"Sir, can you help me?
It's cold and I've nowhere to sleep.
Is there somewhere you can tell me?"

The first frost of the season had swept across the park, adding a chill to the air so bitter cold, it seeped through jackets, snaked between the fibers of thick sweaters and attached itself to the layers of skin beneath them.  A line of evenly cut and manicured shrubs glistened in the moonlight. Trees were frozen in place, held in the grips of a deep freeze. Grass crunched beneath the feet of patrons in wool socks and heavy boots, scurrying along the paths towards warm, comfortable apartments and houses and condos. Towards home. 

None of them noticed the man on the green steel bench at the edge of the park, whose jacket was too thin for the weather and backpack too small for his needs. No one took notice of his feet in ragged black Converse sneakers which could not begin to protect his toes from frostbite. Under a hoodie—his only protection from the wind—his long hair curled up in a pile on top of his head.  

Shivering and doubled over, he rode the bench like his life depended on it but could have been invisible. Common sense would tell anyone get out of the bitter cold and he would have, if he had a place to go. In no time at all, a self important security guard would wander by, wielding a flashlight, its arc of light swooping from side to side until its beam settled on him. The guards, eager to exert what little power and authority they were given, were most savage after nightfall.

“Need to move along,” a guard would say, not a drip of compassion in his tone. “Can’t sleep here. You guys know that.” The man would plead to stay, just for a little while, but the guard would grip the nightstick at his side and stare at him with stone cold, unfeeling eyes.  “No loitering, I said. Move along.”

To avoid getting a nightstick in the ribs or a kick in the gut, he would have to get up, walk into the wind and wander away, but to where? Somewhere. Anywhere. Nowhere.

There were shelters, but by this time of night, and on a night as cold as this one, they were full. It didn’t really matter, though. JC tried not to stay at shelters. They were a good place for getting yourself robbed or beat up. He was safer on the streets. That was a quickly learned lesson, taught the hard way.

He coughed into the frigid air, his breath catching on the sharp edges of cold. He nearly choked and coughed again, this time a loud, wet cough.

Shit. The last thing I need to worry about right now is getting sick. I need to get out of this wind before I —

 “Nasty cough you got there.”

The voice was gritty but feminine, the sound igniting a long forgotten part of him. Sparks shot up his spine as he twisted around, looking for the source, the body that belonged to the voice. She stood behind the bench a few feet, leaning against the trunk of a tree. Her face was obscured by low hanging branches, heavy because of the ice encrusted limbs. He could make out two legs wrapped in tight denim and feet in worn, ratty gym shoes. And a coat. He was immediately jealous of her thick, wool coat.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Am I disturbing you?”

She took her time answering. A bit of fiery red glowed in the dark. A light suck, a sizzle, a plume of smoke. “Nope,” she said finally, taking another puff of her cigarette. “Just remarking on it. You take anything for it?”

Unbelievable. He shook his head. “Do I sound like I took anything for it?”

“Hey, just asking. Being polite or whatever. I’ve been standing here for 5 minutes. Didn’t want you to jump out of your skin if I made a noise.”

He turned back around, dug his hands further into his pockets and hunched over, trying to block out some of the cold.

“I’ve got some stuff. Cough medicine, I mean. I don’t live far from here. I could bring it back, if you want.”

He’d been curious at first. Now he just wanted her to go away. “Whatever,” he mumbled into the collar of his jacket. Unfortunately, since he wanted her to leave, her voice seemed to be closer than before. He heard her steps, crunching across the few feet of grass between them. And now her feet stepped into his view as she stood in front of him.

“Hey. “ She tapped him on the shoulder. “Dude. You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just fuckin’ freezing.”

“You must be new. Out here, I mean.”

He rolled his eyes up toward her. “What makes you say that?”

“Veterans have thicker coats for this kind of weather. And more layers. You probably have all of your clothes in your bag. How are they keeping you warm in there? And you’re too clean.”

A brisk wind blew between them. The fierce chill took his breath away. He blinked through the gust, choking back the tears. God, it was cold. He shivered, his teeth chattering.

“I’ve been out here about a year, if you have to know. Little longer, maybe. Friends bring me clothes, sometimes. Money. I buy soap and razors. I have to be clean to get work.”

She shrugged. “Still new, compared to some.” Despite no invitation to do so, she sat on the bench next to him, and offered him the stub of her cigarette. “Want a puff?”

He shook his head. What does this chick want from me? “Not much for nicotine.”

“Ha. Just heroin?” He cut his eyes at her and looked away. “Sorry. You drink?”

He didn’t answer. She dug into her pocket anyway and pulled out a mini bottle of vodka and offered to him. He didn’t take it. She tapped his arm with it. He didn’t move, other than to shiver and rock forward and back, forward and back. She set it on the bench next to him.

“The vodka might warm you up a little. If you overcome your shyness, come find me. 621 State Street. Not far from here. I might have a coat, but you’ll have to come and get it.”

JC listened to her steps until the sounds disappeared. He glanced to his side at the few ounces of vodka next to him and he debated whether or not to drink it. And then debated again.

Some vices were easy to get rid of. Some weren’t. The alcohol wasn’t easy. When he got money, that’s what he used to spend it on. Maybe a little bit of food, but a good swallow would take the hunger pangs away. More swallows made every care in the world disappear.  He saw evidence of this all up and down the sidewalk; old men who had long since given up, who stayed drunk and spent their days hurling nonsense at passersby. He couldn’t risk it. He didn’t want to be out here forever.

Another sound interrupted his thoughts, piercing the night. A whistle-- security was coming. His breath hung in the air as he huffed with effort to stand, to steady his legs, to wiggle his frozen toes. He snatched up the bottle, shoved it into his pocket and started walking.

*****

He survived the night burrowed up against a dumpster so the wind would blow over him and not through him. He managed to curl up among the piles of garbage and dozed for a few hours until the sunlight was bright and warm enough to wake him.

JC stretched his legs, almost crying out in pain. His limbs were stiff from clenching in a perpetual shiver. By force of habit, he dug into his pockets. He was surprised when his fingers closed around the bottle. He pulled it out, stared at it, and almost broke a smile. The seal was still intact.

If anyone cared enough to spend an entire day with a homeless person, they’d find it to be a pretty lifeless, listless, pointless experience. It was nothing more than day after day after day of moving around. In a large, urban city, he had his pick of homeless shelters and halfway houses. A decent breakfast could be found any of them if he could get in line early enough. After, he stood at the corner with other men looking for work, hoping to pick up an odd job here or there. Those gigs were good if you could get them. An honest day’s work, a hot lunch, and cash in your pocket. JC hadn’t been lucky enough to land many of them, but he always showed up to stand in line.

If there was no work, there was more wandering to do. If nothing, it kept him sane. Kept his wits about him. Kept him from contemplating theft—robbing a store or mugging someone. His yearning and longing for food and maybe just a swallow of alcohol teetered on a ragged, uneven edge. Some days… some days he had to fight himself to resist.

Today was a day there was no work, so there was wandering and loitering, avoiding park security and shop owners of course, until it was time for lunch. He had a few favorite places, especially one with a cutie who served a few days a week. She was serving today, he saw as he shuffled into her line.

He lingered for awhile to make sure there was a break between people, so he didn’t have to hurry through the line and he could speak to her. Ridiculous, since they only ever said a few words to each other. He always flashed a shy smile and his secret weapon—his bright blue eyes—and she always blushed when she said hello. Sometimes she spooned a little extra into his bowl if she could get away with it. She got away with it pretty often.

“What’s up,” he said with a brisk nod.

“Pretty cold out. Hot chicken noodle for you guys, today.”

She pulled a Styrofoam bowl off of the stack and filled it with two ladles of soup, then a smidge more broth. Not much, but it was the thought that mattered. Plus, the soup was hot and he was cold. She handed him an extra package of crackers and smiled. He accepted the bowl and nodded his thanks, plucked a spoon from the cardboard box of silverware and an already room temperature cup of water.

He chose a seat near a window and ate slowly. Sometimes he could imagine himself in his old life, at a café, having a bowl of soup and reading a book. Checking out the sports page. Most of the time, though, he just stared out of the window and tuned out the din of a hundred other men down on their luck, who’d had to work hard to humble themselves into accepting a free meal.

After lunch, there was more walking and talking with people he knew or just happened to meet. He kept to himself mostly, but there were many, many familiar faces. Dinner was random, at the closest shelter or church that happened to be serving a free meal. He would sit and eat slowly, not because he was savoring every bite but because after dinner he’d be back out again in search of a place to pass the hours until breakfast. It was easier if it was warm, but from what he’d heard, tonight was going to be even colder than last night.

He was already shivering.

Every day was Groundhog’s Day, pretty much the same. The only way he was able to keep track of the days was to look at the newspapers in the machine or at the newsstands. Monday through Saturday, he got up, found a men’s room and tried to clean up, some. Gas stations were the best for that.

A single sink and toilet and a door with a lock gave him enough privacy to strip down, soap up a rough paper towel and scrub. He’d soap up his face and shave, and use a travel tooth brush and toothpaste to brush his teeth. Lastly, he’d duck his head under the faucet and shampoo his hair with whatever sample or travel sized shampoo he’d come across. Pat dry with some paper towels and rake a comb through it. He needed a haircut pretty badly. Maybe the next time he got some work, he could spare eight dollars. 

He’d become ingenious over time, as anyone with limited resources and a quick mind would. He only had a few pairs of clothes, but switched them out every other day. He pulled off his socks and underwear, jeans and shirt and dumped them into the sink. Shampoo was not only good for hair, but for washing clothes. He sudsed and scrubbed then rinsed, wrung them out and put them back into a plastic bag. When he got to where he could sit for a few hours, he’d lay them out in the sun to dry. In cold weather, he went to a Laundromat. For fifty cents, he would have warm, dry clothes. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked.

Every few months, he ran into someone he knew. JC imagined they felt guilty for not helping him when he needed them the most. More than a year later, they fell over themselves to offer help, but JC was self sufficient, mostly.

About a month ago, he’d seen Ernie, a guy he used to call his best friend at one time, walking out of a Subway restaurant. JC had planned to just walk by, sure that Ernie wouldn’t recognize him in a tattered jacket, full beard and unruly mop of curls. Ernie just happened to turn back for some reason, and ran right into him.

“Oh, sor—” Recognition flashed in his eyes and his mouth sprouted a wide smile. In his excitement, Ernie grabbed JC by the arms and shook him. “Hey! Hey, man!”

 JC felt a desperate instinct to break and run. Instead, he lifted his head, his beard thick and overgrown and nodded. “Hey. What’s up?”

He finally released JC and stepped back, regaining his cool and calm demeanor. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, nonchalant. “On my way to my sister’s. She needs some help with a fence or something. Hey, what’s up with you? You doing alright? Looking kind of woolly—”

JC ducked and weaved to avoid Ernie giving his beard a tug. He was already embarrassed enough that his beard was speckled with gray hairs.  “Doing okay,” he said. “Hangin’ in there.”

Ernie nodded, his lips pressed together in a thin, tight line. JC hated this part of running into people. No one knew what to say after the pleasantries—the hello, how are you phase. JC didn’t want to ask about Ernie’s wife—she hated him. Ernie probably didn’t want to ask about anything that mattered, because he really didn’t want to know. What would start as a short pause would grow into a longer, more uncomfortable pause of silence while they stared at each other, each probably wondering the other’s life was like.

That whole scene made JC uncomfortable. He took a step back. Ernie perked, his brows shooting up in a burst of what seemed like fake enthusiasm.

“Well, so. Hey, are you hungry? Let me grab you a couple of sandwiches or something—“

“Actually, I’m okay for food. I usually hit a shelter if I need a meal. I don’t want to take what I don’t need, but I do need some cash. Even a couple of bucks would help.”

Ernie’s face clouded. “Cash?”

A long simmering cauldron bubbled over. “Yeah, cash,” he snapped. “Look, if I was a drunk, I’d be drunk and I’d ask for a bottle of something. If I was a crackhead, I’d be cracked out. A couple of bucks won’t get me anything good, anyway. I’m short on money and I need to look like I can work. I need to shave. I need a pair of socks. So, yeah… cash.”

Ernie wiped his face with his hands, smoothing down his own beard.

JC scoffed and turned to walk away. “You know what, man? Never mind. Just…” JC took another step back, but Ernie grabbed him by the arm.

“Hey. Come on. I didn’t mean it that way, man. I just have my debit card, no cash. That’s all I meant, but you wanna go for a ride? I’ll stop at an ATM. I’ll even pick up some things for you and drop you off somewhere safe. You want to do that?”

Humbled and embarrassed about his outburst, JC sat in Ernie’s car--an older model, cherry red Ford Festiva and rode along while they stopped at a drive-thru ATM. A few minutes later, Ernie swung into the parking lot of a CVS Pharmacy.

“You’re sure this is okay?”

“Yeah,” Ernie said, and clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re friends, right? The least I can do is help you out when I see you. So, let’s go get you what you need.”

Ernie got out of the car. JC walked behind him into the store.

The travel sized toiletries were JC’s preference. They were small, cheap and easy to drag around. If carefully rationed, a few bottles could last him a month. Ernie looked on while JC made his selections, stocking up on deodorant, shampoo, shaving cream, razors, shampoo and soap. Ernie disappeared and came back with a few pairs of men’s socks that were on sale and a child’s backpack. It was better than the plastic bag he’d been using.

At the checkout counter, they stuffed everything into the backpack, including the plastic bag. As they walked back to the car, Ernie opened his wallet and pulled out two twenty dollar bills.

“I wish you would let someone help you. Since you won’t, take this. Use it for food or whatever.” Ernie’s voice was low. His eyes held a glint of something—guilt, perhaps. At the moment, the reasoning behind Ernie’s kindness and generosity wasn’t a concern. JC was grateful, and he had enough to make it on his own. For awhile, at least.

“Thanks,” JC mumbled, and took the cash. He tucked it away, safe and sound. “I appreciate it a lot, I really do. I’ll just uh…” He looked around. Yeah, he knew where he was. “I’ll just take off from here. I know you’re late.”

“Well, hey man. You sure you don’t want to come to my sister’s? She’s cooking tonight. I’ll drive you back afterwards.”

JC’s eyes narrowed. And how would Ernie introduce him? As his old friend from two jobs ago, who happened to be homeless, and that’s why he had a three week old bush of hair on his face and smelled like Ponce Avenue? He shook his head slowly. Ernie’s eyes dropped to the ground as if he could read JC’s mind.   

“Thanks for this,” he said, slipping his arms into the straps of the backpack. “I really do appreciate it, but I don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated. I got myself into this mess. Thanks again.”

He turned on his heel and took off in the opposite direction. From behind him, he heard the car engine start, then whine as Ernie put it in reverse and drove away. JC breathed a quiet sigh of relief to be alone again.

Whether it was luck or serendipity, things like that happened to him often— the girl at the shelter who took pity on his long, thin face and slight frame and gave him extra soup; the friends that sometimes cased the streets looking for him and seemed to be taking care of him from afar; the girl at the tree, with the offer of cold medication and a coat and a bottle of vodka.

He shouldn’t have been, but he was thinking about her. She threw him off and it unnerved him. It was her voice. The way she knew so much about living on the street, but obviously had a place to go at night. Her unusual offerings and naïve generosity—she’d given a homeless man her address. Who did stuff like that, these days?

He shouldn’t have been thinking about her. He had other, bigger problems to occupy his mind and his time. Like where he was sleeping that night.

But he was. Thinking about her. Part of him thought she was an angel and he’d never see her again. Part of him hoped that wasn’t true or even if it was, maybe she could be assigned to him.

*****

He had managed to score a bed at a shelter for a few nights, which saved him from potentially freezing to death, but since the temperature had risen to a more humane level, JC was outside once again.

He had to be hyper vigilant, even when he was sleeping. Having to be half awake and aware all night meant he didn’t get much sleep, so he awoke tired, had a bland breakfast and then was back out on the street. He wandered through his day, listless and not caring about much of anything.

It was during these times that JC couldn’t help but let the old days roll through his mind. He remembered a time when he lived a life with purpose. He would get up in the morning and go to work, maybe stop by McDonald’s on the way.  He had a job and a set of assigned tasks to complete and a desk and a phone and a computer with internet at his fingertips. He had a boss and coworkers and it was assumed that he got paid every two weeks. There was a vending machine into which he happily spilled his quarters for chips and pretzels and soda. After work, there was always a happy hour or, during the really good days, he could catch dinner with a girlfriend. Go see a movie. Or go home. A warm home that wasn’t anything special but it had rooms. And a couch. And a TV.

He missed TV. He missed wings and beer. And football. Ah, he missed football.  

JC wandered the streets without a destination in mind, missing his old life and his old problems.  Those were good days. He just didn’t know they were good days when he was living them.

As the sun began its descent, the temperature dipped drastically. He began his usual quest for a place to watch the evening turn into night, and later to lay his head until night turned to dawn and dawn turned to morning.

JC settled against a wall outside of the Golden Lantern Theater. It had a marquee, the kind with lights that chased each around the outside of the sign, except the Golden Lantern was run-down and decrepit. It only showed dollar movies and seemed to be popular among teenagers who never really watched the movie, but sat in the back of the theater drinking and shooting up, sharing needles and generally being loud. When a bulb blew out, no one fixed it. Now the sign looked like an open mouth with missing teeth.

He had been sitting against the wall for hours, watching foot traffic pass one way and car traffic pass another. The air was cool and crisp, but tolerable. He shoved his hands into the pocket of his jacket and once again, the unopened bottle of vodka tempted him. He pulled it out, held it in the palm of his hand and stared at it.

“Works better if you open it and pour it down your throat.”

He didn’t have to look up to know it was her. She must not have been one for invitations, because she sat down next to him, scooting back against the brick wall and folding her legs Indian style up under her.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. You still got that bottle?”

“I guess I don’t drink.” He handed the bottle to her. She took it and slipped it into the pocket of her coat.  

“I stole it from the hotel I work at, anyway.”

JC laughed as his head turned quickly in her direction. It had been a long time since he’d actually laughed out loud. First she shows up out of the blue and then she makes him laugh. Angel, definitely.

“Stole it? You serious?”

“Yeah. I work at one of those high priced places downtown. The ones with the mini bar in the room. If you take a bottle, they charge you whether you drink it or not. So, if a guest leaves a bottle behind, I take it.” She shrugged.

“It’s not really stealing, then. More scavenging. I thought you meant you like…broke into a room and took it.”

“We’re supposed to turn them in, but whatever. I guess it’s not stealing, then. Whew,” she said, sarcastically brushing a hand across her brow. “I feel better. So I went back to the park to give you that coat but you were already gone.  Security run you off?”

He nodded.

“Damn. But you made it without me, I guess. No cough?”

He shook his head, smiling. “No cough. Must have just been the cold.”

“I half expected you to show up at my door, especially for the coat. Anyone else would have.”

JC stared ahead, chewing on his bottom lip. “I guess I’m not anyone else,” he said.

“Guess not,” she said. “So what’s your name?”

“JC.”

She giggled. He liked the sound. It was like a babbling brook, all high pitched and breathy. “Like as in Jesus Christ?”

“Like as in Joshua,” he said, his voice more stern than he intended. It softened a moment later when he said, “That joke isn’t funny. I’ve heard it all my life.”

“Touchy.” She drew her knees up toward her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs. “Alright then, not-Jesus Christ. What’s your story?”

He looked at her, noting her dark, disheveled hair pulled back into a ponytail and brown eyes and small nose. She was plain, but not unattractive. He hadn’t made much time for girls, out here. He didn’t have any money to spend on them. None of them seemed willing to spend any money on him, either. He wasn’t sure what was different about this girl, but he thought he might make some time for her.

“My story?”

“Yeah. How’s a guy like you, who looks pretty damn normal, end up sitting up against the Golden Lantern looking all lost and cold and shit?”

“I guess all kinds of people end up out here.”

“That’s what I’m saying, basically. How did you?”

“Long story. Don’t feel like telling it. Especially to a stranger.”  He unfolded his legs, stretching them out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. He was proud of his clean, almost white socks as they peeked out from the tattered hem of his jeans. “You go first.”

