty. Eleven O’ clock. All the families are tucked up in bed. Children fast asleep. Mother reads her Home & Garden Magazine, adjusting her reading glasses while father reads a new crime drama. Me? I wander the streets. Drunk. Looking for a place to pass out. My feet drag. My mind slows. My words slur.  I take another gulp of vodka. Cringe.

A prostitute leans against a brick apartment building. Her fishnets are ripped. Her hair is knotted and black. Eyeliner is caked across her eyelids.

I stare at her and smile. “Nice…boots.” I say my words barely understandable.

She raises and eyebrow. Her face illuminated by the dim streetlights. “Thanks.”

“You know…you’re eyelashes are really…long.” I let out a giggle, and then a burp.

The girl takes out a joint, and lights it. She looks up at me. “Want some?”

I feel queasy.

“Hey, you okay?” She looks concerned.

Oh, crap.

“Maybe you should sit down.”

I vomit.

“Oh, shit!” She shrieks, leaping back.

I fall to the hard concrete, landing in my own throw up. Liquidly and yellow. The whore grabs my arm and yanks me up. I sit on my knees, her hand tightly clenching my arm.

“Girl, you need to get a grip.”

I laugh cruelly. “Says the hooker.” I snort.

The girl’s hazel eyes darken. “I do this for my kids.”

“Sorry.” I giggle. My vision is blurred. The streetlights look like a glowing ball of fire.

A car pulls up and the girl drops my arm. I collapse. She leans against the rolled down window. “Hey, cutie.” She says seductively.

The man whispers something back; his tone is dark and hushed. She looks back at me. “She’s fine.”  Another murmur. “Two bucks.” And she hops in the car.

I lay.

Drunk.

Covered in throw up.

Sobbing.

                                                           

                                                                        Chapter 6

                                                                         Dreams

            I’m running.

            I’m running and stumbling.

            The ground is wet and the water is seeping through my ripped shoes.

            With every step a piece of clothing falls. The world is turning. I reach a bridge. I’m naked. Water runs below me. Its mist sprays onto my body, covering me. I’m shivering, convulsing. I take another step and the bridge moans, and a piece of wood falls into the lake. Then another, and another.

            “No!” I scream. The bridge crumbles. And I fall into the water. It’s cold. So cold.

I can’t think. Can’t breath. I begin to loose myself. I’m drifting. Before I go, I look down. And I see eyes. Bright blue eyes

Chapter 7

                                                             The Café

            The café is on the corner of two streets. It’s small, with fading white paint and a neon sign that says, “Worlds Best Cup O’ Joe” in flashing red. I have two dollars in my pocket that I found on the side of the street. I walk through the snow and hail.

There are no cars today. Everybody is decorating for Christmas in their warm houses. I can remember when mom and dad used to hoist me up to put the star on the Christmas tree. I was so happy. So proud when it was placed up there. I used to be happy. I used to be proud.

            A woman comes the through the door of the shop, carrying two cups of coffee. They’re spilled on her red turtleneck. Her hair is a mess, tied up in a bun that’s nearly just a ponytail. She looks at her watch, and slams into me.

            “Sorry! Oh, God. Sorry!” But she never stops. That’s the thing with people. They’re sorry, but they never stop. Never check to see if you’re okay. I watch as she pulls out her cell and dials a number, before stepping into her car.

            “Welcome to Cup O’ Joe Café. First one is on us.” A girl, with a long blonde ponytail and purple apron says. She dries off white mugs with a dirty dishtowel. Doesn’t even look up at me.

            There’s only one boy in the shop. He has green eyes and sandy blonde hair. He sips an espresso and types rapidly into his laptop. I think about how I never learned to use a computer. He looks up at me and then blushes, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He’s afraid to make room for me amongst his laptop and schoolbooks.

            I want to cry. Want to shake him and tell him I’m a human, not a monster. I want to break his laptop and burn his books. I want to be able to read and type as he does, but I can’t. So why should he get to?

            He doesn’t move his things. So I bring up a small stool to a table with no chairs. I play with Splenda packets, stacking them on top of each other. 

            “What can I get you today?” the girl with the ponytail asks. She holds a notepad in one hand, a black pen in the other.

            “Just some hot tea, please.” I say quietly.

            “Green, Sleepy Time, Chamomile?” Her eyebrow rises, like it’s stupid of me.

            “Oh just um…Green.” I place the Splenda packets back the way I found them.

            “You got it.” She says, and turns on her heel to the counter.