“Me? What do you want to know?”

“Same thing you asked me. Your name. What’s your story?”

She sighed and dug into her pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She shoved a cigarette between her lips and flicked the lighter until a flame licked the other end. She put the lighter and the cigarette away and blew a plume of acrid smoke into the air above them. 

“Sorry, did you want a smoke?”

He shook his head. “That stuff will kill you, you know.”

Smoke poured from her nose and mouth as she laughed. “You’re funny, not-Jesus Christ. You live anywhere, everywhere, nowhere, but you don’t smoke because cigarettes will kill you. You eat every meal at a shelter, you’ll sleep on a bench in the park when it’s almost zero degrees out, but you don’t drink or shoot up. Your socks are clean and so is your face.”

She grabbed one of his hands and peered at them before sucking in another puff of the cigarette. “And so are your hands, for the most part. You almost backed away from me when I said I stole that bottle of booze. You really think you belong out here?”

“You’re not the judge of who belongs out here. And how do you know all that? About me, I mean.”

She glared at him for a few seconds before her eyes dropped to the crumbling pavement. She looked as if she hadn’t meant to reveal that much detail. “How do you think?” she said, her attitude returning. “Been watching you.”

“Why?”

“Because you, not-Jesus Christ—“

“JC.”

“Fine. You, JC, intrigue me.”

“But… I mean… do you follow me around?” The thought of that was frightening. And embarrassing. He could only imagine the kinds of things he did when he thought no one was looking.

The girl flicked a column of ash from the end of her half smoked cigarette. “Used to,” she admitted. “And I have friends, like the girl you flirt with to get extra food at St Joseph’s. Her name is Hailey. I’ve got her keeping an eye on you. She tells me when you don’t show up. Then I look for you and make sure you’re out here somewhere. You never really go far.”

JC blushed, but only slightly and only for a few moments. “So I’m weird to you? Hundreds of people have nowhere to be, live on the wind and spend their days in a stupor, but I’m weird?”

“Yeah. Because you’re conscious. The hundreds of people you talk about, the ones that spend their days in a stupor? They do that on purpose. They don’t want to be conscious of this life they live. They want to live in the most painless way possible.”

She sucked her cigarette down to the filter and ground it out on the pavement next to her. “So, yeah. You’re kind of weird. Like me.”

“Oh, now I see.” JC nodded his head, smiling. “It’s the old we’re a lot alike ruse.”

“Not a ruse. I was weird for a long time. People don’t get why a clean and sober person would choose to live out here. They think people just end up out here.”

“But you said… I mean, you have a place, right? You’re not out here.”

She lifted her head, her chin proud and prominent. “Not anymore. But I’m only one step away from being back out here. That’s kind of why I noticed you. You’re weird like me.” She tipped her head and studied his profile for a few moments. “That’s why I think whatever you’ve got planned or whatever you’re working towards, you’re probably going to make it. You’re not going to end up like the hundreds of people with nowhere to be who live their lives in a stupor.”

His chin lowered to his chest, out of habit. Humility was all he had known for over a year. It took a lot of humility to make the choices he made, to accept the help when it came, and to realize a compliment when he heard one. He was hearing one. He didn’t know how to take it.

“Tell you what. I’m getting cold and this pavement is hard. My ass hurts.” She heaved herself up from the ground and stood in front of him. “Dumb question, but. Uh, do you want to come by?”

JC looked up at her. For the first time, she seemed nervous and a little bit shy.  

“I don’t have this fantastic view…” She turned, sweeping her arm in an arc. When she looked back at him, she was smiling. “But it’s warm and it’s not outside. I feel bad for not getting that coat to you the other night. And I feel like being nice to a weirdo.”

She wanted him to say yes. He really, really wanted to say yes. He couldn’t make his mouth open and say the word, though. So he just stared.

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. 621 State Street. Down this block, take a left and three blocks down. Standard Hotel. Welcome anytime.”

He nodded, inwardly kicking himself.   

She lingered for a moment, but when he didn’t change his mind, she backed away and started walking. He watched her until she turned the corner. And then she was gone.

He sat up against the wall for hours, contemplating their short conversation. It was pleasant, he guessed. Nice to talk to someone who seemed to understand. And someone who’d made her way off of the streets. And someone who didn’t hurl obscenities and other nonsense at him when he walked by. 

Car traffic slowed as the night wore on. Foot traffic crawled to standstill after the theater closed at 10pm.

And still, he sat up against the wall. Until he stood, and started walking. Down the block. To the left. Three blocks down.

The Standard Hotel was nothing more than a roach motel renovated -cheaply at that- into studio apartments. The rooms were tiny, the rent was too expensive for the area, but it beat sleeping on State Street itself. That this girl was able to get a room said a lot about her. At the very least, that she was working.

JC walked around the perimeter of the long, strip-mall like row of rooms, counting the numbers. 618… 619… 620… at 621 he stopped, took a deep breath, and rapped his knuckles on the door twice.

It opened almost immediately. The warmth of the room and the scent of something—soup maybe, rushed from the room in a blast of domestic comfort and hit him head on. In sweat pants, a t-shirt and bare feet, the girl stood in the doorway.

“You never told me your name.”

 

She calls out to the man on the street
He can see she's been cryin'
She's got blisters on the soles of her feet
She can't walk but she's tryin'

She smiled like she’d been expecting him and stepped aside to let him in. The room looked exactly as he imagined it would-- a hotel room reconfigured into a studio apartment. What might have been an hourly rental was now a small, dark space with sparse but eclectic decoration. It was a considerable upgrade to stiff, dry grass or a pile of garbage outside a dumpster. The entire square footage of the room could not be more than 12x12. She made use of nearly every inch available.  

The built-in desk was used to store baskets of everything from shoes and clothes to food. A thin, twin sized mattress piled with blankets and a sleeping bag lay on the floor. Across the room, which wasn’t very far, a19” TV set perched on two milk crates.

 Along the furthest wall was a vintage electric stove that looked like it was supposed to be white but had seen better days. It had two burners, one of which was occupied by a saucepan. Next to that was a compact refrigerator, the kind JC was used to seeing in dorm rooms that never kept anything very cold. The freezer just barely made ice cubes. A few baskets were stacked on top of it, one holding a few dishes, the other food. Next to a single sink was a space where a few dishes were set out on a towel.  There was a door, which was closed. JC guessed it was the bathroom.

“Be it ever so humble, and all that jazz.” She closed the door and walked around him to the “kitchen” to tend to the pot of bubbling something on the stove. “I know you probably ate, but I haven’t, yet. Can I interest you in some soup? I hate to eat alone.”

It smelled good and according to his stomach, there was room for food. “Sure, I guess,” he said. “Can’t turn down a meal.”

“No kidding. Have a seat. Anywhere.”

She dug through a basket for two bowls and poured thick, chunky soup from the pot into one bowl and then the other until they were even and the pot was empty. From a box in the same basket, she pulled two plastic spoons and joined JC on the edge of the mattress, in front of the TV.

He was mesmerized by the TV—he hadn’t watched any in so long. A re-run of Seinfeld was airing on a local station. “I used to watch this show when it was on.”

“Me too.  I always wanted to have Kramer as a neighbor.”

JC laughed. “No, you don’t. It seems like he would be entertaining, but I had a neighbor like that once. Pain in the ass.”

She spooned some of the soup, blew on it to cool it, and slurped first the broth then the vegetables. “I’ll be glad when it warms up outside.”

“It’s not too bad, right now. Warmer than it has been.”

“I guess I’ve been spoiled. I saw you out the other night and I couldn’t stand the thought of someone sleeping outside when it was that cold. Even tonight, I thought it was too cold.”

JC paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. “That’s probably because you have a choice not to.”

“Yeah. Probably. ” She slurped more soup. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. I just am.”

He finished his soup, draining the bowl and got up to put it in the sink. He pointed toward the closed door. “Bathroom?”  She nodded. “May I?” She nodded her approval again, her eyes on the TV. He walked inside and closed the door behind him.

It was a small room, much smaller than he expected. A narrow tub, a toilet, a sink. Even that was more than he’d had at his disposal in awhile. He took his time in the bathroom, lingering to wash his hands and face.

When he came out, she had finished her soup and had scooted back onto the mattress until she was up against the wall. The empty bowl sat where she’d left it at the edge of the bed. He picked it up and took it to the sink, grabbed a sponge and washed out both bowls, setting them near the others that were stacked there.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He chuckled at himself. His parents had insisted; nearly beat into him, the ritual of picking up after dinner. Some lessons were never unlearned. “Really, really old habit from childhood.”

“You’re very meticulous.”

“You’re very observant.” He walked around the mattress and eased down onto it next to her. “You never told me your name.”

She groaned. “Phoenix. Phoenix Gredvig.”

He laughed- almost giggled, he was so amused. “Phoenix? As in Arizona? Can I call you not-Arizona?”

“Whatever. My mother is a child of the 60’s, though you’d never know it now. My dad is German. Put it together and you get some sort of mythical bird who sounds like she’s part of the German army.”

“Or something strong. Like Phoenix Rising.”

“Yeah, or that,” she said, smiling and blushing a little. “No one I hang out with, except this guy I dated, knows about mythology.”

“So do people call you Phoenix?”

She rolled her eyes up toward him. “Not if they want to live. Some people call me Phee. Most call me Nix or Nick. Either one works. I’ll answer to it.”

“Nix is cool. That’s a rock star name.”

“Yeah. Look at me. Living the dream.”

“You are, compared to me.”

Her eyelids drooped as she relaxed, leaning heavily on JC’s arm. “Don’t say that. Don’t think it, either. I’m maybe a half a step ahead of anyone out there.” She pointed toward the door. “It’s like, you have all this responsibility. And then you’re out there, you know? And your only concern is where your next meal is coming from. But then that becomes real stressful so you work to get out of that place. You get a job and a place to live, right? And pretty soon, you’re back to responsibility again. There’s no middle ground.”

He nodded his agreement. She was repeating the same things he’d been telling himself, when he contemplated going back to his friends, to his old life, to taking Ernie up on his infrequent offers of help. Pretty soon, he’d be back to responsibility. He hadn’t handled it so well, the first time. In fact, he’d pretty much fucked up life for a lot of people.

“I decided that I’m going to call you Phee. So, Phee… what’s your story?”

She got up, went over to the desk and pulled out an oversized book. JC recognized it as a year book. She resumed her spot next to him and started flipping pages until she stopped and pointed to a picture of a girl with a bright smile. Her brunette hair had chunky highlights, her ears had dangly, sparkly earrings in them and her lips had a light sheen of lip gloss.

“It’s been a twisty road from that girl there, to me. Let’s just say there was a guy who duped a stupid girl into believing what he told her.” She fingered the photograph briefly, then closed the book and tossed it aside. “But honestly, she doesn’t regret a minute of it now. Your turn. You said you’d been out about a year?”

“Thereabouts.”

“Who did you used to be?”

“Just a guy with a job. Stock broker, working for a firm. Mostly tech stocks. Good living if you know what you’re doing. If you don’t, you can pretty much ruin lives. Your own and other people’s.”

“What happened?”

“Stupid mistake. I broke the two cardinal rules.” He listed them out on his fingers. “First, lose the emotion. I was all over the place. Second, don’t get greedy. I lost everything, being greedy.”

“You don’t seem like a greedy person.”

“This life is pretty humbling.” When she didn’t ask any other questions, he tried to switch the subject back to her. “How long were you out there?”

“6 years.”

“Yeah? That’s a long time.” JC thought the year and a few months he’d been out was a long time. He couldn’t even begin to imagine 6 years of sleeping in parks, on street corners, behind dumpsters.

“Mmhmm. After awhile you develop a routine. Like you—your routine is like clockwork, most days. You find a way to get through, to pass the time because tomorrow’s gonna come. You’ll go crazy if you don’t stay busy, keep a schedule. Have something to do. One day you wake up and realize it’s been three years. Five years.”

“Were you with that guy the whole time?”

She drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. “Yeah, mostly.”

“Where’s he now?”

Her eyes were closed, her voice registering barely above a whisper. “He’s gone.”

“Like… dead, gone?” She nodded without opening her eyes. “Oh.”

“After he died, shit got real, you know? I never realized that people die, out there. They die, and no one cares. Did you know that if no one claims your body, they dump you in a pile and bury you in a mass grave? No one fucking cares.”

A single tear escaped the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek. She swiped it away and sniffled. “So I got my shit together. Because I wasn’t gonna die out there and get dumped into a pile.”

The room grew quiet, except for the sounds of the TV on low volume. Another show was on, a sitcom. The canned laughter came through every few seconds. Without warning, it was there again. The long uncomfortable pause.

“Listen…” He swung his legs around to try and get up. He may as well have been sitting on the ground, the mattress was so thin. “Thanks for the soup and stuff. I think I should go.”

“No!” Her eyes popped open and she reached out for him. Her thin fingers grabbed hold of his wrist and held on tight. “You don’t have to go. I mean, if you want to, I guess I can’t stop you. But I don’t want you to. Please stay.”

“Uhm…”

He was warm. And full. And she-Phee or Nix or whatever she wanted him to call her was nice. It wouldn’t be torture to stay.

She gave him a pat on the leg and seemed to brighten, if only for his benefit. “I want you to stay here where it’s warm. You want to take a shower? How long has it been since you could take a shower?”

Eight months, two weeks and eighteen days.

*****

“You ever been robbed?”

It was late, but they were up, talking and watching TV, side by side on the mattress. His shower felt better than eating fresh, hot food. He’d say better than sex if he could remember what that felt like. He slipped on a pair of warm sweats and a new t-shirt that he’d been saving for awhile and relished the feeling of being clean and warm and almost like normal.

“Right off,” JC answered. “Like my first week out. I was… well, in jail. Disorderly conduct, resisting arrest. I got out and they give you your belongings in an envelope and turn you out into the street. I didn’t have anywhere to go because I was living on this guy’s couch for a couple of months and when I got drunk, his wife kicked me out. I couldn’t go back.

“So I thought, this is easy. Get some food, sleep for awhile, figure it out tomorrow.” He shook his head, lost in the memory. “I wake up to nothing. Nothing left. No wallet, no ID. The last of my money. Gone.”

“Oh my God.”

“I know. I was pissed and totally helpless. It took weeks to get up the courage to ask my folks to help replace my ID. I have to have that to work. Ever since then, I keep everything on me, and I sleep on it. If you get anything from me, it means you took it by force. That happened too, a couple of times.”

“People get desperate. It’s like a guy could be the nicest person ever until he was hungry. Or needed a hit, and then he was an animal.”

“Yeah. I could see myself turning into that. If I got money, all I wanted to do was drink. I’d do anything for a bottle. I was an animal. Then I got picked up again for I don’t know, being drunk in public or something like that. It took a few days to sober up and realize what I was doing, you know? I can’t end up like those guys that have been out on the streets for 10 years. Haven’t touched it since.”

“I was never much into alcohol. I smoked some pot here and there. Cigs, obviously. Nothing too hard, thank God. Davey, he was into coke. He liked to lace his weed with coke.”

JC eyes grew large and round, the blue irises floating in a pool of white. His heartbeat sped up at the very thought of mixing the two. He was never that daring. “I’ve done some weed, but… coke? That’s some scary shit, man.”

“It was scary. He was a different person when he was cranked up. Just… angry and ranting and he blamed everyone but himself for everything that was his fault.”

JC wanted to ask, but didn’t want to pry. Maybe if he just let her talk, she’d say more about how Davey died, but she clammed up, folding her arms across her chest and pointedly staring at the TV. The late, late shows were airing. JC watched with her but wasn’t paying attention to the banter and jokes of opening monologues.

“Do you have to work tomorrow?”

“Nope.” She chuckled, a gritty laugh from the pit of her throat. “Do you?”

Thursday. Usually, he would get up, grab some breakfast, find a place to wash, shave and change and head out to the corner where the guys stood, waiting for work. He hadn’t worked in weeks. And it was cold, out. On the off chance that she would invite him to stay and maybe spend more time with her, he contemplated (and granted himself) a change in the schedule.

“I happen to be off tomorrow.”

“Wanna hang out?”

“And do what?” She shrugged, biting down on her bottom lip. It turned pink from the pressure. “I guess. Nothing better to do.”

“I’m gonna smoke a cig and turn in.” She rolled off of the mattress and reached for her coat. After rifling through her pockets, she produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “You want to come?”

“Nah, I spend enough time outside,” he said, looking around at the very narrow, very thin twin mattress, mentally measuring space. There wasn’t enough room for two people. “Uhm. Where…”

She laughed while heading for the door. “I don’t take up that much room.”

 

Except for the shelter, JC hadn't slept in a bed in more than a year. Once upon a time, he'd had a whole apartment to himself, with a King sized bed and furniture and a couch, a kitchen table and a microwave, even. Then he lost everything. Now he had nothing, and hadn't had anything in so long that he was grateful to sink onto a nylon cot at a shelter instead of curl up under a tree in the park, or the forest on the edge of town.

Phee's mattress, though thin and narrow, was surprisingly more comfortable than a cot. It must have been the silence, or the warmth, or the understanding of and feeling of peace. Tonight, he fell into a deep, uninterrupted sleep and awoke, not in the elements or in a room full of people lazily beginning another long day of merely existing, but in Phee's room to the scent of toast.

As soon as he could pry an eye open, he yawned and sat up. Phee was standing at the stove, or rather was bending over in front of it. On the counter were two paper plates, each with a pile of eggs on it. The oven door squeaked as she opened it and reached inside with a towel to pull out an aluminum pie plate-- the throwaway kind that you get at the grocery store. 4 slices of bread were arranged around the edge of the pie plate and toasted a dark brown. She closed the oven, doling out the toast to each plate and reached to open the refrigerator. That was when she saw him, sitting up on the mattress and watching her. He blushed, not realizing he had been staring.

"Hey.” She pulled out a small tub of margarine and began buttering each piece of toast. "I didn't mean to wake you up, if I did. I was hungry. Figured you were too."

"Yeah." He leaned forward onto his hands, uncrossed his legs and pushed himself up. "I'm gonna..." He grabbed his backpack and pointed toward the bathroom before stepping inside.

"Take your time. You like coffee?"

He grunted an affirmative response before entering the bathroom and closing the door behind him. The chill of the tile floor shocked away what sleep was left in his body. He hurried through his routine, washed his hands and brushed his teeth and came back out. Phee was sitting on the edge of the mattress in front of the TV. Some talk show was on-four women sitting around yapping. He rolled his eyes.

"Is that The View or something?"

"Yeah," she said. "It was on when I turned the TV on. I could turn it if..."

“It's fine." He picked up his paper plate and plastic fork and noted a Styrofoam cup next to his plate, as well as a container of Folgers instant sat on the counter. A pot of water was boiling on the stove. He measured out a few teaspoons of crystals and poured the hot water over them, reconstituting them into a cup of strong, black coffee.

"I don't have any milk, but I might have some packets of sugar in the basket on top of the fridge."

He found a stash of sugar packets from various restaurants-- Denny's, IHOP, a few from an upscale hotel chain. "Are these from the place you work at?" He held up the packet so she could see it.

Phee glanced away from the TV long enough to peer at the packet and nod. "Yup. I told you, I'm a thief."

"Nasty habit." He settled next to her, setting his plate on the ground and sipping his coffee for a few minutes. She was watching the TV. He was watching her. "You dig TV a lot?"

She seemed embarrassed and recoiled, picking up her plate, again. Between mouthfuls of egg sandwiched between pieces of toast, she said, "The TV is new. I'm still getting used to having one. I haven't had a TV since I lived at home."

"Well, me either, but—“

"And when you get something back, after you haven't had it for a long time, you try to soak it in, to make up for lost time. You know?"

"I guess," he said. He didn't want to piss her off by protesting, so he picked up his plate and started eating. The eggs were bland but warm and not runny like the eggs at the shelter. The toast was hard and crunchy, as if the bread was stale before she toasted it, but it was nice to be eating and not have to share a table with twelve other people, to not have to drown out grumbling and fighting, to not have to count down the minutes until he was pushed out into the cold or the heat or the perfect spring day without a thing to do or a place to go. He could eat slowly, if he wanted to. In peace. At that, he relished every bite of bland egg and crunchy toast and instant coffee with stolen sugar packets.

"I'm gonna go out for a cig. Haven't had one, yet today."

She seemed proud. He smiled at her. "Good. That's a few more hours that you'll live."

Phee got up, tossing her plate into the garbage and her fork into the sink. "I save the plastics, just so you know." When he nodded, she stepped over his legs, grabbed her pack of cigarettes off of the desk, slipped on a pair of shoes and headed out.   

While she was gone, JC finished his breakfast and coffee, tossed his paper plate (saving the plastic fork) and washed the skillet, the pot from his boiling water and the forks, setting them out to dry.

By the time she was back, he had his shoes and socks on, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt and his jacket. She walked in, wearing only a t-shirt, sweat pants and slip on sneakers, shivering. She frowned, noting his attire.

"Oh. I meant to give you some stuff.”

She reached under the desk and pulled out a cardboard box, kneeled in front of it and with a deep breath opened it and started digging through it, pulling out several items— long underwear, a coat, a few sweatshirts and pairs of jeans.

“I have this stuff. I never got rid of it. I figured you to be about the same size, so…"

JC eyed the pile next to her, but didn't move.

“They're clean. I washed them. You're welcome to them, if you want them. I also have his backpack and his sleeping bag. It's bigger than yours. You know, if you want to trade up. Up to you."

He wavered, struggling within himself. Part of him wanted to take everything she offered and more. He could always use warm, clean clothes. A sleeping bag would be great. A bigger backpack would be useful.  The other part of him didn’t want the clothes and belongings of a dead man, someone who obviously still meant so much to her. Why she would keep them for so long, and then pick him to give them to?

“Anyway, they’re there. If you want them.” She stood and shoved the box and the pile aside. From the spot where the box had been pushed under the desk, she pulled out a rolled up sleeping bag and a large, oversized hiking backpack and piled them on top of the stack of clothing.

And then, as if that was all she could handle, she shoved her hands under her armpits and ducked her head, barreling toward the bathroom. The door slammed behind her. He thought he could hear her, crying as quietly as possible.

He packed the clothing, the backpack and the sleeping bag into the box and pushed them back under the desk, out of sight. He took the coat to put on over his jacket. If the blast of cold air that followed her inside was any indication of the temperature, he would need it.

When the bathroom door opened, Phee emerged looking like herself again. She’d brushed her hair and washed her face and a smile replaced her worried frown and bitten lip. JC had taken a seat on the mattress, his back against the wall, and was flipping through a book he’d found in a pile on the desk.

“I grabbed this book. I hope you don’t mind.” He held it up so she could see it: Catcher in the Rye. “I haven’t read this since high school.”

“Me either. Davey really liked that book. He read it a lot.”

“I can tell,” JC said. The cover was well worn and the spine cracked and few pages were holding on by a thread.

“He used to quote it all the time. Ironic, because if anyone needed a catcher, it was him.”

She dug through a basket of clothing, pulling on layers as she spoke—another t-shirt, a sweatshirt. To JC’s surprise, she pulled off her sweatpants and stepped into a pair of jeans, yanking them up her thighs and around her hips before buttoning and zipping them. She seemed amused, looking at him, giggling at his wide eyed stare. “You’ve seen a girl in her underwear before, right?”

 He looked away, suddenly irritated that the tips of his ears seemed hot. “Nothing. We going somewhere?”

“Yeah, in a minute.” She kicked off the slip-on sneakers, rolled on a pair of socks and put them back on, then put on her coat. JC stood up, shoving the book into his backpack and put on the new coat.

She reached for him. “Come here.” He walked across the room and stopped in front of her. She smiled, tucked his smaller jacket inside the larger one, threaded the zipper and pulled it up, all the way to his chin.  She seemed pleased, running her hands down each arm. “There. Now tell me that’s not warm.”

“It’s warm.” He couldn’t help a smile, staring down at it. It really was warm. Especially in the room, with Phee fawning over him. He threaded his arms through the straps of his backpack and heaved it up onto his back. “Ready?”

She picked up a bag, picked through it and dumped her pack of cigarettes and lighter into it. “Let’s go.” 

You can tell by the lines on her face
You can see that she's been there
Probably been moved on from every place
'Cause she didn't fit in there

"So where are we going?" JC asked, following Phee out of the door and down the sidewalk, away from the Golden Lantern Theater.

"Places," she answered, her hands shoved into her pockets, her hair spilling over the collar of her coat. JC grimaced at her vague answer and she laughed. "Fine, pouty. I have to go to the hotel I work at and pick up my paycheck. Then go cash it. Then meet a couple of friends I hang out with sometimes. See what's crackin' in the streets today. Always something going on."

JC nodded, pleased with some sort of run-down of the day. He walked beside Phee until they reached a bus stop, Route Number 34, southbound. She sat down on the bench and patted the seat next to her. "Take a load off."

"I don't have money for the bus."

She glared at him. "Would I invite you to hang out, knowing we have to get across town and not know I'm gonna have to get you there? Sit your ass down. I'll take care of it."

He sat, quickly. Anything to diffuse her. She rummaged around in her bag and pulled out the faithful pack of cigarettes. "Sorry. I haven't been smoking as much because I know you hate it. I get kinda bitchy when I miss my cigs."

"It's okay. Be yourself, I guess."

The day was nice, sunny and cloudless even if it was cold. He hardly noticed since he had a nice coat on. The streets were empty, primarily since it was still early. Even though he was normally up and moving by then, he still felt like it was early to be out. He felt productive, though. And, waiting for the bus with Phee, almost normal. They were running errands. He smiled to himself.

"What are you grinning at?"

He glanced over at her, wiping the smile off of his face. He hadn't realized it had crawled its way from his insides to his outsides and plastered itself across his mouth. "Nothing. I like this coat. Thanks."

Phee nodded and shoved the filter tip of a cigarette into her mouth, sucking it down like it was a thick milkshake. She turned her head to blow the smoke away from him. When she turned back, she looked up at him. He noticed her eyes, for the first time. Not blue but not brown but not green. Hazel, he guessed that was called.

"Yeah. It fits you nice. And it's real warm, especially on days like this. You gotta wear more layers. You'll catch your death of cold and then where will you be? In a mass grave somewhere with no one giving a shit."

Morbid, JC thought, but dared not say it. She seemed overly concerned with death and dying, for his taste. Maybe the coat reminded her too much of Davey.

Number 34 came down the street and stopped in front of them. JC let Phee get on first, where she paid the $1.25 fare for the both of them. He nodded at the driver, out of respect. The driver rolled his eyes.

"Get on and sit down. On a schedule," he said. He pulled the doors closed behind them and pulled away from the block. JC followed Phee to the back of the bus and sat next to her in the very last seat on the left.

"Don't mind him. He's always cranky but he's harmless. A lot of the crowd tries to get over on the bus drivers and scam free rides. It jades them. They don't want to pick up anyone that looks homeless."

Did he look homeless? He tried hard not to. He shaved, washed every day, tried to keep clean. He needed a haircut, but that wasn't what made him look homeless, was it? He raked a hand through the dry pile of curls. He had to get a haircut soon.

"JC? Did you hear me? Are you listening to me?"

"Oh." He hadn't been listening. "Sorry. I was thinking about... something. What'd you say?"

"I asked if you had any buddies out there or if you were a loner. I don't know why I'm asking, though. I followed you around enough to know you don't really have friends. Not out on the street, anyway."

“You know,” he started, more irritated than angry. “It’s really creepy how you know too much about me. Following me around and shit. Why do you do that?"

"I don't anymore. I told you."

"But you used to."

"I also told you why. You seem different. You remind me of someone I used to know."

She turned her attention to the scenery passing by at a slow pace and didn't say more. JC dropped the subject. The last thing he wanted to deal with was more crying. When a girl cries in front of a guy, a little piece of him dies, mostly because he knows that it's either his fault and he couldn't fix it even if he knew how, or it wasn't his fault and fixing it would make it worse. He didn't even have a Kleenex or a handkerchief to offer her.

They rode in silence, watching the world from the inside of a pane of plastic. JC hadn't been to this side of town— downtown— in awhile. Even before he was homeless, he was never one for the hustle and bustle of downtown. He had an office job but it wasn't a high class corporate job. No suits and briefcases and wing tipped shoes and smart phone for him. No rushing here and there, talking to two people on the phone while reading the Wall Street Journal. No Bluetooth ear piece that made him look like he was talking to himself at Starbucks. Something told him, though, that Phee's friends wouldn't be that type either.

She reached up and pulled the cord that ran the length of the bus. A melodic 'ding' rang out, alerting the driver to stop at the next designated point. That point was in front of a hotel with a circular drive and a lot of glass and a revolving door and marble floors. There was quiet elegance and efficiency, people rushing about in dark uniforms and polite, professional smiles.

Phee waved and smiled at a few people as she walked past the front desk, through an employee entrance and down a hall that was a severe contrast to the rest of the building. The floor was concrete, the walls were cement brick. It was cool, lit by long strips of fluorescent lights along the ceiling every few feet. He felt like they were walking through a dungeon.

There was noise further down the hall that got louder the closer they came, until they were right up on it— a radio, two few ladies in uniform talking and cackling over the Spanish lyrics and guitar twang.

"Hola, Miss Nix," said one of the ladies, her smile wide and accented with red lipstick. "You're not working today?”

"Hey, Miss Lola," she answered, heading for a filing cabinet at the far end of the room. She opened the top drawer and rifled through a stack of envelopes and plucked one out. She set the remaining envelopes back in the drawer and closed it. "No, not today. Came to get some money. You guys have a good day."

"Sure, sure," the one Phee called Lola said, and went back to loading a rolling cart. His eyes bugged out, watching her. She pulled items from boxes lined along shelves, miniatures of everything he could possibly want. Toothpaste, toothbrushes, shampoo, conditioner, even mini combs and razors. He could live forever on a few handfuls from her cart.

"This is your friend?" The other woman was older, shorter, quieter. JC could just barely hear her over the radio. She smiled that smile that old ladies smile when their granddaughters bring around a new man.

Phee was reading some notices on the bulletin board, checking what looked to be a schedule clipped to the corner. "Yeah," she said, without turning around. "JC, these are my coworkers. Lola and Shirley. Yeah, like Laverne and Shirley. We're pretty funny around here."

She saved him the trouble of making the joke in his head. He nodded at them both, while trying not to look at the carts overflowing with items he knew he was running out of. When Phee turned around, she noticed him looking, watching them load their carts. "I’ve got you covered," she whispered, dragging him by the crook of his elbow out of the room.

"Bye Miss Nix!"

Phee only waved as she made her way down the hall. She pulled the envelope from her pocket and slid it open with her index finger, practically ripping the check out of it. She pumped her fist and grinned, her face lighting up the grey hallway.

"Yessss! I love overtime! I have extra money this week!"

He smiled, happy for her. "Cool," was the only think he could think to say.

"Now to cash it and go have some fun." She led them back through the lobby, waving and smiling at the same people, then it was back through the revolving doors and out into the cold, but not far. A few blocks down the road, they stopped at a credit union. JC waited on a couch in the lobby while she got in line. In no time at all, she was tucking an envelope into her bag and nodding her head toward the door and they were, yet again, headed back out.

"Gotta run an errand. We've got a bit of a walk, but it'll be faster than taking the bus. You up for it?"

He shrugged. "If I want to go somewhere, all I can do is walk."

"True that."

So they walked. For nearly an hour and he was even more grateful for the coat. Phee talked about her early days on the street and things she and Davey had done to make money, sometimes just enough to eat. From panhandling to recycling to washing dishes for food or a bed, they did it together. JC was envious. If only he had someone to conquer the world with him.

They were beyond downtown now, in the south part of town. The south side was considerably more run down than the part of town he tried to stay in. There were more places to hang out down south but also a lot of trouble— drugs and gangs and people he didn't want to get mixed up in. JC was getting a little nervous, but had no idea where he was and kept up with Phee like his life depended on it.  

They walked until they reached a white stone ranch home that was in such disrepair, it was hard to believe someone lived there. There was little grass and what there was of it was dead. There was a lot of junk in the yard anyway, so what was the use of planting grass? JC tried holding his breath or breathing through his mouth, but he gave that up when he became lightheaded and he felt like he could taste the smell of wet garbage that sat around the house like an aura.

Phee turned the knob and, finding the door open, walked right in. "Cass? You home?"

 From somewhere in the house, a TV blared. There was junk everywhere— shoes, clothing, boxes, bags, like they had been used and then left right there, at the spot in which they became useless. Phee walked through the house as if she was used to seeing and smelling it, ducking her head into a few rooms until she arrived at the back bedroom. That was where the TV sounds came from.

The bedroom was as much of a mess as the rest of the house. Clothing was strewn from one end of the room to another. A pile of fast food garbage covered one end table. Cups, saucers and bowls covered the other. Even the spots on the bureau and TV became catchalls for junk.  JC started to have a lot of appreciation for a nomadic lifestyle, in which he could not physically carry around a lot of stuff.

"Cassandra!” Phee called to the comatose figure lying across the bed in a bra and panties, gripping the woman by the shoulders and shaking her. “Wake up, honey."

The woman groaned and stirred a little but didn't sit up. "What?" She finally moaned.

“Welfare check! How are you?"

Cassandra sat up and rubbed her eyes, ran her hands through her hair of tight blonde ringlets. A long, hard night was etched into her face— dark circles under her eyes, mussed lipstick that had wandered past her lip line. "I'm fine. Sleepy. I worked all night. I just got home a few hours ago, damn it."

"Oh.” Phee blanched, but only for a second. “I'm sorry; I forgot you started working graveyard. I'm just checking in. You got food?" Cassandra nodded. "Light bill paid? Rent paid? How are the kids? They got food? Clothes? Shoes?"

She nodded again, seeming irritated at the inquisition. "I told you last week. We're good right now."

"Well, you better get this place cleaned up before DFCS comes back. It's a sty in here.” Phee looked around, her eyes roving the mess. She sighed, then looked back at her charge. “Hey, Cass…you'd let me know if you needed help, right?"

"Yeah, I would. I’m not too proud—“ Cassandra must have noticed JC for the first time. She blinked a few times before asking, "Who's the hunk?"

"That’s my friend, JC. JC, this is Cassandra. I've known her a long time. She used to hang out with Davey and me. Then went and got herself with some bastard who knocked her up then cheated and left. I come by here every week to make sure she's still doing good."

Cassandra nodded at JC but made no moves to cover herself up. "I'd offer ya'll some coffee or whatever but....” She paused and yawned before finishing her sentence. “Don't think I have any."

"Don't worry about us. I'm gonna check your cabinets, real quick." Before Cassandra could argue, Phee stepped over piles of things on the floor and left the room, leaving JC and Cass alone. JC stared, not meaning to. She glared in return.

"What?" She snapped. JC fled.

Phee was in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinet doors and mumbling to herself. She opened the refrigerator and wrinkled her nose up at its contents. JC noticed a jug of milk and a container of juice, a few packages of lunchmeat, a loaf of bread, some cheese and a bag of apples and oranges. In the freezer were some frozen dinners and a bag of chicken nuggets and fries. It didn’t seem like enough to feed a woman and two children, but he didn’t have much room to talk. His food stash consisted of crumbled up Saltine crackers in the bottom of his backpack.

“Where’s her kids?”

“Her mom keeps them at night, because she works at an all-night diner. She’ll drop them by this afternoon, probably.”  Phee stood in the middle of the kitchen, her hands on her hips, assessing the situation. “I guess she’s okay for a few days. I’ll see if her mom brings her anything when she comes, and check again over the weekend on my way home.”

Phee seemed satisfied, or as satisfied as she could be, as she walked out of the kitchen. She picked her way around stacks and mounds of…stuff and yelled back down the hall. “Cass? I’m leaving.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. JC had no objections. The sooner he could get out of that house, the better. He’d never before felt lucky to be homeless. If having a home meant living in this kind of squalor, he’d happily wander from the park to the overpass to the shelter, carting his every belonging on his back. Then again, if he had a home, he liked to think he would take pride in it, after not having one for so long.

Phee waited until they were down the block before she pulled out a cigarette and lit up. They were headed back the way they came. She talked and smoked and walked.

“Cass fell on some real hard times. Believe it or not, she’s doing pretty good, right now. At least she has food and water and lights and now she’s working, so that’s good. With that money and Public Assistance, she might do okay.”

“I thought you couldn’t work and get Public Assistance?”

“You can’t,” she said. “But what the government don’t know, won’t hurt ‘em. Those kids need to eat.” She flicked the butt of her cigarette into the wind and shoved her hands into her pockets. “Hungry? Let’s get some pizza. I’m craving something hot.”

Pizza! He hadn’t had pizza in forever. 

They walked back toward town, just where the edge of downtown met the south side. A Pizza Hut restaurant loomed ahead. JC wanted to run for it, but managed to hold himself back, walk beside Phee, and appear nonchalant.

“When we get in here, you’re gonna see some guys I hang with a lot. We meet here on Thursdays, eat some, bullshit some and then go hang out.  Don’t let them give you a hard time and don’t take them seriously. They’ll respect you more if you don’t freak out. I won’t let them do anything to you.”

JC nodded, wondering what kind of guys these were that Phee hung out with. And what did she mean by I won’t let them do anything to you?

The smell inside Pizza Hut was enough to make JC forget about the potential trouble he could be walking into. Frankly, it was enough to make him forget about all of his troubles. Bread rising, sauce and cheese and meat and vegetables co-mingling and melting together to create a symphony of flavors, off-brand as they may be, hit him as soon as they opened the double doors, made him weak in the knees and a little bit delirious.

The restaurant was dark and mostly empty except for two tables occupied by a group of guys that looked a lot like JC. Long, scraggly hair, some unkempt, some unshaven, tattered plaid shirts over t-shirts, long jeans with the hems walked off and cheap sneakers. He liked to think he kept himself looking pretty nice, but he could see from these guys that he looked just like anyone else whose lifestyle was transient in nature. JC was a little disappointed, but not much. It had to happen sooner or later; becoming a part of the culture instead of living just outside of it.

Phee strode quickly toward the occupied tables with the biggest smile JC had ever seen from her.

 “Colin! What’s up, dude?” A bear of a man with a full beard stood up from the table and dwarfed her in a hug, then stepped aside so she could greet everyone else. She called out a bunch of names, hugged them all, and gave some high fives. JC hung back and watched the group interact.

And watched Phee work the room. Flirt, that is. He was strangely… jealous. He’d had her to himself for nearly a full day. Having to share her now made his heart throw a little bit of a temper tantrum and until he could get it under control, he just watched.

After a few minutes, she remembered her guest. “Oh, hey! You guys! This is my friend, JC. He hangs out over on my side of town.” JC stepped forward and nodded as Phee introduced everyone around. He didn’t pay attention to names, really. He’d pick them up eventually, he supposed.

“You too good for the south side?” Asked one of them. He was laughing, slapping the hands of other guys at the table. JC couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not, but decided to pretend that he was, and laughed along.

“Knock it off,” said Phee. She pulled him by the arm toward two empty spots at one of the tables. “Not everyone wants to come down the ghetto and hang out with you losers.”

The only black guy in the bunch feigned offense. “Ay, watch what you’re calling the ghetto.”

“Right, Jamal. We know, we know. This is the pleasure palace compared to the actual ghetto.” She turned to JC, then and asked if he knew what he wanted. He shook his head.

“Whatever’s fine. Should I go up with you?”

“Nah. Hang out here. I’ll order. You guys eating or just taking up space?”

A few of the guys got up and walked with Phee to the front counter, leaving JC with the rest of them. They carried a mindless conversation across two tables for a few minutes before deciding to engage JC.

“So, who you hang out with, up by Nix’s place?”

“Nix?” JC seemed confused, before he remembered other people called her something else. He called her Phee to be funny, and then it just stuck.