            I hear the door open, and the little bell ring. I hear footsteps, the girl pouring my tea. And then I hear something different.

“Hey, Court. Usual.” I turn around, fast as lightning. And standing there is Mr. Blue Eyes. 

                                                            Chapter 8

                                                            Green Tea

                His voice consumes me. I can feel it, wrapping me up in it’s warmth. I close my eyes and clench a Splenda packet. I feel a tap on my shoulder. I jump a little.

            “Excuse me, Miss.” He says, “Mind if I pull up a chair?”

            I stare at him. “No! That’s fine. Yeah, plenty of room.” I feel jumpy.

            “Alright.” He quietly pulls up and chair and sets his book bag on the table. A laptop and a pencil topple out. He pulls out his laptop and opens it.

            “Do you happen to know how to spell aqueous?” he says, looking up at me.

            I feel my blood freeze. “Oh, no. Sorry.”

            He chuckles and says, “Oh, no problem. I guess that’s what Google is for, right?”

            “Right.” I say, and force a laugh.

            Everything feels tight. I’m forcing myself to breathe.

            The girl sets my tea in front of me and gives him a coffee. He sips it gratefully and looks at me. “Green?”

            “Mhm.” I sip the hot tea down. I want to throw up. I think back to last night and shudder. Never mind.

            “The Chinese used to use green tea for healing.” He flips the page of his book.

            “That’s crap.” I say, and smile. It feels un-natural.

            “Honest!” he exclaims,  and types something into his laptop.

            I stare at him. He’s so much more real than in the park. I doubt he knows it was me. I stare at his shirt. I can’t read what it says, but I know it’s something clever, because a girl walks past it and laughs. He takes a swig of coffee and looks at me.

            “Do you go to school near here?”

            “Oh. No.” I clench the Splenda again.

            “Oh, college not your thing?”

            “Not really.” I stand up, feeling like I’m choking.

            “Going?”

            I grab my tea, in the mug, and run out, feeling the hot tea scorch my feet. Cold tears line the pavement.

                        Stupid. I’m stupid.

Chapter 8

Home

                        I’m looking at it. Home. No, not home, house. Home is where the heart is. My heart is not in the brick apartment. My heart is in my pocket. Waiting. Waiting to be given. Thrown at some poor soul. Blue Eyes.

            The windows are alive with lights. I can see a Christmas tree. I take a puff of my ciggy. I feel calm. The sort of calm that comes before a storm. Scary.

             A young girl plays in the house. I raise an eyebrow. Not mom’s.  I was the only girl.  Did she move?

            “No…” I whisper. “No way in hell.”

            The girl twirls around, before disappearing. I want to see her again. See if we look alike. I see a man. Big. He wears a shirt with some sort of print on it. It’s too far to see what it is. I see the girl leap up into his arms and yell something. Her hair is blonde, like mine. As I stare, my lip begins to curl. I hear a door slam, and then I see my mother, walking out of the apartment. Her hair is the same. She carries a large tote and her hair is pulled up in a French braid. She looks at me, but doesn’t make eye contact. Just looks at my ciggy and shakes her head. “That’ll kill you.” She mutters as she walks past me.

            I flinch, and throw the ciggy at her doorstep.

Chapter 9

My Knight

            I find it in the gutter. A book. I can’t read the title. The cover is of a girl. She looks down at her feet, standing in the rain. Her long hair drips water. Next to her, is a boy. His arms outstretched.

            Let him hold you. I think. I wish I could read the title. I want to know what it’s called. I sit on the curb, and flip through the tattered, wet pages. The words are there, but they don’t make sense. A foreign language. I’m so frustrated. Like a paralyzed child trying to walk. I notice only the letters in my name. N. I. A. I see A and I a lot. Not many N’s.

            “Eee.” I say, when I see the I. “Ah,” at the A.

            There’s a lot of writing on the pages. Many are torn or ripped out completely. I wonder who owned the book. I wonder why it was lying in the gutter.

            I lightly touch the cover and whisper, “Its okay. I’m abandoned too.” The book looks at me. “I know how it feels.” No response. “Yeah.” I say, and slip the book into a worn grocery bag. It sits next to some leftover dough I found in a can and a half empty water bottle.

            I walk down the street, stepping on every crack. I chew on some dough, it tastes like yeast and childhood. I flinch as it runs down my chin.  I stare at my ripped shoes as they smack against the ground. And then, suddenly, I’m on the floor. It feels like I smacked into a rock.

            “Idiot! Watch where you’re going!” I hear. My eyes focus, and a huge man is standing over me, carrying a soda. Three men stand behind him.

            “I-I’m so sorry.” I stammer, lifting myself up. “I-I didn’t mean to…”

            “Hey look boys! It’s a homeless girl.” One says. He wears a sick smirk.

            “Yummy. Hey, Sweetie, what’s your name?” another asks.

            The one in front pulls me up and grabs my arm. He’s squeezing it so tight. I gasp, and begin to kick him. I’m so weak.

“Stop!” I yell. “Stop!” My arm goes numb. My voice cracks. All thoughts are lost. Instinct consumes me. I throw a desperate punch. He dodges it, and get’s closer to me. I can feel the bulge in his pants.

            “Shut her up, Jay.” One says, and pulls a bandana off his head.

            “Creeps! Get off me!” I scream. He holds both my arms. My feet are barely touching the ground.  I can’t look him in the eyes. I feel like I’m being surrounded by hot air. I cry out, and kick his shin.

            “That’s it, bitch.” He says, and throws me on the ground. “You asked for it.”

            “No!” I shout. “No! Please!”

            Nothing is right.

            Pants gone.

                        Shirt gone.

                                    I sob.

                                                Darkness. Dim street lights.

                                                            His friends touch me, caress me.

            “Hey!” I hear. “Hey! What’s going on?”

                                    It’s Him.

            “Nothin, Man. Keep movin.” One says.

            I feel numb. I feel sick. I sob. I bleed.

            I open my eyes. The man is crouched over me. His other two friends stand in front of Blue Eyes. They’re like defensive lions. Sick and hungry.

            I see Blue Eyes look at me. “Oh my, God. Did you rape her?” No. I think. No. I’m fine. I can get up and go get a ciggy. I’m okay.

            “What’s it to you?” A lion sneers.

            “I’d appreciate it if you move out my way, so I can get her to a hospital.” He said bluntly, beginning to push past them. A lion shoves him. He barely stumbles, just pushes him to the side. The crouched creep above me moves away. The lions stare at each other.

            “Go.” Blue Eyes says. And they all slink away.

            I close my eyes and begin to cry again. He pulls my head to his chest and whispers, “Nia, its okay. Sh.”

            He remembered. My name. He remembered.

            And as he holds me, I feel myself melt into him.

Chapter 10

Tubes

            They poke. They prod. Needles. Plastic. Tubes.

            The hospital smells like bleach and bread. Nurses come in. Wake me up. I feel jumpy. I want some beer.

            The tubes are everywhere. I feel like a chemistry set. Stiff. Reactive. Full of tubes.

            He’s not here. The nurse said he left last night. She says he told her that he’ll be back to check on me and pay the bill. I just want to shower. I feel violated. Dirty. They take swabs. I tell them he never entered me. They don’t care. I cry when they do the rape kit. It didn’t happen.

            He comes back. I’m staring out the window at the streets and cars.

            “Hey.” He says softly.

            I turn to face him. His eyes. I want to drown in them.

            When I say nothing, he pulls a chair next to my bed. He doesn’t know what to say.

            I do, “I don’t want your sympathy.”

            He blinks. “Okay.”

            I stare at him. His square jaw. His black stubble that ends right below his cheek bones. His olive skin and curly black hair.

            “Okay.”

            He smiles for a brief second, before looking at my arms. Bruised and stitched, “Does it hurt?”

            “I don’t know you.” I say. But I dream of you.

            “I want to know you.” He says.

            “No, you don’t.” I don’t smile. I turn my head to look back out the window.

              I feel his hand on my thigh. I suck in a breath. “I do. I really do.”

            “Why?” I see a woman walking her dog. She steps in a puddle and groans.

            “I guess,” He says, “I find you…interesting.”

            “Go.” I snap.

            “Make me.”

            I sigh, and stare at the woman some more. Her dog yaps as she wipes off her snakeskin boots.

            I hear heels clicking across the floor. A nurse. “How are you feeling?” she asks, fiddling with a needle. She flicks it gently, and observes the liquid inside.

            “I’m fine. I just want go…” Home? “I just want to leave.”

            She looks at Blue Eyes. But he doesn’t look back at her. He’s staring at the bruises above my nose.  Purple sunsets. Blue horizons.