“Oh.” He clasped his hands before him and rested them on the table. “No one really. Kind of a loner. I met Ph—Nix the other night when it was wicked cold out, then we lost contact for a couple of days. Then I saw her again last night and we’ve been hanging out and stuff. She’s the first uhm… friend I’ve made out there.”

“They got good shelters and stuff up there. Why are you out on the street at night?”

“Man, you know how shelters are sometimes. It’s loud, it’s hot, and it stinks like ass and garbage. And you wake up light.” Meaning, missing a few things. “I don’t know,” he continued. “I sleep better out in the open, I guess.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

The group came back to the table, their loud banter taking over the conversation. JC sat back and listened, watching the volley of conversation between Phee and her friends. It was obvious that they had all known each other for a long time.

A few minutes later, a server showed up with enough pizza to feed an army, dropping two pies at their table and two pies at the next table. Next came pitchers for each table, cups and plates, and then it was a free for all.

JC ate until he felt like he could pop, savoring each hot, bubbling slice of meat and cheese and peppers until he was stuffed. When he couldn’t stand eat another slice, he excused himself and headed to the restroom.

He was alone, the fluorescents above him buzzing, cool water running through his hands into the stainless steel sink. He had washed his hands and was bent over the faucet to splash water on his face when a loud thump sounded behind him, reverberating through the room and bouncing off of the tiles.

Colin, the bear of a man that had greeted Phee first, exploded into the room and before JC realized it, his feet dangled a good half inch off of the floor and he was pinned to the wall by Colin’s enormous hand. He could breathe—barely—but his heart thumped out of his chest and he was starting to panic.

“You fuckin’ around with Nix?” He growled. Gone was the playful, joking demeanor from earlier. His eyes were small and beady, his wiry eyebrows knit together in fury. “Answer me, fucker!”

JC shook his head and clawed at Colin’s hand. “N-N-No. No, I’m not. I swear. I swear to God, I’m not.”

“You sure? Because if you are, and you fuck her over—“ His grip tightened and JC started to choke.

“I swear,” he squeaked. “I didn’t know her before yesterday. She was nice to me, offered me dinner and a warm place to sleep and then said we should hang out. I swear I’m not messing with her. We’re not together like that.”

His grip loosened and he lowered JC to the ground as he emitted a gruff chuckle. “Not yet, at least.”

JC sucked in air, just so happy to still be alive. The room spun and was intermittently out of focus. This was the reason he avoided the south side.

“What…” He panted, trying to catch his breath. “What do you mean, not yet?”

Colin stared at him, cockeyed. “You ever seen a picture of Davey?” JC shook his head. “Figures. Have her show you. You look like him, sort of.” He looked JC up and down, nodding and mmhmm-ing. “I see she gave you his coat.”

JC glanced down at the coat he hadn’t bothered to take off. It was unzipped, revealing the jacket he usually wore. He fingered the thin jacket made of denim and sweatshirt material. “Uh huh. She-she said my jacket wasn’t enough, and—“

“It’s not,” he snapped, cutting JC off. “Good move, on her part. You act new.”

That was the second time that someone had suggested he didn’t know what he was doing, out there. Maybe they were right.  

“Alright. Let me tell you something.” Colin stepped back, giving JC some room to breathe. “Phee’s a cool kid. She really cares about people. They’re like her little projects. Davey was nuts about her. You’re the first guy to come sniffing around since him. She can be a little rough around the edges, but underneath that edge is a sweet girl, who is a good friend to us. You stay on our good side, you’ll be alright. You fuck her over, or hurt her?”

Colin stepped close again, forcing JC up against the wall. He couldn’t see around his view of burly chest. “I will find you,” he snarled down onto JC’s head, “And cut off your balls. And I won’t even give you the courtesy of knocking you out, first.”

“Okay.” JC nodded. “Okay, I got it.”

“Good.” He stepped back, and magically the menacing demeanor disappeared. Replacing it was a friendly smile. “Glad we had this talk. Hope you didn’t piss your pants.”

JC straightened himself, surreptitiously checking, because he wasn’t sure that he didn’t. “No,” he said, confident.

“You go on out. I’ll be out in a few. I promised Nix I wouldn’t fuck with you. Don’t rat me out.”

JC shrugged, shuffling toward the door. “Yeah…I… no… of course not. Nice talking to you, and stuff.”  Once he was clear of the door, he stopped to breathe, wilting against the wall and willing his heart to stop thumping triple time.

“JC? You okay? Did Colin mess with you?” Phee had poked her head around the corner.

He stood up straight, bolt upright. “No. He was fine. I think I ate too much, though.”

“Well, come on. We’ll walk it off.”

 

Oh, think twice, it's just another day
For you, you and me in paradise
Just think about it

They bummed around the south side for hours. One large group of eight, with Phee and JC in the middle, walked from the Pizza Hut to a nearby park and from there to a mall and another hangout spot near downtown. At sunset, they bought hot dogs and sodas from the convenience store and headed back to toward the hotel where Phee worked, to catch the bus back uptown. The group waited to see them off, making sure she and JC got on the bus before heading back to their part of town.

JC was tired. No, exhausted. But full and relaxed and happy with how the day had turned out. He’d had fun for the first time in more than a year, and that felt good.

He had learned so much about Phee—or Nix as her friends called her. She liked Kung Fu movies. She loved pizza. She could drink any guy under the table but hadn’t had much to drink since Davey died. She was fiercely loyal and passionate about people. She saw people that needed help and sacrificed things she needed to make sure they were taken care of. She blushed, often, as the guys told story after story of how she helped Cass feed her kids or paid the fee for Jamal to take the test for his GED so he could get a job.

JC was impressed with her. But scared of her, too.

He thought back to his experience with Colin in the bathroom, about Phee taking on people as projects. He didn’t see himself as a project. He didn’t want to be “taken on”. He wasn’t sure how to make that plain without hurting her feelings. And he definitely didn’t want anything to do with replacing Davey.

JC was deep in thought as the bus rocked and rumbled across town. She let him have the window seat and he fell asleep with his forehead against the cool plastic. He felt like he’d just closed his eyes for a few minutes when he was being shaken awake.

“C’mon. This is my stop.”

He jerked awake and grabbed his backpack and followed her off of the bus. The night air was chilly and a light wind was blowing, making it even colder. He hoped that Phee wouldn’t let him leave that night. He had no idea where he would sleep if she did.

She dug through her bag and pulled out a cigarette and lit it, sucking down a lungful of nicotine and blowing it out in front of them. “That went well. My friends seemed to like you.”

“Yeah. They’re cool guys. They like you, too.”

She smiled up at him. “Yeah. I inherited them from Davey. They were his crew for a long time.”

“They all seem older than you. By a lot.”

“They are. Davey was four years older than me. I met him when I was sixteen. He was twenty. My parents fucking freaked.”

“I know why, and you do, too. You know exactly what a twenty year old wants with a sixteen year old.”

“It wasn’t even like that, at first. We just hung out. I loved that he read. He was smart. Philosophical. Nothing like the dumbasses I went to school with. I was already way more mature than boys my age.”

“Most girls are more mature than boys their age.”

“Yeah, well. I skipped a grade, graduated at seventeen. I was supposed to go to a fancy college.”

She herded him around a corner to State Street. “They were going to force me. I heard my parents planning it. They were going to just shove me in the car and drive me to some school and leave me there and said eventually I’d get over it. I left that night. Found Davey, he invited me to bum around with him. Been together ever since.”

“So you’re young.”

“Turning twenty-five, soon.” JC was surprised. She seemed older than that. “Why, how old are you?”

He laughed, not really wanting to reveal his age. “Older than that.”

“Duh. How much older? Five years? Seriously.”

“Try almost ten.”

“Shut up. You’re over thirty?”

Phee flicked the ash off of the end of her cigarette and ground it out in the sidewalk, then pulled out her key and unlocked the door. It was dark and chilly inside, so she flipped on a light and headed straight for the temperature control. The heater hissed as it came on. She shed her coat and flopped down onto the mattress.

JC lingered near the door, still in his coat and still wearing his backpack.  

“So are you leaving?”

He shrugged, not really answering but not moving to leave. Phee snorted a laugh.

“Take that shit off. Make yourself at home. And dig through that box over there.” She gestured in the direction of the box that he’d slid back under the table earlier. “Take anything you think will fit. It’s not doing anything but gathering dust.”

He obeyed, happily unzipping his coat and dumping his backpack near the door. He kneeled in front of the box again and began digging through it, mindful that he couldn’t take everything, but anything that could keep him warm in frigid weather, he should take advantage of. He picked out all of the long sleeved shirts and good pairs of jeans, also a cap and a scarf. It was black with glitter sparkles and fringe on the ends. It was a bit mangy, but made of wool and it would match the coat and hat.

Phee smiled as he folded it in half and then in half again and placed it inside the larger backpack. “Aw, I remember that scarf.”

He paused, his eyes flicking up toward hers. She wasn’t going to cry, again, was she?

“We were at Goodwill, just trying to stretch some money and get some warm stuff. The scarf was draped around a mannequin. He loved it on sight. It didn’t have a price tag on it, so he just wrapped it around his neck, tucked the ends into his jacket and kept shopping. We bought a bunch of stuff, and we were on the bus, on the way back to this spot where we were squatting, and he unzipped his coat and I started laughing. He looked down and turned pasty white. He didn’t steal that often but if he did, he stole food, not clothes. He was mortified. I thought it was funny. He wore it every single day.”

She went silent then. JC didn’t push, but he did quietly put the clothes away and push the box back under the desk. Then he crawled the few feet across the room to the mattress and sat next to her, his back against the wall.

“So, what do you? At your job?”

“Whatever they tell me to,” she said, with a wry half grin. “I work in what they call Hospitality Services. I do everything from work the front desk to clean rooms to walk dogs to deliver laundry and fold towels. Like I said, whatever they want me to do.”

“Cool. You like it?”

She bobbed her head from side to side, lips pursed in thought. Finally, she said, “It’s a job. It pays enough to keep me fed and clothed and in this glorious living space.” She arched her hand across the room and laughed. “I guess it’s okay. It’s better than pan handling. I hate begging. And I hate my friends having to beg.”

“Yeah. Seems degrading. Even more degrading, I mean.”

“Ever tried it?”

He shook his head.

“It sucks.” She sighed and rolled her eyes up to him. “Do you miss working?”

He pondered her question for a few minutes. Technically he still worked. Sometimes he’d wash dishes at a shelter for meals and a bed for a few days. And once every few weeks he got picked for a day job, shoveling out a barn or picking up construction debris. He took work when it came and wasn’t picky as long as it paid cash.

“I miss having money. I miss not having to worry about what I’m eating or how to get somewhere. I miss not worrying about getting sick and not having healthcare. I miss having fun like we did today.”

“You miss the benefits of affluence, then.”

“Not necessarily affluence. Even when I was on my own, I wasn’t living the rich life. I was still just barely making it.”

He sighed, suddenly tired. His reality hit and it hurt. He’d felt so normal all day, but talking about how he’d ended up homeless reminded him that he wasn’t.

“That’s how I ended up out there. Did you know just about every working person is one lost paycheck away from being homeless? Luck of the draw, it happened to me.”

“What happened to you?”  Phee turned so she was facing him, her shoulder against the wall. Her hair fell alongside her face and in the dim light of the lamp behind him she looked kind of pretty.

Fuck no, dude. Remember your little confrontation in the bathroom. Don’t even think about it.

“Uhm... okay. So you know how stocks go up and down, right? Long-term playing the stock market is leaving your investments where they sit for a long time, like years. What I did was more day-to-day. If say, paper plates are up today, sell. If they’re down today, buy. Tomorrow if they go up again, sell. And you basically net out your profit by buying low and selling high. I managed portfolios and advised people based on the price of a stock.”

She nodded, paying rapt attention.

“For awhile, it was cool. I was doing great. I made some money, so I decided to get my friends and family into it. I make a commission off of their profit, so the more they make, the more I make. Anyway, I got us into the bottom floor of this boom of a stock. Small but promising tech company on the edge of a merger with another larger company. It was only going to go up, and if you sell before it peaks, you can make some serious cash. So, I talked everyone into buying in and we waited for the deal to happen.”

JC paused, not so much for dramatic effect, but because this part was hard to admit. He still hadn’t really come to grips with the magnitude of his failure. He hadn’t even really told the complete story to anyone before and hadn’t intended to, but something about her made him feel safe. She made him feel like he could open up and shrug a little of the weight off of his shoulders.

“Of course, the deal falls through. Then, the company fails. I thought I was doing something good for everyone. It wasn’t good for anybody. My girlfriend dumped me because she and her parents lost about ten grand. My friends lost quite a bit of money, too. I got fired because all my clients were leaving. The ones that weren’t my friends were filing complaints, threatening lawsuits.”

He uncrossed his legs and drew his knees up to his chin, balancing an elbow on each knee. He stared at the wall, but wasn’t really looking at the wall. His mind was in the past, reliving the same nightmare over and over.

“My parents lost their house. They were hoping a little extra cash could catch them up, but it never came.  A couple of my buddies went into debt, thinking this stock was gonna boom.  I couldn’t get another job because the economy was so shitty and oh, I lost my last job because I put a lot of people in the poor house.

“I lost my place. Then I lost my car, which I was living in for awhile. And then I was couch-surfing for a little bit, working day labor but instead of saving the money, I was drinking. Doing pot, a little bit of harder stuff but pot was cheap. I was drunk and depressed every night. I was a loser and everybody hated me. I had nowhere to go.

“One night, I got so drunk. My buddy’s wife… I was so fucking sick and tired of her mouth.”  He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He wished he couldn’t remember, but behind his eyelids, the images were vivid.  It was like watching a movie.

“She said I was a fuckup. And that he should put me out on the street, just like… just like I did my parents. Like I did it on purpose. Like I put my parents into a one bedroom apartment on the shitty side of town on purpose.  She pissed me off, talking about my folks, so I picked up a six foot tall plant and threw it through the front window. Pot and all.”

“Seriously? You?”

His head bobbed forward, both in confirmation and embarrassment. “Seriously. Me. She called the police, I got hauled into jail and while I was there, she dropped off my stuff and said she never wanted to see my sack of shit face ever again. And you know what?”

He rolled his head toward her, pausing in his story. She hung on every word, her eyes open wide. “I have never seen her, ever again. I got out of jail and started walking.”

“Where’d you go, that first night?”

He shook his head. “I just walked. Tried to call a couple of friends but no one was around. I walked until I couldn’t walk anymore and found a spot, like behind a house in the woods or something and laid down. Slept like a baby, that first night. The next night I hitched back to town, hit a shelter. I think I thought it would be easy. Fun. Like an adventure. I just wanted to disappear.”

“I could never get used to the shelter. It never felt comfortable to me.”

“Exactly. A crash course in what it’s really like to not have a dollar to your name, no one rooting for you and no place to go.”

“But you made it through,” she said with a smile, landing a light punch on his arm.

He smiled in return. “If you want to get all inspirational about it. I’m making it. And I’m thankful that someone wanted to help me. On a night like tonight, I’d be freezing my balls off.”

“And instead you’re talking them off.” She giggled and rolled herself to the edge of the mattress. “I work at 7o’clock tomorrow, so I’m going to start winding down. Don’t feel obligated to go to sleep or anything, though.”

He got up and grabbed his backpack and pulled out the book he took from her stack earlier. “I’ll get up with you and head out. Back to work, I hope.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, and in a few minutes, he heard the hot water squealing through the pipes. Then just as suddenly, the squealing stopped and minutes later, she emerged from the steamy room, wrapped in a towel and glistening. Her long dark hair hung straight down her back and since she was only covered with a towel, he got a good look at her. A real good look.

No. Dude, you wanna die?

“I saved you some hot water. And considering how your eyes fell out of your head this morning when I took my pants off, you should go take your shower now, because I’m about to get naked.”

He smirked and lowered the book but didn’t move. She huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Seriously. Get out!”

He laughed a deep, chesty guffaw that he hadn’t heard from himself in a long time, and heaved himself up from the mattress. She’d left a towel for him and a fresh bar of soap from the hotel. He picked it up and smiled at it. I’ve got you covered. She must have a stash somewhere, he decided.

He showered with the fresh smelling soap, dried himself with the towel she’d left and donned the sweats and t-shirt he’d worn the night before. A shower and a warm place to sleep two nights in a row were unheard of for him.

Don’t get used to this. You’ll start using her and you can’t do that.

She was in the bed, unfortunately—or fortunately, he could see it both ways— dressed in a t-shirt and sweats like him. All she had on the mattress was a sleeping bag and a few thin blankets. She needed all of the layers she could find. He slid into bed next to her, careful not to take up too much room. Not that it mattered, because she scooted up against his back as soon as he rolled over.

*****

JC walked Phee to the bus stop the next morning and sat with her until the bus came. She looked cute in her polyester slacks and white shirt and jacket with the emblem on the front pocket. She pulled her hair back into a tight bun and put a pearl earring into each ear. She didn't wear makeup, but didn't need it. Her skin was creamy and clear, her eyes bright. JC was suddenly struck by what Davey or Colin or pretty much anyone must have seen in her. He understood Colin's reaction to someone new sniffing around. He didn't want anyone to fuck her over, either.

When the Number 34 came and carried Phee away, JC headed back to State Street, back past the Golden Lantern. They hadn't had time for breakfast and though she offered, JC didn't want to make her late. He could take his time and walk and get some breakfast at his leisure. Now, as he strolled in under the bright lights of the main room at House of Hope, he looked around to see what options lay before him.

House of Hope was his favorite shelter for breakfast. They set their food out buffet style, so he could grab a plate and serve himself so long as he didn't take too much. He didn't like the idea of being served. Being able to choose his own food and load up his own plate gave him back some dignity.

Today, the selection was the same as it was most mornings: a choice of meats—ham, sausage or bacon; fried eggs; a bagel, hash browns or toast; oatmeal if he felt like having something hot; or cold cereal like plain cheerios or corn flakes and milk. The guys that slept late and straggled in around 9 or even 10am had to pick over what was left from the early risers. Most of them made do with cereal and milk or a piece of fruit.

JC picked up a paper plate from the stack at one end of the table and made his way down the line, picking various things and trying not to be greedy. A few slices of bacon, some eggs, a piece of toast, a banana and coffee were all he needed to get through the morning. He carted his plate and cup to a table far away from the other early risers. He only paid attention to them long enough to nod and acknowledge them. Politeness went a long way but he never made much of an effort to sit and talk to people.

He ate quickly, for no reason. Just a habit, since most shelters tried to turn over participants several times an hour. He couldn't just sit there for two or three hours. Besides, he needed to get in the line for work.

As soon as he'd swallowed the last bite of egg, bacon, and toast and gulped down the last swallow of coffee, he rose from the table and dumped his garbage in the bin near the door. He lifted a hand to wave to Moe, who was in charge of food distribution. Moe had been homeless for years before he made it back on his feet again. Now he had a job helping other people. He and JC talked off and on about Moe helping him to do the same. He just wasn't sure he was ready for all of that quite yet.

The area where men gathered and waited to be picked up for work was just a few blocks away. In his new coat, hat, scarf and jeans, he felt like a new man. He walked on air, or at least it seemed he did, and had a hard time keeping a smile from his lips. The day before had been a good day. He hoped the goodness would linger and spill over into this day, too.

There weren't many men waiting for work yet, but a truck was already parked at the corner. JC rushed the block and a half to the line and approached a man shorter than he with a stocky build and a bald head. He wore a dark blue company shirt, untucked and unbuttoned with a white t-shirt under it that stretched across his chest, leaving no imagination to the detail underneath. 

JC chewed on his bottom lip, wiggling his toes inside his sneakers, hoping the fact that he didn't have boots wouldn't eliminate him from selection.

"What're you looking for, today?"

The man looked up from a list he appeared to be studying and eyed JC up and down. "Depends on who we find. You looking to work?"

"Yes, sir. Ready to go, right now."

He stepped back, taking another look and frowned at JC’s shoes. "Those won't work. Might have a pair of boots for you at the site, though. What size you wear?"

"Ten. But I'll wear whatever you give me. I'll make it work."

He studied JC some more, twisting his mouth to the side. Then he grunted and waived toward the truck with his clipboard. "Give your name to Doug when you get in the truck."

His heart leapt at the words and he wasted no time in getting to the truck with Jefferson Construction emblazoned along the side. He stopped at the front seat and gave his name to the driver, making sure he wrote it down correctly. “Chasez. That’s chase with a z.”

Once he was sure that he was on the payroll for the day, he slipped his backpack off of his back, climbed into the truck and took a seat near a window, the bag nestled between his legs. A few minutes later, two other men joined him, the burly man with the clip board climbed in and they took off.

"You ever work for these guys?" The guy next to him leaned over and muttered his question under his breath.

"Not this company,” JC answered, keeping his voice low. “I've done some construction stuff before, though. You’ll work your ass off, but it's good pay."

The man nodded as if that was the answer he was looking for. He sat up again and stared straight ahead during the twenty minute drive. They pulled over between two other trucks with the Jefferson Construction logo on the side. Just past the line of trucks was a half-built steel structure and about a hundred men milling about, trampling through dirt and gravel. 

JC grabbed his bag and piled out, waiting for the standard orientation, safety reminders and details about the day. Doug, the driver, gave everyone the rundown.

“The work day starts at 8am, no later. Ends at 4:30, no earlier.” He handed an orange ticket to each of them. JC glanced at it. It just said LUNCH, printed in bold black letters. “Do not lose this ticket. If you lose this ticket, you get no food. Lunch is from 12:30 to 1:30. Listen for the whistle and follow everybody’s lead to the truck.” He bobbed his head toward an empty spot where, JC guessed, a food truck would later sit. He was already looking forward to it.

“You get two breaks, fifteen minutes, no longer. Let your Crew Leader know when you’re taking your break. You don’t get paid unless you work the full day. Full day pays $75. Understood?”

All three men nodded. JC shuffled from foot to foot, eager to get started. $75 was a lot of money for a man in his position.

“You,” said the shorter man, pointing at JC. “Follow me. You’ll need some steel toes. Doug, get these guys some gloves and hardhats.”

JC followed him up a dirt path to a trailer. Inside, in place of couches and chairs and tables, was a makeshift office outfitted with desks and phones, filing cabinets and office machines. There was a small kitchen, a bathroom and other rooms down a dark hallway. The man disappeared into a back room and came back with a pair of brown boots. The leather was thin and faded in places, but the laces were new and so was the sole.

He handed the pair to JC. “Some of the guys donate their old boots when they get a new pair. We’ve got a shop that rehabs them for us. Try ‘em.”

JC took a seat in one of the office chairs and pulled off his tattered Converse sneakers. He pulled on one boot and then the other, laced them up tight and then stood, walking from one end of the cramped space to the other. The insoles were cushioned, the sides sturdy. They looked old and worn but they felt like brand new shoes. 

“These will work. They feel good.”

“Great,” said the man. “Keep them. You’ll need them. Be out tomorrow morning, same time.” He raised a brow and aimed a pointed stare in JC’s direction. “You understand?”

Tomorrow was Saturday. Weekends paid extra. JC heard him loud and clear. By the end of the week, he’d have money in his pocket. Today was shaping up to be a good day, too. Maybe Phee really was an angel. Or a good luck charm, at the least.

“Leave your coat and bag up here. Come pick it up on your way off-site.” The man stuck out a hand, which JC shook fervently. “Name’s Jeff. You don’t seem like you belong in that line on the corner. I figured you for the desk job kind. How’s a guy like you end up here?”

That was a loaded question, one JC didn’t have the time or desire to answer. “Tough times, I guess,” he said instead.

“Yeah, everywhere.” He rubbed a patch of hair beneath his bottom lip and heaved a tired sigh. “We’re trying to finish this shopping center before the developer runs out of money. It’s a race against the clock lately, and we’re not winning. Time and money are running out and they wonder why the work seems shoddy? They’re rushing us through the job.”

Jeff’s blue eyes rolled toward the ceiling before he headed for the door again, grumbling to himself. JC followed him back down the path to the construction site, where men and machines were crawling around like ants in dirt.

“I didn’t catch your name, son.”

“Everybody calls me JC.”

“JC, then. You make sure to do a good job, today. And I meant what I said about tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir,” JC answered.

Jeff veered off to the right, where a group of men had gathered. The giant claw of a yellow crane dangled above them. Around the site, everyone wore jeans, t-shirts, boots and a hardhat. Everyone looked the same. No one could tell, looking at JC, that he was any different from any of the other men on the crew. As soon as the whistle sounded to indicate the start of the work day, the men from the corner were officially on the clock. Working men, just like anyone else.

Normal never felt so good.

His assignment for the first half of the day was cleanup. He followed several crews around picking up scraps of wood, metal and drywall, dumping them into a wheelbarrow until it was full. Then he’d wheel his pile to another larger pile offsite and dump it there and repeat all morning. Later, a large crane would scoop up the debris from the larger pile and cart it away. It was JC’s job to feed the crane.

By noon, his muscles ached. JC took off his hardhat and ran his fingers through the sweaty mop of curls, then wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his t-shirt. He’d long since removed his sweatshirt. It was tied around his waist. Breakfast had burned off by 10am. He was starving, so hungry his stomach rumbled and growled and twisted like there was a tiny being inside him. The lunch whistle finally brought relief.

He stepped in line at the food truck, which had pulled up about an hour before and teased the crew with the scent of hot dogs, hamburgers and barbeque pork. By chance, he just happened to get behind Jeff, who nodded at him while wiping his forehead with the bottom of his t-shirt. Once stark white, it was now caked with dust and dirt.

“Good day, so far?”

“Real good,” JC said. “Ready to eat, though. Then I’m back at it.”

“Good to hear. Eat up, and then come find me up at the office. You’ll work with me the rest of today.”

JC wondered what that meant. Since Jeff was the one who’d told him to show up the next day to volunteer, he hoped it meant something good.

Lunch was a hearty pulled pork sandwich on a generous bun, potato salad and baked beans on the side and two chocolate chip cookies. He balanced his plate on the palm of one hand while the other poked through a cooler of ice to pull out a can of Pepsi, something he never got to have anymore.  He picked up a plastic knife, fork, spoon and napkin, conveniently packed in a wrapper and walked past the food truck in search of a place to sit and eat.

There were no tables, no chairs, no benches, only dirt and concrete. The crew didn’t seem to mind—they were already dirty. JC followed suit, settling on a patch of pavement with his plate and digging in with two-fisted vigor, attacking the potato salad and beans with his fork while holding his sandwich in the other hand. Every few bites, he dropped the fork to suck down a few gulps of Pepsi.

He could get used to this.

His plate was empty, practically licked clean. He honestly could have gone for another helping but he only had one lunch ticket, so he took his empty plate and nearly empty can of soda to the trash bin near the food truck. The bin was overflowing with paper plates and plastic forks. JC tossed his plate onto the stack, tipped the can of Pepsi into his mouth until it was empty, and tossed that into the bin as well. He stepped back, rubbed his belly and let out a belch. Satisfied.

As instructed, he followed the dirt path back to the trailer, where he found Jeff sitting at a desk. Rather, lounging at a desk. His chair was tipped back, his booted feet resting on the desktop next to his empty plate and bright yellow hardhat. He held a can of Coke aloft as he laughed loudly. At a desk across the room, a man sat in a collared shirt, a tie and slacks as if he’d accidentally ended up at a construction site and decided to stay.

“So, the construction worker leans over the table and the doc whacks him on the ass with a baseball bat, then sends him into the bathroom. He comes out a few minutes later and says, Doc, I feel great. What did you do?  Doc says, Stop wiping with cement bags.”  He launched into a high pitched hyena laugh, pounding the faux wood desk top with his fist. Jeff was close to falling out of his chair.

JC closed the door behind him and halfway laughed along, just to not feel uncomfortable. The end of the joke was pretty funny, anyway. Jeff sat up, righting his chair and kicking his feet to the floor and set his can of Coke back down onto the desk.

“You finished your lunch already? You must be a hungry sonofabitch.”

JC nodded, not sure if he should laugh. Was Jeff was referring to his hard work that morning or his situation? “Worked up an appetite,” he said. “You said to come find you…”

“Right, right.” He checked his watch and frowned at it. “We’ve got about fifteen minutes before we need to head out. Pull up a chair, have a seat.” JC looked around for an empty chair. He pulled one out from behind an empty desk and sank into it, relaxing a little.

Jeff turned his attention back to the man at the desk across from him with the clean, fancy clothes and thumbed toward JC. “Philip over here is sharing his best construction worker jokes. Shoot us another one.”

JC joined in on the laughter and when it died down, sat through two more jokes before he started to get antsy. He was here to work. He should have felt privileged to have some down time while he waited for Jeff to show him where he’d be working that afternoon, but he was impatient. And bored. Philip wasn’t his friend and, frankly, neither was Jeff. He’d rather be working.

He leaned forward, staring at his hands clasped together in front of him. Little more than a year ago, he’d never imagined that those hands would do anything near what they were doing now. He was never mechanically inclined. He did not build things, not even when he was little. If his car needed work, he took it to a shop. If he needed something, say a dresser or a table, or a photo frame, it would never occur to him to put his hands to work and build it.

Jeff was right. He was an office job, desk job type of guy. He was Philip, in the white shirt and navy slacks and the tie with the clip and the snappy, preppy hair cut. Now he took whatever came to him. He did manual labor—washed dishes, swept floors, worked construction. He had to admit, now that it wasn’t beneath him, he really liked it.

“You ready for some more work, kid?”

Jeff was standing, clapping his hardhat onto his head. JC stood so quickly that the chair shot back and rolled into the metal desk behind him. He grabbed his hat and put it back on, raised a hand in greeting to Philip as they filed out of the trailer and followed Jeff back down the path to the line of trucks. They climbed into the same one JC had ridden in that morning.

The truck crawled over the uneven surface of the site at a snail’s pace, passing different phases of construction—pouring cement, pounding steel bars into the ground, measuring and cutting wood for walls and window openings, carting slabs of sheetrock across the site. It was like watching the evolution of a project from beginning to end.

“You ever paint?” Jeff was asking as he pulled over in front of a building on the other end of the site that looked nearly complete. It just needed windows.

“Not really. Not that I can’t. I just never have.”

“It’s not hard.”

They got out of the truck and walked into the building. There were large, empty squares where doors and windows should be. The sun beat into every square, shining patches of light into the space. The floor was covered with drop cloths, but JC could see patches of light brown stone tile underneath the cloths.

Jeff led the way through the building, past enormous rooms where crews of men were building, painting, constructing. They were loud, talking and laughing over the sound of machines and a radio that blared a familiar tune.  They stopped at a room with a crew of three men. The floor was still cement and the walls were bare.

“You’ll work with these guys today. We need sheetrock hung in here and in the four stores next to this one. Once they get it hung, we paint it. One coat of construction white.” He pointed to the painting supplies in the middle of the room—a bucket, a long handled paint roller, and an aluminum pan. “Doesn’t have to be DaVinci. Just give it a coat and move on. You’ll be doing this tomorrow, too.”

JC nodded, pulling on his gloves, removing his hardhat.

“I’ll be a few stores over, if you have any questions. This building has working restrooms and water fountains if you need them.”

JC jumped in to help carry a few pieces of sheetrock into the room and held them while they were nailed into place. Once a few walls were complete, he opened the five gallon bucket of paint and poured some into the pan. Then, starting at one end of the room and working his way around, he applied a coat of white paint to the plain grey surface.

4:30 came while he was in the middle of painting a wall in the second store. His crew dropped their tools, picked up their hardhats, jackets, and lunch pails and filed out of the room. JC opted to finish the wall he was painting, enjoying the silence. He was alone for the first time, that day. He missed silence and solitude.

“You work hard. I like that.” Jeff was standing outside the store, where the doors would be if they had been installed. “Dedicated to the finished product. Good work, but time to call it quits. You’ll miss your ride back to town.”

Reluctantly, he put down the long-handled paint roller, leaning it against the wall. He grabbed his hardhat and discarded sweatshirt, noting his hands. They were covered in drops of paint. Underneath the paint were splotches of dirt. He was dusty and pain splattered, head to toe, including his boots. He felt great about that.

Jeff drove him back to the main site where men were milling around, talking and laughing, striding toward cars and trucks parked at a lot across the street. JC found Doug, who was walking around the site with a stack of envelopes.

“Chasez. Been calling your name for ten minutes.” He shoved the envelope into JC’s hand and walked away. It was sealed, with his name printed in block letters on the front, the date beneath it. It was thick. He clutched the envelope in his hand and inwardly sighed with relief.

It was time to go back to the corner. Back to reality. He trudged the path back to the truck, dirty and sweaty but deliciously tired. If only he was heading home to take a shower, sit down to a nice meal and crack open a beer with some football in the background. He sighed at the thought and suddenly missed a lot about his old life. At least the day was good.

The drop-off was unceremonious. The truck slowed to a stop at the same corner where they’d been picked up earlier that day. All three men piled out and walked away, each man going in a different direction.  JC didn’t put his coat back on, but heaved the heavy bag onto his back and headed towards the gas station he always used to clean up. The owner was nice and didn’t have to let him use it, but didn’t give him a hard time about it when he did. Maybe he’d actually buy something today, to pay the guy back a little.

The envelope burned in his pocket. He pulled it out, opened it and counted eight bills—7 $10’s and a $5. He slipped most of the cash into a zippered pocket inside the bag, saving $5 to spend that night. He wanted to run the streets, flashing his money, spending it on random things he always thought he needed when he didn’t have any money to buy them. He couldn’t, though. He had to save it, because he never knew when he might need it. Life had to go on as normal, as if he didn’t have any money. Besides, the first hint he gave that he had cash would immediately invite an opportunity to have it taken from him.

He washed up in the restroom, doing his best to scrub the paint spatters from his skin and shampoo the sheetrock dust and dirt from his hair. He changed his clothes, cringing at the jeans. They were one of the newer pairs that he’d taken from the stash of Davey’s old clothes. He hadn’t meant to get them so dirty. These would have to become his work jeans, then. He’d wear them again the next day and then try to find a Laundromat and wash them, along with his socks caked with dirt and his shirt with a film of dust embedded into the fibers.

It was well past 5:00 by the time he got clean. He could probably find dinner somewhere, but he was too tired to deal with the lines and the lukewarm food. He walked into the gas station and picked out a hot dog, a bag of chips and a bottle of water.

“You’re paying for that.”

He didn’t realize the clerk was talking to him until he looked up and saw the line of people at the register, all turned around and staring at him. The clerk glared from his platform behind the register. His face was stone cold.

Slowly and deliberately, JC dug into his pocket and pulled out the crisp $5 bill, holding it up for everyone to see. All eyes went back to the clerk, to see what he would do or say next. “Whatever,” he mumbled, going back to ringing up items. “Probably stole that money from someone.”

“You don’t know that he stole it,” a lady said.

“And you don’t know he didn’t,” the clerk snapped. “Are you checking out, or not?”

She opened her mouth, JC hoped to say something unseemly, but was quieted when a door from the back room opened and a man JC recognized as the owner came out and climbed the two steps to the platform.

“What’s going on, out here? Who’re you yelling at?”

The clerk turned around and muttered something to the owner. He listened, his eyes flicking up toward JC and then to the woman who was standing in line fuming. He said something to the clerk, to which the clerk began to argue, forcing him to say it louder. “I said I don’t care! Do your job.”

Flustered, the clerk returned to his register. Slowly, robotically he began ringing up customers again. When it was JC’s turn, the clerk wouldn’t look at him or speak to him, except to tell him his total and announce his change. JC picked up his bag and walked out of the store.

He remembered now why he never went to stores anymore. Despite trying so hard to not look homeless, it must have been some kind of invisible overcoat he wore, that he couldn’t take off. He wondered if he’d ever be able to take it off. 

Oh Lord

There must be something you can say

The Golden Lantern Theater was becoming his favorite spot, lately. It was lit up and busy with lots of traffic and people to watch. The sun had sunk below the horizon, giving the sky a deep pink glow.  Dusk and dawn had always seemed like the best parts of every day to him. He was enjoying the sunset with the worn copy of Catcher in the Rye.

He also found that he could sit against the wall for hours on end and no one would bother him. Well, except for Phee.

“So I gotta come get you every night? Is that the deal?”

She plopped down next to him, imitating his cross-legged and back-against-the-wall pose. He closed the book, marking the spot with a finger and looked up at her. Her hair was loose, out of its bun. The respectable pearl earrings were gone, a set of silver skull and cross bones in their place.  

“I didn’t know you wanted me to come back.”

“I have to say out loud that I want you to come back? Did you want to come back?”

He shook his head, laughing. “Don’t get all complicated on me, Phoenix.”

She frowned, a deep V forming between her eyebrows. He expected her to protest calling her by her full name but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she poked at his boots. “You got new shoes? Sorta?”

JC uncrossed his legs and stretched them out. He kicked the shoes together, smiling at the dust and dried paint that flew off of them. “Let’s say I’m working for them.”

“Okay. Whatever that means. So what’d you do today?”

“Worked. On a construction crew.” He pointed towards his shoes and laughed. “That’s where the boots came from.”

She brightened, sitting up straight. “You worked? Good for you. See, getting up early was worth it.”

He was proud, if he had to say so himself. “Working tomorrow, too. The foreman asked me to come back. They pay extra on the weekend.”

“Wow,” she said, her smile growing. “Fat pockets. They pay good?”

He nodded. “$75 today. I don’t know about tomorrow, I’m hoping for an even hundred.”

“Well, good. I’m proud of you.”

He put the book away, slipping it into an open pocket in the bag. “What kind of trouble are you getting into, tonight?”

“I’m just out,” she answered. “Checking on some folks. Saw you sitting here, thought I’d say hi and give you shit for not coming by.”

“Am I one of the people you check on?”

“Sometimes. If no one has seen you for awhile, I start looking.”

He shook his head, lightly chuckling. He was touched, sort of. “That’s creepy, Phee.”

She laughed. “Most people appreciate it, asshole.”

“We already talked about how I’m not most people.”

“Fine, I won’t watch out for you then, if you don’t want me to.”

“I didn’t say that. I just said it’s creepy.”

“You asked if I check on you. I’m supposed to lie?”

“I’ll quit asking, then.”

“Deal.”

A long but comfortable pause lingered between them as they watched the dusk turn to night. Traffic was thick and the street seemed busy, like there was some kind of event.  

“So what’d you do, today?” He asked, breaking the silence.

“Laundry,” she said. “I have friends in that department so we shoot the shit while we’re working, otherwise I’d be bored to death folding towels for hours. We have to stock all of the maid carts before 11am. That’s when the maids go out to clean the rooms. Then they bring towels back when they’re done with rooms and those have to be washed, dried and folded. After lunch, I covered the front desk for a little bit and delivered some dry cleaning.”

“Sounds like a full day. Feels good to work.”

“Yeah. When you’ve been without it for awhile, it does.” She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, but didn’t pull one out and light up. JC eyed her, tilting his head in confusion. “I haven’t had one since this morning. Kinda trying to quit.”

“Not because of me?”

She blushed and put both items away. “Just starting to think that maybe you’re right about how they’ll kill me.”

“Well, you should quit because you want to, not because I made some comment.”

“I guess I never thought about it, before. I’ve just always smoked. It was cool to smoke when I was a kid. Now? It’s just a habit. Trying to cut down some.”

“Cool. Whatever.”

“So are you sleeping out, tonight?”

He shrugged, not answering. She seemed like she wanted him to say no, to ask to come over. He wasn’t going to make it that easy for her.

“Well, if you have to work tomorrow, you should get good sleep. You could come by.”

“Since you’re asking.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled while doing it. “I’m not asking. I’m offering.”

“Fine, then. Since you’re offering. Do you have more people to check on or are you dragging me back to your place right now?”

She uncrossed her legs and stood, offering him a hand. “I’m dragging you back to my place right now.”