            “One more day, sweetie.” She tries to sound cheerful. She takes the IV from my arm and squirts to medicine into it, before stabbing it back into the thin skin of my arm. I feel dizzy. “Doctor says it’ll help get some nutrients in you.” I can feel my arm pulsating. My vein feels ready to pop.

            “Ow.” I whisper, and lean my head back on the pillow.

            When she leaves, he says, “Jake.”

            “Huh?”

            “Jake. I never told you my name. It’s Jake.” And he looks intently into my eyes.

            “Oh.” I grunt, and scratch my arm. Everything feels itchy.

            Silence.

            “Well, you should rest.” He says, and pulls the blue sheet over me. “You look like you could use it.” He smiles and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “I’ll see you in the morning. To uh, check and make sure you haven’t escaped.” He winks, and squeezes my hand. “By, Nia.”

            “Bye.” I whisper.

            When I roll over, I shut my eyes and pray that he never goes away.

Chapter 11

Morning

            When I wake up, Jake is sitting next to me. He’s reading a book. The same one as in the café. His writing is all over it. A beautiful cursive. Like my grandmother’s.

            “Morning.” I say. My voice is hoarse and quiet.

            He looks up from his book, and smiles. “How are you feeling?”

            I look at my bruised arms. They’re beginning to fade to a yellow. “Better. I just want a shower.”

            Jake slips a bookmark between the pages he’s on and delicately shuts the book.

            “What are you reading?” I ask.

            He looks at the cover of his book lovingly, “Dante’s Inferno.” He takes a deep breath, and pats the cover. Like a father congratulating his son.

            “What’s it about?” I prop myself up on my elbow, and look at him. With each of his breaths I melt.

            “A man’s descent through Hell.” He says. His head is titled. “It’s amazing. Absolutely incredible.”

            I envy him then. More than I have ever envied before. I want to read. I want be able to say, ‘I’ve read it too.’ And then he’d kiss me. But I can’t. Because I’m stupid scum. A retard. Just like my father.

            A nurse shuffles in with a tray of food. Some Jell-o. Orange. It’s the only thing I’ll eat. All the other choices taste like shit.

            “Here you go, Love.” She says. Southern. Her accent drips with every word.

            “Thanks.” I say. Pause.

            I said thank you.           

            The nurse leaves, and Jake reads. And I can’t stop staring at him.

            “Nia?” he says after a while.

            “What.”

            “You don’t have any place to go after this, do you.” He’s not asking.

            I don’t know what to say.

            “Yeah.” He sighs, and closes his book. “Listen, I…I referred you to a homeless shelter.”

            I sit up abruptly. “What?”

            “It’s a place where you can be safe.”

            “I can handle myself!” I yell, “I don’t need you to take care of me!”

            He stays sitting, calm. “Yes, you do.”

“Fuck you!” I bellow, and get out of the hospital bed, ripping out the IV’s. “Where’s my bag? I need my bag!”

He stands, and grabs my shoulders. “They threw it out. Listen, just calm down.”

I pull on my jeans and hoodie. “No! You don’t ever tell me what to do! Leave me alone!” My hands are shaking. Words spill out. I don’t like him touching me.

“Nia! Calm down!” He grabs me roughly. I scream and run out. I leave my shoes behind.

I can hear him calling nurses, patients. Anybody for help. But I run.

Chapter 12

Hell

            I am living in Hell. I see fire. I feel hot. I drink. I puke. That’s all I do. I shoplift pink hair dye for the fun of it and dye my tips pink. I giggle. All is a blur.

            “2 dollars for a fuck?” I cry out, to children. I follow the little girl I saw in the window home from school every day. I can’t stop the hurting. Some nights, I go to the whore. We talk a lot. Her name is Shelly and she’s twenty-two.

            I can’t make him go away.

            I scream it. “Get out of my head!” But all I see is blue. I dream I am drowning, and wake up gasping for air. I throw a bottle at a store front.

            “Screw the government!” I laugh, and pass out in the road. I wake up next to Shelley. Shelley takes care of me.

            I always feel shaky. Like every man is out to get me. I throw up a lot. I wish I could see him, but I’m too ashamed.

            One night, I see him in the coffee shop. He’s helping the girl clean up. I throw another bottle and break a window. I’m running away. I look back, laughing, and he’s looking at me. He picks up the broken glass.

            Another day, I’m following my sister home. My mother picks her up on a bike and takes her to ice cream. Mom never took my to icecream. I egg her car and kick in the windows.

            “Don’t mess this one up.” I write on a note, and stick it one the steering wheel.

            I laugh and run away.