He stood without her help, slipped the strap of the bag over his shoulder, and fell into step beside her. Her arm brushed against his about every other step. Not that he minded, but he noticed it.

“The bag’s working out, looks like. Better than your old one.”

“Yeah. It’s bigger.”

“Sucks to have to drag it around all the time, doesn’t it?”

“I’m used to it, I guess.”

They talked as they walked the few blocks to her place, the space on State Street that was cramped but as comfortable as his old apartment had been. JC told her all about his day. Phee seemed to think he received special treatment from Jeff and wondered what it meant. He didn’t really want to question it. It was like this—whatever it was—that was going on with Phee. He wasn’t refusing it or questioning it. It just happened. If people were offering, he was taking.

At her room, he shrugged off the bag and the coat, piling them neatly in a corner near the desk.

“So you ate something? For dinner I mean, since you had money.”

JC assumed his usual seat on the mattress with the book. “Hot dog. But if you’re making food, I’ll eat some.”

They had chili and corn chips and watched some sitcoms on TV before Phee got up to take her shower. She came out, wrapped in a towel, and shooed him into the bathroom. “Shower anyway,” she said when he protested.

He gave up, rifled through his bag for his sweats and t-shirt and stalked to the bathroom. He started the shower and began to strip off layers of clothing but stopped when he noticed that there wasn’t a towel and a bar of soap waiting for him like before. Without thinking, he opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom.

“Hey, Phee. I need a—“

She squealed and dove for the towel that she’d tossed onto the mattress, but not quickly enough. He’d seen plenty.

Phee shoved the corners of the towel under her armpits. Her entire body glowed pink. “What do you need?”

“Uhm…”

His brain wouldn’t work. It was still full of the sight of her thin waist and wide hips, perky teardrop breasts, a  flat belly that invited a graze of his lips and—this he was sure he’d seen—a well-manicured strip of hair.

“What?!” Her screech popped him out of his reverie. He blinked away the vision of her and came to.

“Towel,” he choked out. “I need a towel and some soap.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She pointed toward the desk, but stayed crouched on the mattress, clutching the towel to her body. “The basket on top has towels and the one under it has some stuff from the hotel. Soap and lotion and stuff.”

Quietly, he retrieved his towel and soap and stiffly walked back to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. His chest hurt from holding in the gust of air that he could finally push out of his lungs.

Fuck. He wished he hadn’t seen her. His sex drive had awakened after a cold winter’s nap and now thrummed at a constant state of turned on.

*****

Phee didn’t say anything about the night before and neither did JC. He preferred to just pretend it didn’t happen, if that was okay with her. 

“So, listen. You don’t have to drag your bag around all day, if you don’t want to. You can leave it here.”

She slid her feet into an understated pair of black shoes. She was already wearing her uniform, her hair in a long, low ponytail and the requisite pearl earrings in her ears. She dug through her bag and produced a key ring with a single key on it. She tossed it across the room and he plucked it from the air.

“In case you get back here before me.” 

He fingered the steel ring and the silver key attached and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. It would be nice to not have to drag the bag around all day. He hadn’t been without a bag on his back in a long time.

“Thanks,” he said slipping his arms into his coat. From his bag, he retrieved the book he’d been reading. He needed something to occupy his time during the ride to and from the site and during lunch.

They walked together to the bus stop. On the way, she lit up her first cigarette since the day before.  “I’ve built up a lot of hours, huh?”

He grinned, teasing her. “Smoking them away now, though.”

“See, that’s the shit that makes me feel bad about smoking and makes me want to quit.”

“If you want to quit, then quit. You want a cookie for smoking less?”

“A little credit for trying would be nice.”

He stopped at the bench and took a seat next to her, downwind from the trail of smoke. “You’re doing really good so far. One a day is an improvement. Happy?”

“Very. Was that so hard?” The cigarette dangled from between two fingers, the ashes building on the end as it burned. “You got plans for tonight?”

“Not yet. You want to do something?”

“Maybe.”

“Like what?”

She shrugged, sucking down another lungful, turning her head to blow it out. “Dunno. Get some food, something good. Watch a movie, maybe. You don’t drink, so we can’t party.”

“I don’t mind, if you want to party—“

“It’s okay. The good stuff that won’t fuck you up is expensive, anyway. Think about it. Something you haven’t done in awhile. We’ll go do it. Celebrate, you know?”

“Celebrate what? Two days of work?” He laughed, which was more of a snort than a laugh. “Let’s see if I can make it three.”

Phee paused for a beat, sucked her cigarette to the filter and leaned over the smash the tip into the pavement. “You’re real negative, you know.”

“Just realistic,” he said.

“Be less realistic,” she said, her tone dry and void of her usual wit. “Your life is as real as it gets. You don’t need to be more real. You need some hope and some fantasy and some joy. A little bit, at least.”

He sighed, thankful that he saw the Number 34 coming to take Phee to work. “I’ll work on that. Have a good day.”

She rolled her eyes as she stood and reached into her bag for bus fare. “Think about what you want to do tonight. Just having fun.  Okay?”

JC gave her a solitary nod as she stepped onto the bus. When it pulled away, he turned and started walking back the way they’d come, and then past the Standard Hotel, the Golden Lantern, and six blocks further to House of Hope, where Moe lit up as soon as JC walked in. Two days in a row so early in the day was unheard of. He was fond of sleeping.

He waved and headed for the line, not much in the mood for chatting. He wanted to eat and get in line for work, so he kept his head down and loaded up a paper plate with his usual selection and sat down at his usual table.

He didn’t want to think about it. Phee. Last night. But… the vision of her was burned into his mind. She was all he could think about, ever since he stepped out of the bathroom and saw her in the dim, yellowish light of the room. She was fully nude, tugging a comb through her long hair. The way her arms were raised, it lifted her breasts up and since the room was slightly chilly, her nipples were erect and eraser tip pink in size and shape. In his mind, his eyes traveled her skin, creamy and unblemished except for the occasional dot here and there like Cindy Crawford had above her lip. It was supposed to be a sign of beauty. Whatever it was, he wanted to count them, over and over.

It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed the company of a woman. Too long. Long enough that he was considering ruining this thing he had built, however small it was, with a woman who was very generous with her time and her home for a few minutes of satisfaction. His groin tightened; he shifted in his seat. At least part of him was excited about that prospect. He shook his head, hoping to shake loose the image of her.

She doesn’t want me. She wants what I remind her of. Can’t do that to her. And remember Colin? Can’t do that to you.

*****

He almost fell asleep in the truck on the ride back to the corner. Saturdays were long, hard days because there was a smaller crew with the same amount of work to do. He worked with Jeff and the guys from the crew the day before hanging sheetrock, painting, picking up scraps, generally being helpful. Anything he thought to do, he did it. Quickly.

There was no lunch truck on Saturdays, but Jeff took care of everyone by sending out for sandwiches. They sat in the middle of the mall where there was to be a fountain but the water hadn’t been turned on yet. It was just an empty open pit surrounded by a wide brick rim. They sat facing inward, their boots hanging into the fountain, ate their sandwiches and chips and drank their sodas. JC ate quickly, dumped his garbage and stepped outside.

He settled on a nice spot in the sun, on some pavement that wasn’t too dirty or muddy and leaned up against a post. A half hour in peace and quiet, soaking up sun and Salinger seemed to be just what he needed. When lunch was over and everyone went back to work, he marked his place and tucked it away again and went back to work.

At the end of the day, he was rewarded with 5 $20 bills for his time. Jeff pulled him aside after he’d handed him the envelope.

“I need an extra man, next week. You available?” JC nodded, giddy inside. Guaranteed work for the next week was good news.  Jeff gripped his arm before he could walk away. “I need you next Saturday, but I don’t need you for six days. Pick a day, any day, to not show up.”

JC already knew he’d take Thursday off and hang out with Phee.

After the drop-off, JC headed back to Phee’s place. It was weird, being in her apartment without her. It was quiet and though it was packed to the gills, seemed empty. Her personality was so big that it filled any space, surrounded him and everything in the place. She was what made it seem comfortable.

He stripped and headed to the shower. He was just as dirty as he had been the day before and since he could take a shower, it was all he could think about.

Well, a shower and Phee. 

The day had been busy enough that he’d managed to keep his thoughts of her at bay, but right now, in the quiet and empty space, with nothing else to occupy his thoughts, his mind was full of her. Why he chose to torture himself like this, he had no idea. Maybe he just missed being near a woman who didn’t hate him the way that Rachel, his ex, did. She actually told him, to his face, that she hated him. He didn’t really blame her.

But now he’d met someone who, he was pretty sure, was sweet on him. For all the wrong reasons, but she wasn’t trying very hard to hide it and despite his fear of Colin and his innate need to do the right thing, he was having a hard time fighting it.

He stood under the spray of warm water, his hair drenched and so long it hung over his face and soaped up, rubbing away the dirt and dust and splatters of paint. His nonstop thoughts about Phee had created a chain reaction. His hand brushed across his dick once, twice, three times before he gave in and gripped it, using the slip of the water to guide his palm across the smooth, erect surface.

He let his mind wander, remembering the first morning with her when she’d boldly pulled her pants down and he got a glimpse of her plain white cotton panties. He remembered how they clung to her form and left very little to the imagination. Then he indulged himself and brought back the image from last night and pictured himself stepping over the mattress and walking up to her and pulling her to him, fitting her body up against him, feeling her heat through his clothes.

He was lightheaded and his knees buckled. He reached out and steadied himself with one hand against the tile of the shower while the other hand pumped to the brink of climax. Without realizing it, his internal grunts had escaped his clenched teeth and were bouncing off of the porcelain, echoing around the room.

“UUUUuuuunnnnngggghhhhh……..”

Release. Sweet, holy motherfucking release.

His first orgasm in ages left him limp and faint and hot, his normally pale skin taking on a pink tinge. He was overheated and out of breath, trying to suck in more, but he didn’t seem to be able to get enough air. He needed to sit down, or kneel down or… something…

Three bangs at the door brought him back to reality. “You okay in there? You’re not throwing up are you?”

Instantly, strength returned to his legs. His mind cleared and he jerked upright, dropping his now flaccid dick and sticking his head out from behind the curtain. She hadn’t opened the door, thank God, so she wouldn’t see how flush he still was.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he called, trying to sound normal and nonchalant. “Comin’…uh… be out in a sec.”

“Don’t use all the hot water. I want to hop in there.”

He didn’t answer, but he did soap up one more time and scrub himself raw before turning off the faucet and stepping out. He roughly ran the towel over his body and then wrapped it around his waist, making sure it was securely fastened before he opened the door.

“All yours,” he said, his pile of clothing in his arms. He couldn’t even look at her. No matter, it was business as usual for Phee.

“I’ll only be a few minutes. I had to work laundry again today and it’s so hot back there, I sweat through my clothes.” She grabbed a pile of clothing and closed herself off in the bathroom.  

He dug through his bag for something remotely nice and not “homeless looking” to wear. Tonight, they would have a normal night if it killed him.

When the door opened again, she was dressed in street clothes. Her hair was down; the pearl earrings were gone, small silver hoops in their place. Around her neck was a phoenix pendant strung on a simple silver chain. It hung low above the v-neck of a tight, long sleeved black shirt. She wore jeans and was shoving her feet into a pair of boots when she glanced up at him.

“What?”

He blinked. “What, what?”

“You’re staring. What? I look funny?”

“No.” He busied himself with fussing with his hair. It was too long, too curly, too dry. He hadn’t had a haircut in forever and he hadn’t been able to buy the right products for his hair in a long time. They weren’t a priority when he never knew where his next meal was coming from.

“You need a haircut.”

“No shit.”

“Want to go get one? It’ll take you an hour to tame that. I know a guy.”

He tried to comb it back, hoping it would lie down. It popped back up in a curly puff on top of his head. Irritated he snapped, “You know everybody, don’t you?”

She paused, turning to glare at him. “You don’t get very far if you don’t make friends, JC. Life out there doesn’t always have to be about humiliation and begging. There are a lot of people who are willing to help if you just ask.”

He unrolled the wool cap and pulled it on over his hair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you mad. Let’s go see your guy. I’m working next week and my hair makes me sweat more. It’s driving me crazy.”

She seemed pleased. At least she smiled and grabbed her bag and coat. “And then what?”

“And then… well, how do you feel about football?”

*****

 

“For the record, I hate football.”

JC laughed but ignored her bored stare up at the flat screen TV, her chin firmly planted in the palm of her hand. In front of him were remnants of a spread that was his standard football watching menu—hot wings, fries, potato skins, and nachos. On the TV above her head, two college football teams were competing. The score was neck and neck, the clock running out. JC didn’t care about either team, but he was excited to be sitting in a sports bar eating bar food and watching football.

“Ohhhhh!” He yelled up at the TV, his mouth full of fries. “Now we’re playing some football!”

The best part was that no one looked at him funny. No one was rude to him. No one assumed that he couldn’t or wouldn’t pay. He and Phee walked in, waited for the hostess, followed her to their table and sat down and ordered. Like normal.

Phee took him to a salon that offered discount haircuts to homeless and “in-betweeners”—those that were working and had a place to stay but technically didn’t have a home. That’s what she called JC.

The haircut made a dramatic difference. His head felt lighter. He wasn’t brushing hair out of his eyes or tucking it behind his ear anymore.  He didn’t have a tall, dry stack of curls anymore. It was short and sleek, now. He liked it.

So did Phee. She kept staring at him.

When the game was over, JC drained his glass and picked up the folio containing the bill. He pulled out his wallet and fingered through the bills he’d put in it, proudly plunking down enough to cover their meal and a tip.  

It was a warm day, but the temperature had dropped 10 degrees since they’d gone inside the sports bar. JC zipped his coat and Phee buttoned hers. They had to walk a few blocks to the bus stop, catch a bus and then transfer to the Number 34 route.

“Man, I missed football. Thanks for sitting through that game. I know it sucks if you don’t care about football.”

“Wasn’t that bad. It was nice being out.”

Her boots clicked on the pavement as she walked. She kept her pace to a leisurely stroll. JC kept pace with her. If she wasn’t in a hurry, neither was he. “Hey, let me ask you something.”

“Sure.”

“You ever uhm… you ever see people you used to know? I mean, from before you left?”

“Hmmm,” she said, pondering. Then, “Not really. Anyone I knew back then left when they graduated. No one comes back here once they get out.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters? Ever see them?’

“I’m the baby. I have an older brother and older sister. They’re uh… your age.” She elbowed him a few times and giggled. “They don’t live here. Like I said, people get out of here and don’t come back.”

JC smiled down at her. “Tell me your brother and sister have weird names, too. Please tell me that.”

Phee refused to answer for a few seconds, but after prodding and needling from JC, she gave in. “Okay. My sister’s name is Sunshine.” JC laughed loudly. “Right? But she’s always gone by Amy because she thinks my parents are nutters for naming her that. She won’t change it, but she won’t answer to it. Not in public anyway. And uhm, my brother’s name is Blaze. He loves his name.”

“I’d love that name. I think I’m gonna go by uh… Joaquin.”

“That’s too cool of a name. You should have to suffer like me and Sunshine.”

“You mean Amy?”

“No, I mean Sunshine. That’s what I call her because I’m a bitch like that. If I have to go by Phoenix, she has to go by Sunshine. Sometimes she answers to it.” Phee laughed a deliciously evil chuckle. JC instantly loved the sound.

“What about your parents. Do you see them?”

The glee from their conversation faded like water draining from a sink. The span of silence grew from seconds to a full minute and longer before she sighed, loud and heavy.

“I saw my mom awhile ago. She showed up at the hotel. Someone must have said they saw me there. She was all lovey-dovey, wanting to talk and catch up. She wanted me to come home.”

“You didn’t want to go?”

She shook her head, quickly. “No. My parents like to put stipulations on things. It’ll never be that I can come home and live the life I want to live. But I could go home and live the life they want me to live.”

“Which is?”

“Hah,” she bit out. “Quit associating with dirty, homeless people. We’re above that, you know. Quit my job, probably. They’d want me to get some meaningless job where I look pretty for hours on end but I’m bored shitless. They’d want me to go to school and dress differently and wear expensive, trendy clothes. After living outside, in the woods, on the river or squatting in an abandoned warehouse with no running water and nothing but a tarp to protect us from the wind?”

She shook her head, glancing up at him. “I’m not sure I can ever waste money again. Their lifestyle and how they don’t help people with any of it just makes me sick.”

JC knew that feeling well. He had a little bit of money in his pocket and that scared him, because soon it would be gone and he had no guarantees that he could replace it soon. The first habit he’d learned, out on the street, was to stretch a dollar as far as it could go.

“My mom said they had a car for me. Just sitting at home. I asked her if I could use it and she said I’d have to come home first.” She spat out the word with so much venom, it scared him. “Bitch.”

“A car would be nice for you. No more Number 34.”

“I know. And it would help me out so much. I could work more, I could help out Cass. I could give rides to people.”

Her breath was a visible puff of air as she sighed again. “Let’s stop talking about my mom, otherwise I’ll need a cigarette and one of those bottles of vodka. What about you? You see people you know? You have brothers and sisters right?”

He nodded. “One of each. I haven’t seen either in a long time. They’re kind of not talking to me because of what happened with my parents. And I haven’t seen my parents in a long time. Almost a year.”

“Any reason?”

“They’re getting back on their feet, little by little. Things are going okay for them. They don’t need me messing things up again.”

Phee slowed and then stopped. “Wait. You really think they think that?”

JC didn’t stop. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets and balled into fists. His feet kept going forward and his mouth kept moving. Phee hurried to catch up again.

“Them? Nah. I’m their kid. They still love me. But I really think that. I try to call every so often to let them know I’m okay.  It kills me to talk to my mom. She always cries, and my dad is always in the background, telling her to tell me things like who’s hiring and who has cheap housing and stuff. She asks me to come home all the time.”

“And you don’t want to go?”

“They only have one bedroom. I don’t want to live in their couch. Not because it’s uncomfortable. It’s just, I feel like if I went, I wouldn’t leave.” Sort of like how he hoped he wouldn’t have to leave Phee’s any time soon. At least until it wasn’t so cold at night.

They’d reached the bus stop. He climbed up onto the bench, his feet on the seat, and sat on the backrest. Phee stood, pacing the small area between the bus stop sign and the bench.

“You okay?” JC asked.

She paused. “Yeah.  Why?

“You seem a little worked up. Should I have not asked about your mom?”

“It’s fine,” she said. “Just brings up old memories and feelings and fights we had. I feel like I’ve changed a lot and they haven’t. I could go home if they’d give, just a little…” Her voice trailed off as she leaned against the pole with the bus route sign on it.

“They think they’re right and that they know what’s best. And if you’d just give a little…”

“I know you don’t really know me, but I’m not the type to grovel.”

“I guess I need to get to know you, then.”

She pushed off of the pole with her shoulder and sauntered over to the bench, stopping directly in front of him. They were eye to eye, face to face, the moonlight casting an eerie glow.

If he was a betting man, he’d have placed his entire day’s wages on the chance that she’d stand in front of him and then step close and closer still and lean into him until her lips grazed his. And that once she touched him, he’d not be able to control himself, or at least his lips and his tongue. His head would tilt to the side and his mouth would open and she would move in again and this time the kiss would be deep and strong.

If he were betting man, he’d be rich.

Her hands were on his face, her thumbs stroking his cheek, her touch surprisingly gentle for as harsh of a person she could be.  She kissed him, working her tongue into and around his mouth so deliberately slowly that it was driving him crazy. A moan rose from within her, full of so much passion that it made him shudder.  She was going for sensuous and meaningful. He wanted to grab her by the back of the head and pull her to him, up against him. Not that he didn’t like her style-- he was just impatient.

She pulled away suddenly and reached for the bag hanging in the crook of her arm.

Shit. What happened?

“I’m… I’m sorry. Don’t stop…”

Surprised, she looked up from the interior of her bag. “Sorry for what?”

He stuttered, stumbling over his words. “Well… you…we kissed. Then… you stopped.”

She laughed. “Was it that good? You’re so out of it. It’s cold and I don’t want to walk home. The bus is coming.” 

She tipped her head to the right. He realized then that he could hear it, the rumble of a bus sized engine and the hiss of the air brakes at the stop just before theirs. It was a good thing Phee paid attention.

She paid the fare for both of them and led the way to the seats she liked, at the back of the bus and to the left. She always let him sit by the window, so he slid in and she sat next to him. The bus rolled smoothly down the street, giving a soothing rock back and forth. JC yawned. It had been a long day.

Under cover of nearly closed eyelids, he watched Phee. She was smiling. She didn’t look crazy or anything, but he knew her distracted, on-the-bus face and this wasn’t it. The edge of her mouth tipped up, very slightly. She looked pleased, like whatever was going on inside her head was making her happy. This, in turn, made him happy for reasons he didn’t feel like explaining to himself.

One transfer, a twenty minute ride, and a ten minute walk later, they were back at Phee’s room. Since he got there first, he used his key and left the door open for her. She closed the door behind her, locked it and then leaned against it.

He unzipped his coat and removed it, laying it over his bag and the other things he had piled in the corner of her room. She took off her coat and tossed it in the same general vicinity, set her purse on the desk and kicked off her shoes. She never took her eyes off of him.

He knew that, because he never took his eyes off of her.

He wasn’t sure what was happening, or what she wanted. He knew one thing about Phee, though. She wasn’t afraid to go for it. And he wasn’t in the mood to turn her down if she did.

“What would happen if I kissed you again? Would you run away?”

The sexy grit in her voice sent sparks up his spine and back down again. He shuddered and laughed at the same time.  “I didn’t run away the first time.”

“Nope, you didn’t.”

She inched her way over to him, which didn’t take very long, and ran her hands up his long sleeves and over his shoulders. He didn’t dare move, except to remove his hands from his pockets and place them on her hips. Lips whispered past one another in the lightest of kisses.

Phee was the first to pull back. “Did you like what you saw last night?”

He swallowed, audibly. And nodded.

She smiled. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Like what if I didn’t act like a freak, like you were trying to attack me, or something? What if I just stood there?”

“I probably would have run away.”

Phee laughed, her belly bouncing off of his. “Probably. Let’s uh…”

She gestured toward the mattress and they took their usual seats, side by side, backs against the wall. Phee turned on the TV. Saturday Night Live was on. They watched in silence, only laughing intermittently. JC, for one, wasn’t really paying attention to the show. His legs were stretched out in front of him, hands clasped in his lap. He was waiting for the action to start.

The show droned on for a half hour until Phee sighed. “I feel dumb. Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed you. I haven’t kissed a guy since… now it’s all awkward.” She grabbed her bed clothes and escaped into the bathroom, closing the door hard behind her.

He was confused. Should he have made a move? It wasn’t his idea. She was the one who wanted it.

While she was gone, he changed into his sweats and t-shirt, pulled the sleeping bag and blankets back and crawled into bed. Phee came out of the bathroom and got into bed beside him.

And laid there.

JC cleared his throat. “Uhm. So, should I have made a move or something?”

“Would have been nice to not be doing all of the work,” she said, huffing like she’d got herself all worked up in the bathroom. “I just thought maybe since I made the first move that you could make one, too. We obviously want the same thing. I thought it would be okay if I showed you that I was open to it, but you know what? Fine. It’s fine.”

“How was I supposed to know that’s what you meant? You should have said something.”

“I have to tell you to come on to me?” She rolled to the side with an angry humph.

He was confused. Frustrated. But also hard—painfully so-- and had been anticipating something happening. All he had to do was smooth this over so he made a bold gesture, daring to touch her, running his hand over her hip and up her arm.  She didn’t shrug him off, so he scooted closer and leaned in, landed a kiss on her neck and worked his way up her cheek to her earlobe. He was a little out of practice, but he was sort of sure that this was how it went.

Sure enough, she responded, rolling to her back again. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.” He leaned over her to kiss her again and moved closer, still, pressing himself against her. She chuckled. “I just wanted you to be sure this is what you wanted. I mean, that you wanted this from me.”

She didn’t answer in words. Instead she wrapped both arms around him and gently pulled. He rolled on top of her and settled between her thighs, lowering his lips to hers. She tasted like the peppermint candy she had picked up from the bowl at the sports bar. Sticky sweet.

“You taste good,” he mumbled between kisses. She giggled and lifted herself up off of the mattress. He wondered what she was doing, and figured it out when he felt her fingers under the band of his sweatpants. 

“Let’s get rid of these, okay?” And away they went, pulled down and kicked off.

They were naked from the waist down, skin slipping against warm skin. She ran a hand along his arm and gripped his wrist, pulling it down between them and slipping his hand under her t-shirt. They kissed while he roamed under the loose cotton material, over her soft belly, over her rib cage, over a breast he’d seen but not touched. A nipple stood out, begging for attention. When he flicked his thumb over it, the sounds and movements coming from the woman under him increased the urgency of the moment.

It must have done the same for Phee, because she reached between them and pointed him in the right direction. “I have to do everything, don’t I?” She sounded harsh but she was smiling. He could tell.

“You don’t have to do this.”  JC began a slow push until he was all the way inside and then pulled back. And pushed again, but faster this time. And again, faster. And harder. Over. And over. And over again.

“Oh… fuck,” was all JC could get out.

“Oh my God,” she moaned, her voice already uneven and shaky. She clung to him, moved her hips with him, dug her nails into his skin. He kind of liked that.

JC didn’t speak. It was hard enough to remember to breathe and impossible to talk while concentrating on keeping a rhythm and not coming too soon. It was a losing battle, though. It had been too long.

When he wasn’t sure he could last much longer, he sent up a flare. “I… I’m…”

“Okay,” she said between grunts, her hips slapping hard against his. “Go!”

That was all he needed to hear.

 

 He's a real nowhere man,
Sitting in his Nowhere Land,
Making all his nowhere plans
for nobody.

"How... how long...?"

Her voice cut into the quiet and the pitch black of the room. In the heat of the moment, someone rolled over the TV remote and turned it off. The room was instantly ink-splotch black. The air was full of the sounds of sex; heaving, grunting, moaning, pleading and then a crescendo marking the sounds of climax. It hadn't taken very long to get there, but the descent back to regular breathing and heart rate seemed like an endless journey. Both lay on their backs, staring at the dark space that was the ceiling until the only sounds were quiet, shallow breaths.

"You couldn't tell how long I was?"

"Oh! You..." She elbowed him, laughing. "That's not what I meant. How long had it been, for you? Since... you know, the last time."

JC had to think back. It really had been a long time. He'd been out on the street for a year and a half, almost. Before then, he wandered from house to house, couch to couch, staying long enough to gain a few weeks of good will before he thought it would best to move on. He dabbled in dating but women found the no job, no home, no car thing to be a turn-off. And while he'd met some okay girls out on the street, he'd never met anyone he felt like being with. Until now.

"I guess it's been almost two years, if you can believe it."

A bark of laughter cut through the air. He felt his face flame with embarrassment. "Two years? What did you do with yourself in all that time?"

He snapped back to earlier in the day, in the shower. He grinned. "I'm sure you'd like to know. How about you?"

Phee went quiet. He thought maybe she'd fallen asleep, but her breathing wasn't soft and even. It was ragged, like she was trying hard to push the air out of her lungs and then suck it back in. He immediately regretted asking.

Her voice was gritty and deep, like it had been the night he first saw her, so much of her tart demeanor gone. "A year. Just over a year, actually. That night in the park, when I brought you the booze and offered you the coat…it was our anniversary." She rolled to her side and rested her head on his shoulder, winding both of her arms around his. "That's why I was down there. That's... that was where..."

“So he… on your anniversary?”

She sniffed. He guessed that was a yes.

Something sparked in his mind. A memory. He heard about a homeless guy being stabbed in the park. Moe warned him about hanging out down there-- it was thought to be the work of some gang of bored kids who thought no one would miss a homeless guy."I remember that. I guess I didn't realize it was Davey."

"Yeah. The news and all of the advocate groups were all over it for about a minute. Long enough to get ratings and funding. Not long enough to make a difference."

"So, what happened?"

She lowered her head toward his arm and brushed her lips across his skin. Damn, that felt good. Rachel never did sweet little mindless things like that. "This is some awesome post coitus conversation right here.”

"You started it. But you don’t have to answer if you don't want to."

"It's okay. I'm usually fine; it's just the anniversary, and all. Crying like a little bitch lately."

"It’s alright. Cry if you want." He would try not to let it bug him. There wasn’t anything he could do to make it better.

"Seven years, we'd been together, that day. We wanted it to be real special, you know? We had been talking about the seven year itch... you know that movie?"

"Marilyn Monroe?"

She nodded. "It's all about how every seven years you itch for something new. We said we weren't that couple that needed someone new or something exciting to spice up our life. Living was exciting enough. Anyway..." She rolled to her back, getting into the story, it seemed. JC rolled to his side, propped up on an elbow.

"We decided to celebrate. It was going to be an actual date. Real fancy. We'd been saving some of the money he got from random things like recycling and pan handling, stuff like that. We got all cleaned up and put on our best stuff and we met in the park for our date. We bought hot dogs and sodas and walked around, holding hands and talking. Davey was in a really good mood. He was probably high, but I didn't really care, right then. He wasn't antsy or angst-ridden or moody. He was happy."

She paused for longer than a pause should take. When she didn't continue, JC reached toward her and ran a hand down her arm until they were holding hands. She squeezed his hand in hers.

"We—“ She stopped and gulped a breath of air before she could continue. "…were in the park. On a bench. Security came by and told us we had to move. Davey got kind of mouthy with the guy, told him we were on a date. I didn’t want him to get beat up, so I dragged him off.

“We went to another area of the park, where it was real dark and laid there in the grass. The stars were twinkling and they seemed so close, like I could reach up and just touch one. It was beautiful. Magical. We made love out there. And it was awesome."

He heard the smile in her voice, happy that the memory didn’t make her sad. Instead, it seemed to bring her some comfort.

"Davey asked me what would make the night perfect. I said I wanted some ice cream. He hopped right up, pulled his pants back on." She giggled and he laughed along. "Before he left, he took off his scarf and he wrapped it around my neck. He kissed me and he told me he loved me and to sit tight. Keep it warm for him. He'd be right back."

“And you never saw him again?”

She swallowed. He felt it and heard her gulping back her tears.  

“I heard all this commotion and people running and so much going on. There was a crowd hanging around and I came out to see what was up. One of the guys that we hung around with at the time grabbed my arm. He was crying, like sobbing. He was a mess. I was like what? What? He was like, Nix… It’s Davey. It’s Davey.

“I knew, then. I could tell by the way the cops just stood around and no one was in a hurry. They didn’t give a shit. I tried to go to the hospital but he was at the morgue and since I wasn’t family…”

“They wouldn’t let you claim him.”

She shook her head, swallowing again. Her breathing had evened out and she sounded stronger when she spoke again. “I had to get someone to help me get our stuff before it got picked up by the city. I stayed with Cass for awhile before her old man turned into a bastard. Then I got a lead on the job at the hotel and one of my friends had this room and was moving out. I took it. Owners don’t care, so long as the rent is paid.”

“And you’ve been here ever since?”

Phee sat up and rolled off of the mattress. He heard her walking around, feeling for the pants that she’d kicked off. She disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes and came back out, but instead of coming to bed, she stepped over him to the other side of the room. He watched the figure of her, a silhouette in the drapery covered window.

JC sat up, trying to see through the dark. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for my cigs,” she said. “I need a smoke.”

“You could turn the light on.”

“Got ‘em. I’ll just be a minute.”  The door closed behind her before he could respond.

JC laid back down. Then sat up again and found his sweatpants and put them back on, then got under the covers. It was still a cold night despite the heat they’d built between them.

So now he knew about Davey. Whether he was better or worse for it, he couldn’t tell but at least he knew what had happened to him. The fact that Phee seemed drawn to him because of his similarity to Davey was becoming less bothersome by the day. He didn’t want to start taking her for granted, but he had to admit that compared to some of the guys he’d seen out there, up and down random streets and living under highway underpasses, he was living pretty well the last few days. He had money in his pocket, food in his belly, and the first sex he’d had in almost two years was outside smoking off her orgasm.

Or at least that’s what he told himself she was doing.

*****

The Laundromat was a luxury that JC rarely let himself indulge in, but by the looks of his paint and dirt encrusted jeans and shirt, he didn’t see any way around it. Phee had some laundry too, so they stuffed a few bags with dirty clothes and headed out.

“Do you ever think about where you’ll be in the future? Like years from now, I mean.”

JC looked up from the People magazine he was reading, left by some other patron before him. He hadn’t paid attention to pop culture in so long; he didn’t know who any of the people were. Like, who was Justin Beiber? And what was Twilight?

“Years from now?” He shook his head, suppressing a laugh and went back to his magazine. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he said, looking up again. He closed the magazine and tossed it back onto the pile he took it from. “I had other goals for this time in my life, the time I’m living right now. I let myself down. I let everyone down. Why get my hopes up? Why dream, when something could happen and snatch it away from you?”

“Maybe so you have something to hang onto? How do you make it through life with no dreams?”

“Easy. I live every day as it comes and I don’t plan on tomorrow. If I think about tomorrow, I have to think about the next day, and the day after that, and you know what? Thinking about day after day after day of nothing is pretty fucking depressing.”

Phee squirmed and bit down on her lip. He hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable. She was just so unrealistically optimistic that it made him want to scream.

“Have you ever failed at anything? Have you ever fucked anyone over? Have you ever destroyed someone’s life? I’m guessing no.” She shook her head, confirming his assumption. “Don’t try it. It makes you bitter and hopeless. I’m sorry I don’t live in the same world you do, where shacking up with some guy that looks like your dead boyfriend, or coddling a grown ass woman with kids who can’t clean up her own goddamn house makes you feel better about your life, but I don’t. I don’t live in that world.”

He got up, kicking his chair back in his tantrum and headed for the machines. They ought to be done washing in a few minutes and he needed something to distract him from the sensation of Phee staring him down from across the room.

I shouldn’t have said that.

He could just walk back over to her and say that. He was thinking about doing it, but his feet weren’t moving. Instead, he leaned against the table used to fold laundry, his hands shoved in his pockets. He saw himself in the reflection of the machine in front of him. His hair was puffy and standing straight up, despite the great cut from the night before. His cheeks were sunken, his shoulders slight. His face bore a sullen, woeful expression.

He turned away from the vision. The sight of his own reflection made him sick. And angry. He was such a far cry from the man he used to be.

Phee didn’t say anything else to him at the Laundromat. She found reasons to not be near him or say anything to him. She folded her laundry across the room from him, packed it neatly into the bag she had brought and waited for him to finish a few minutes later. They walked out of the Laundromat and the several blocks back to the hotel in complete silence.

At her room, she opened the bag of laundry and began unpacking it into her system of baskets. Towels, the pieces that made up her uniform, jeans, t-shirts and underwear were all neatly stacked in their places. In contrast, JC re-packed his backpack with the freshly washed clothes. He wasn’t sure if she was kicking him out, but in case she was, at least he wouldn’t have to pack.

Phee was digging into the boxes under the desk, again. Those seemed to be reserved for Davey’s things. She pulled out a shoe box and opened it, smiling at the contents. There were miscellaneous things in there, from what JC could see—a watch, a necklace, ticket stubs. And pictures. She flipped through them for a few seconds and pulled out a few, then spoke to him for the first time in hours.

“This is him,” she said softly, laying the photos on the desk, one by one. Davey was a thin, wiry man. Tall. In one of the photos, he was squinting into the sun, a half smile on his face. He looked like he was laughing. In another, he wasn’t smiling at all. He seemed serious, pensive, troubled. His eyes were blue and he had dark hair and pronounced chiseled features. He had been a good looking man.

“Davey was tall like you. Dark hair and light eyes like you. You both have high cheek bones and great, classic noses. You’re both smart, you like to read and stuff. You’re both way too serious for your own good.”

 She chuckled for a moment but then the smile slid from her face. “But one thing Davey wasn’t, was cruel. He wasn’t a victim. He never had the mentality that whatever happened to him, just happened. He went after things. He created opportunities for himself.

“You probably think he was a loser but Davey was an even bigger dreamer than I am. He wanted to be more than a ratty kid from the south side with nothing going for him.  Maybe we didn’t have a place to live but he always took care of us and we had plans. Davey died trying to make me happy. I’ll never forget that.”

She slapped a hand onto the desk, sliding the photos off of its surface and back into the box. “All you’ve done so far is stick your dick in me and you think you have the right to hurt my feelings and say whatever comes to your mind because you’re mad at yourself. Maybe it’s not the Taj Mahal and it’s nowhere near your old life, but you could still be sitting on that fucking park bench wondering where your next meal is coming from and freezing your balls off.”

Phee slid the cover back onto the box and set it back inside the larger box she had pulled it from, then slid the that box back under the desk. She turned then and flounced to the kitchen area, opened the refrigerator, stared into it and slammed it closed.

She stood in front of the refrigerator, facing the wall. Only slightly did she turn her head when she said, “You don’t have to go. I want you to stay, but don’t be an asshole. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not an asshole.”

JC nodded but she didn’t see it. After a few seconds she turned and walked around him. “I need to go to the store. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll go,” he said quickly. “What do you need? I’ll go.”

She rolled her eyes while shoving her arms into the sleeves of her coat. “No. I don’t—look, I will be right back. Sit here and watch TV or read or… whatever.” She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

“Phoenix.” She stopped, her arm in mid-reach for the doorknob. He knew that would get her attention. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m really sorry. I don’t mean to disrespect you. I’m sorry for being an asshole. I’m grateful for how nice you’ve been to me and I suck for saying that to you. I’ll go to the store for you. Or with you, if you want. I owe you.”

She hadn’t turned around, but she hadn’t moved yet, either. A few seconds passed. JC heard the neighbors upstairs watching TV. The volume was up so loud, he could tell what show they were watching.

“I’m not sending you to the store. You’ll never get all the right stuff. If you’re coming, let’s go.”

JC smiled and dove for his bag, grabbed his wallet and followed her out the door. The return of her attitude, he hoped, meant he was forgiven.

They set off for the neighborhood grocery store, which was at least ten blocks away. “You should answer your own questions, you know,” said JC, as they crossed the street.

She looked up at him, a “V” of confusion between her brows. “What?”

“Your question to me. Since you’re so big on dreams, what are yours? Do you think about where you’ll be, a few years from now?”

She slowed, kicking at piles of dried up leaves coating the sidewalk. Around them, all up and down the block, people were out and about. Walking, talking, kids playing and riding bikes down the street. If he ignored the run-down, sagging homes and the low-rate, hourly hotels on the block, JC could almost imagine a picturesque, happy Sunday afternoon. At least he was happy for the moment.

“I think about going to school. I was supposed to go, like I said, but I decided to run off with Davey. I kind of wanted to go, but not so far away. I would have been happy to stay here and go to a state school, but… no. Susan and Philip wanted their daughter to go Ivy League.” She snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes.

“But I think about it, a lot. What would have happened if I went to school and had graduated by now and was working? How different would my life be? Years from now, maybe I’ll be in a college library, studying for finals. Biting my nails, and worrying about such trivial things as if I’ll get an A on this next test and not if I can still pay my rent if I have to buy Cass’ groceries this week.”

JC grinned, recalling his brief college years. He didn’t finish, but he had gone for a few years. “Pulling all nighters. Eating fattening food. Gaining the freshman fifteen.”

“Ha, the freshman fifteen.”

He reached over and tapped her lightly on the ass. “You could stand to gain a few pounds, bony.”

“Look who’s talking! I could wrap my arms around you twice last night.”

“Oh, honey… you wrapped all of you around me last night.”

They laughed together for a few minutes, kicking through the leaves. The store was just up the block, barely in sight. He was enjoying their walk, though. He kind of wanted to slow down.

“That was fun,” she said, glancing up at him. She was the slightest bit pink. He thought it was cute that she was being a little shy with him. “I uhm… I really missed sex a lot.”