            I am living in Hell. I see fire. I feel hot. 
 

Chapter 13

Grace

            I’m following my sister home one day when she turns around. She bats her eyelashes and frowns.

            “Why do you follow me home every day?” she says. I’m hiding in a bush. “Don’t try to hide. I smell your alcohol and cigarettes.”

            I rise from behind the bush and let out a puff of smoke. She keeps staring. Her friends have moved past by now.

            “What’s your name?” she asks.

            “Nia.” I throw the ciggy on the ground and slip my hands in my pockets.

            “My name is Grace.” She nods to herself and takes out an umbrella from her backpack. She opens it just as rain falls from the sky and she smiles.

            “Would you like a carrot, Nia?” she asks. She grins and walks over to me.

            “You shouldn’t be talking to strangers.” I say, looking down at her.

            “But you look like me. So we’re not strangers. I hope I look like you one day when I’m big. You’re pretty.” She scans me, “Except for the mud on your clothes and face. Why do you have that?” she takes two carrots out of her lunch pail and hands me one. I chomp down on it gratefully.

            “Did you know somebody threw eggs at my mommy’s car?”

            She sits down, I follow. “Oh.”

            “I think it was the bad guy that lives next door.” She looks around and whispers, “I’m pretty sure he’s the Joker.” She grins a toothy smile and chomps down on the carrot.

            “Joker?”

“Duh. Batman’s arch enemy. You don’t know a lot. Why is smoke coming from your nose?”

            I inhale deeply. “Because I’m a dragon. Duh.”

Her eyes scan me and she raises an eyebrow. “You look a lot like me. I think we’re twins.”

            I chuckle at this, “Well, I’m a lot older than you.” I like my sister. She’s much smarter than I was. I stare at her backpack. It has a picture of a ballerina twirling. I think back to the one I saw in the studio that day. It’s distant, like somebody turned it into a sepia photo.

“I should be going.” She says, and finishes up her carrot. “Pleasure meeting you, Nia. If your coming again next Monday, I’ll bring an extra carrot.”

I smile and wave as she skips off.

When she finally goes, I feel heavy again.

Chapter 14

Store

                I feel dirty. I think about it and realize I haven’t showered in weeks. I run a hand through my hair and I feel the oil. I think back when to Mom used to scrub me with steel wool in the tub. A lit cigarette in her mouth, she’d be half drunk and my skin would bleed.

                “Mama! Stop!”

                “Shut up, Nia. Life hurts.” And she’d scrub harder.

                I shiver as the breeze smacks me with its piercing ice. I look across the street at a small drug store. I cross the road and walk in.

                A bell rings and I can already feel the warmth.

                “Welcome to Harry’s. Can I-” the question ends.

                I look up, recognizing the voice. I immediately look down. “Oh.”

                “Nia. Oh my God, Nia!” It’s him. My heart pounds.

                “Soap. I want soap.”

I feel him grab my arm and I feel my knees shake. “Nia. How long…when was the last time you showered? When was the last time you ate?”

“Well it was…was…” I feel woozy. I can’t remember. All I can remember are bottles and one night where I went swimming in a lake.

“You look awful.” He scans me.

“Yeah.”

He runs a hand along my jaw and blinks a couple of times. I can smell myself now. I’m a freak. But I can also feel his hands. The warmth of his blue eyes. No. No, please not this again. He drops his hand and sighs.

“Nia…”

I shove him away. Not hard. Gently. “I just want soap.” I snap, tears welling in my eyes. I can feel the steel wool. Scraping. Burning.

I don’t want this. I can’t remember the last time I thought about him. I’ve been soaked in vodka. I can see Shelly. Her faded red hair. Her piercing green eyes. I can see us laughing and holding hands. She lets me sleep in her apartment one night. It smells like piss and blood. I shake my head.

“Nia, oh my God.” He whispers. “Your crying. Why? Please, don’t.”

I look away as he clutches me to his chest. I will not smell that. I refuse to smell the pine…the tea and smell of cozy. I try to pull away. He won’t let go.

“I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Now where the hell is the soap?”

“Isle 5.” He says bitterly.

I storm off, and grab the soap. I’m about to walk out the door when he grabs my wrist.

“Your stealing.”

“Yeah?” I try to keep walking. My heart pounds. His eyes are dark.

“Mhm, you do that well.”

“What?”

“Steal.” He grabs me tighter.

“This is one thing.”

“That and my heart.” He snaps and then lets go of me. I gasp and stumble out the door.