“Me too,” JC admitted. “I didn’t realize how much until—“

“I know! I hadn’t really thought about it until last night. At the sports bar.”

“Really? Why then?”

Phee slipped her hands inside the pocket of her coat and shrugged her shoulder so high they met her ears. “I don’t know, I guess it was just that you were happy. You got to be a man, with your nice hair cut and self confidence because you’re working and all. You got to watch some football and eat some wings and be yourself. I really liked that version of you.”

“So… you’re saying that if I’d got my hair cut sooner, I could have had sex sooner?”

“No,” she said, laughing. “It was just the perfect storm, I guess. And I was feeling a little vulnerable because you got me talking about my mom. I needed some comfort.”

“Did you get it?”

Her head had been down, watching her footsteps. She looked up then, her hazel eyes bright, a slight smile on her lips, her face framed in her hair. “Yeah.”

“Good. And I’m not being facetious, but I’m glad I could do something for you.”

“I don’t take it that way. And me too.”

They took their time in the store, wandering from one side to the other. JC pushed the cart around, watching her put items in the basket and keeping track of the total. It was a good thing he was working the next week because he was quickly running out of money. He couldn’t just let her foot the bill for all the food he had been eating, though. He would buy the week’s groceries and be thankful that she hadn’t put him out.

JC carried two bags in each hand; Phee had one, each. They crossed the street and walked down the other side of the block, now.

“I’m scared to think about years from now,” JC blurted out, keeping in step with Phee.

“Scared of what?”

“Just… I’m out here because of a mistake I made. A lot of people went through a lot of shit because of me. What if I haven’t found a way to make it better? What if I haven’t found some way to make things right for them? What if I’m still a homeless fuckup with one friend that I mooch off of?”

“You better not be talking about me,” she said, flicking her eyes up to him and laughing. “Besides, who says you’ll still be a fuckup? It was a mistake, which means you can learn from it, right? You didn’t deliberately send people’s lives into the shitter. Learn from your mistake. Move on.”

“It’s just that simple to you, isn’t it?”

“Don’t start that again. This has nothing to do with dreaming. It has everything to do with logic and progress. Improvement. If you’re not becoming a better person every day, what are you doing with your life?”

Good question, he thought. 

“Okay well. So, if you’re telling me to learn from my mistakes and move on and all of that, why haven’t you?”

“Why haven’t I what?”

“You said you and Davey had plans. Are you carrying them out, right now?  Your whole life can’t be about folding towels with Laverne and Shirley and watching after people on the street. At some point you’ve got to live for you. I know you know this, Phee.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, her head down. She sped up as the Standard came into view. “I’m thinking about it. A lot, lately.”

“Yeah? Like, thinking hard about it or kind of thinking about it?”

Phee had passed him and was heading toward the door of the room, but turned back to smile at him. “Thinking hard about it. I might go to the library on Thursday. Download an application and see about becoming educated. Wanna come?”

 

Nowhere Man please listen,
You don't know what you're missing,
Nowhere Man, the world is at your command!

Thursday, a day off for them both finally rolled around but it took a few days of hard work to make it happen. JC was out at the corner each day by 7am and as Jeff promised, he was the first pick on the work crew. He worked with Doug one day and Jeff the next, then a new Crew Leader on Wednesday that he really liked. He was a young guy, about JC’s age. He worked fast and hard, but he liked to teach things, so he was always showing JC something to make the job go faster or easier. JC sopped it up like a sponge and tucked it away for future use. Anything to make him seem like a no-brainer option when it came to future work.

By the time he made it back to the room, he was dead tired and asleep on his feet. He collapsed onto the mattress and snoozed until Phee came in. They talked while she cooked, then ate and watched whatever sitcom she was in the habit of watching. Like normal, Phee would get up to take her shower and then prod him into the bathroom so she could have the room to herself. He figured she had some kind of beauty ritual she didn’t want him seeing. Which was fine… he had a ritual too. It was called scrub himself clean from head to toe and hope she would want to have sex with him.  

It worked every time.

So by the time Thursday rolled around, the last thing JC really wanted to do was ride the bus from one end of town to the other, but Phee was up and moving around, babbling about her friends and a trip to the library.

“Are you getting up? Let’s go, let’s go!”

He groaned and rolled over, as much as he could on the small mattress. “I was kind of thinking I would—“

“Get! Up!”

He gave a half-hearted grumble and kicked his way out from under the blanket. An hour later, they had eaten, dressed and were on the Number 34, headed downtown. It was like déjà vu from the week before—the same bus driver was on the route, the same people were working the front desk at the hotel, and Lola and Shirley were cackling and talking over the Spanish radio station while loading up their carts with more mini-toiletries.

Phee opened the envelope containing her check and frowned at it, since it was void of overtime. Then they went to the credit union to cash it. While they were there, JC picked up some paperwork to open an account. He wasn’t quite ready for that step yet, but when he could do so, he’d have a bank account again. Small steps, he told himself. And don’t take anything for granted.

Instead of visiting Cass, because Phee had gone to see her already that week, they walked to the county library.

“What, you know someone here?” JC teased her as they walked inside. “You get free books or something?”

“It’s a library, dumbass. The books are free, anyway.”

“Oh. Yeah. Forgot.”

He hadn’t been in a library in ages—not since high school, maybe. By the time he got to college, the internet was pretty popular, so any research he needed was at his fingertips. Despite being bright with an analytical mind and a penchant for numbers, he was never a very good student. Spending hours in the library studying when there was drinking to do was a foreign concept to the younger version of him. Now, scanning the sprawling layout and counting ten college aged kids with books spread before them, ear buds in their ears and expressions of deep concentration on their faces, he thought a library seemed like a great place to get some peace and quiet.

Phee led him to a back room with two rows of computer workstations.

“What are we doing back here?”

“I need to use a computer. Pull up a chair.” JC rolled a chair from another station across the aisle and sat next to her. The monitor had a screensaver, a marquee that listed the library hours. She pressed a button and it disappeared. On the desktop were a few icons. She clicked the blue “E” to open a web page.

“Do you know what colleges you want to look at?”

“Kind of. Maybe I should look at a list.”

“Maybe. What do you want to go to school for?”

Phee shrugged, pulling her hands from the computer. “I was thinking Social Work.” She scrunched up her nose as she glanced over at him. “What do you think?”

“If that’s what you want to do, go for it.”

“But do you think it’s a good choice for me?”

He started to give her a flippant answer but remembered her request that he not be an asshole. He modified his answer, saying, “I think if that’s what you really want to go into, that you’d be perfect at that. You’re already kind of doing that, just to the extreme.”

“Well, that’s what I mean. I get so emotionally involved—“

“You’ll grow out of that. Probably.”

She sighed and straightened and returned her fingers to the keyboard. She typed in a search for ‘schools for social work’ and sat back while the machine populated the links. “Okay, I know I’m not going anywhere near California for school. Maybe I should start local…”

Phee mumbled to herself, typed in some other searches and mumbled some more. She was lost in her project, so JC took a minute to look around. Before he ended up on the street, he couldn’t live without his Smartphone and internet. He hardly missed them, but being so close to the chance to just check it out ignited a curiosity.

He rolled back across the aisle to the station he left and pressed a key on the keyboard. The scrolling screensaver popped off and he opened an internet page. His fingers still moved along the keys like it hadn’t been almost two years since he’d used a keyboard. He still used an AOL address because it was his first email account and he didn’t see the use in switching.

You’ve got mail!

An eyebrow rose in surprise. “Hunh.  I actually have email.”

It was probably junk, but he clicked the ‘new mail’ icon anyway and scrolled the list. A familiar name popped up over and over again. He smiled and opened the last email, dated more than a year before:

From: Ernie.Cumberland@msn.com

Subject: Where you at?

Hey, man. I don’t know any other way to get hold of you. Your phone isn’t working. You just disappeared. Let someone know you’re okay. I mean, we’re pissed but nobody said to fall off the edge of the earth.

Call me, man.

Ern.

One from his ex-girlfriend shot daggers through his heart. He didn’t want to open it, but he did.

 

From: RachelLeavey@gmail.com

Subject: Just to let you know, we got a lawyer

Josh,

Not trying to be a bitch or anything, but we hired a lawyer. Conveniently, I can’t reach you by phone and I don’t know where you went after you got out of jail. Your parents claim they don’t know where you are and I don’t believe that for a second.

I know it was a mistake, but mistakes happen. If you ran over a kid by accident, you’d still have to pay for that. I don’t know why you would think you could lose our money and get away with it. Yeah we knew the risks, but you told us that this would be a wise investment.

Anyway, you should probably get a lawyer, too.

Rachel

The date on that email was a year ago. He wondered if she ever filed that suit and since she couldn’t find him, if she had to drop it. He shook his head at the audacity—did she think he had money stashed somewhere? Why were they losing the apartment? Why had he been living in his car? He steamed for a few minutes before he made himself calm down. From the looks of his email account, she didn’t try to contact him again. It was probably nothing. And anyway, everyone had to sign forms saying they knew the investments were risky. He was pretty sure he was covered… but just in case, he saved the email.

A laser printer clicked on and warmed up, a few stations over. After a few seconds, it began to spew paper from the opening, until a stack had piled up. Phee walked over to it to pick up the pages, flipping through them and sorting them.

“Find some good stuff?”

“Yeah,” she said, absentmindedly, her finger running down the first page. “Some local programs. A couple that are out of state but we’ll see how that goes.”

JC logged out of the email program and closed the page, also drawing a close to an unfruitful trip down memory lane.  He swiveled his chair around toward her. “Really? What out of state ones? “

“Mmmm…” She mused, flipping through the stack. “Columbia, in New York. They have a pretty good Social Work program.”

“You’d go to New York to go to school? Isn’t that kind of… I don’t know…” He lifted his fingers in air quotes around “ ‘Sue and Philip Gredvig’ for you?”

She ignored him. The pages were folded in half and stuffed into her bag. “The other ones are minor programs that don’t seem to be any better than state schools, so we’ll see how things pan out. At least I checked it out. You ready for pizza?”

“I’m always ready for pizza.”

They left the library and set out on the long walk to the Pizza Hut where they would meet up with her group of friends. JC was worried, exceedingly so, about how close he and Phee had become and what her friend’s—mostly Colin’s—reaction would be. It was obvious to JC that they had slept together.  He wondered how obvious it was to other people. They didn’t hold hands and they weren’t a ‘good morning kiss’ type of couple, but every day when Phee walked through the door, he attacked her like he hadn’t seen a woman in years. She responded with the same vigor and was usually naked within ten minutes of arriving home.  On top of that, the mattress was rocking every night. JC hoped there wasn’t an end to that coming any time soon but if he wasn’t careful Colin would make sure he’d never enjoy an orgasm ever again.

Every week, it seemed, the gathering was a big to-do. The group was much more welcoming to JC this time around. There was pizza and beer and soda, an arcade in the game room, and a lot of shit talking, in which JC delighted in taking part. He was careful to not be alone with Colin, even deciding not to use the restroom. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

A few hours into the afternoon, as the group headed to their usual hang out spots, Jamal sidled up to Phee with a smirk.

“So. Nix.” He sniffed, then paused, then laughed and asked,” Are you gettin’ enough? Is my man JC here doin’ it right?”

JC took a deep breath. It had to happen sooner or later.  Phee seemed unmoved by his comment. Her eyes slid toward him and she said, “I didn’t know you were so invested, Jamal. Jealous?”

The group laughed and waited for his response. “Naw,” he said. “Just making sure you’re uh… taken care of. If you know what I’m saying.”

She huffed, trying to hide her laughter. “First of all? Gross. Get out of my pants. Second, that’s none of your business!” She shrugged his arm off of her shoulder and sped up, leaving him laughing behind her. 

A few minutes later, she slowed again and fell into step beside JC and elbowed him to get his attention. He glanced down at her and she looked up at him. And winked.

He smiled and winked back. And felt it was okay to start breathing again.  

***

Over the next few weeks, Phee spent a lot of time with her head in books and poring over the materials she’d printed out from the library. She made lists and tore them up and then made new lists. Instead of watching her sitcoms, she wrote essays and filled in blanks on applications. On Thursdays, she dragged JC to the library with her while she typed the words she had handwritten the week before.

JC took the opportunity, since it was there, to try and connect with some of his friends that would still talk to him. Ernie for sure seemed glad to hear from him finally—they hadn’t seen each other since JC ran into him at the Subway months before.  Ernie said a few other guys were asking about him lately, so JC sent them all brief messages to let them know he was okay.

He was still working day labor for Jefferson Construction, showing up every day after breakfast at House of Hope in his boots and work jeans and a book in his pocket. Every Saturday, he was sure that Jeff or Doug would tell him he wasn’t needed anymore. Yet every Saturday, they asked him to show up on the corner the next week. He didn’t want to start counting on it, but $75 a day for weekdays and $100 for Saturdays was turning out to be the best gig he’d had in a long while.

Things with Phee were still going strong, too. She let him buy groceries, and if they went out to a movie or to the sports bar, she would let him pay; otherwise she refused to take straight cash. Instead, she helped him open an account at the credit union. He even had an ATM card and didn’t have to carry all of his money around with him.

From time to time, JC would sit in Phee’s room on the mattress next to her, watching her work and sort of step outside himself. His gauge as to whether he was doing well had always been if he was warm, fed, clothed, and working. Compared to who he was before he lost everything, he was still barely making it. But having hit rock bottom, his ability to answer yes to all of the criteria instead of just two or three made him proud. Thanks to Phee, he was making it.

Even his mom remarked on how good he sounded the last time he had talked to her. It had been hard to keep in touch because pay phones were a thing of the past and few business owners would let a homeless kid come and hang out and talk on the phone. At the library, though, there were two payphone booths outside of the building. While Phee worked away inside, typing her admissions essays, JC got into the habit of calling his mom at work. She cried the first time. And the second time. By the third time, she could make it through the whole conversation without tearing up, but then she would start in on how she still loved him and was still proud of him and asked him to take care of himself, which always got him choked up. He would mumble his promises and a gruff ‘love you’ and hang up before his nose turned red and his eyes got wet. He lingered for a few minutes to make sure everything dried up before he went back inside.

After weeks of preparation, writing, typing, running all over town for information and research and letters of recommendation, Phee stuffed several manila envelopes with applications and essays and money orders for admissions fees and sent them off. As soon as they slid through the open slot for metered mail at the post office, she seemed to relax, even allowing herself a very rare public display of affection—she threaded her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder while they walked to the bus stop. After about half a block, JC pulled his hand from his pocket and, as if it were natural for them, she let her palm slide over his and their fingers intertwine. They’d never held hands before. He liked feeling her hand in his, to know that even this really strong, assertive person needed someone to lean on, now and then.

“JC?”  They were a few blocks from the bus stop, enjoying their new hand-holding habit. “Do you have… like… plans?”

“Plans?” JC stared down at her, keeping pace. “Plans for what?”

“For… I mean, I know you don’t believe in having dreams and thinking about tomorrow, but you’re kind of living week to week with the construction job. Things are pretty stable for you, right now—“

“Thanks to you.”

She smiled and ducked her head. “Stop. I just thought I could help you.”

“And wouldn’t leave me alone until I let you. And look how things have worked out. Pretty good, right?’

“Yeah.” She was quiet, chewing on her lip, a tell-tale sign. JC sighed and rolled his eyes upward. Did he want to ask, or let it go?

Ask I guess.

“Okay, what do you mean by plans?”

“I mean, what are you going to do with your life? Are you going live in my room and work day labor for the next year? Two years? What happens when you’re not Jeff’s golden boy anymore?”

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it, but the way she was asking was affecting his heart rate.

“Well. I figure I’ll do what I’m doing until I can’t, anymore. And by then I’ll have some money saved up and I can coast for awhile. Are you kicking me out?”

They had reached the bus stop and sat on the bench to wait for the next bus. She huffed a breath and rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not kicking you out. But why are you content? Don’t you want more?”

“Phee…” He shook his head, sucked in a deep breath and exhaled it out, out, all the way out of his lungs before he continued. He had to say this the right way.

“I keep trying to tell you. I had more. I lost it. All of it. What makes you think I deserve that back?”

“It’s not a matter of deserving it back, JC. It’s a matter of knowing that you can do better than you’re doing now. You can be at a better place than where you are right now. No one is saying you can go back to your old life—“

“Good, because that’s not possible,” he said, trying not to snap at her. “I’m doing the best I can, right now. I know your nature is to push, but just… back off, alright?”

He avoided looking at her, because he knew she was wearing the gloss off of her bottom lip from chewing on it. It was going to be another tense evening. They were having more of them lately.

He felt it in his bones, knew it was coming and was trying to prepare for it. Phee was growing away from him, and he was powerless to stop it.

 

He's as blind as he can be,
Just sees what he wants to see,
Nowhere Man can you see me at all?

 

By the following week, things were still tense. Not unbearable, but Phee was quiet. Where she would normally babble about work or Cass or friends or wonder aloud about her applications, she kept to herself, only talking and joking about surface things—TV shows and what not.  She was back to smoking several cigarettes a day—a habit JC wasn’t fond of but far be it for him to tell her what to do.

It was Wednesday. He had been working alone all morning, applying a nice, even coat of construction white in the nearly complete shopping center. Once the walls were painted, the carpet company could come in and start laying down pads and carpeting. JC felt he was an integral part of the process. Not to mention the labor, not having to stay on the move and basically walk from one end of town to the other, and being able to eat steady meals was filling him out and building him up. Phee was just saying the other day how his biceps were becoming more defined and how he was changing every day, it seemed—he had more stamina and his chest had taken on a shape and he had developed a faint six pack. He was still thin, but was more solid than skin and bones, these days.

Jeff came to grab him for lunch, since the whistle couldn’t be heard from where they were working.

“Let me ask you something,” the shorter, older man said as they walked together to the other end of the site. “You uh… you think you might be interested in something full time?”

JC pondered the question. Oddly, he hadn’t thought about it. He sort of liked the freedom and the choice to not show up on the corner if he really didn’t want to. Not that he’d never shown up on a day when he was asked to work, but the option was always there. Going back to full time employment meant giving up a certain amount of freedom that he’d come to enjoy. And, Jeff had said it himself. He was a desk job kind of guy. At least, he used to be.

“What did you have in mind?” JC asked, just to keep the conversation going and his options open. Jeff went on to explain the base rate for entry level construction was $5 per hour over what he was making as a day labor employee. Add in benefits and almost guaranteed overtime since they were always backed up and he’d be making hand over fist, not doing much more than he was already doing. Added to the stack was a learned trade that he could always fall back on in hard times.

“I saw you out there that first day and I thought there’s a kid who’s ready to work. He’s hungry and he’s willing. I liked that. You’ve never let me down, and you’ve had a lot of opportunities. I’m not offering jobs to all the guys we pick up on the corner. Just so you know. I pick and choose based on who I like. I like you.”

JC nodded, grateful for the compliments. And shy about them, too. “I like the work. I could use the money. I’m just not sure if full time construction is where I want to go. I mean, I’m kind of still putting my life together, you know? And—“

Over the past few weeks of working together, Jeff had managed to squeeze JC’s story out of him.  Jeff subscribed to the Phoenix School of Thought: It was a mistake. Learn from it. Get over it. JC wasn’t so sure. “I get it. I get it, kid. But you know… you don’t want to regret not taking a good job because you feel like you need to pay penance for a mistake you made.”

JC nodded again, nervously scratching at the paint flecks on his jeans. “I’ll think about it. Can I let you know? I mean, can I keep working for a little while, make sure I really want to do it?”

Jeff nodded. “No problem,” he said, but held up a finger in JC’s face. “Don’t take forever, though. If I have an opening I have to fill with someone else, I need to know.”

“Yes sir.” JC veered away from Jeff to the lunch line, dug out his lunch ticket and piled his plate with a ham and Swiss sandwich, fresh cut fruit, a bag of chips and a Pepsi. He wandered off with his plate to sit and eat and think.

Full time. $15 an hour. Benefits—no more worrying about getting sick. A guaranteed paycheck every two weeks. It sounded like a poor man’s dream on the outside. Something about it nibbled at him inside, though. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

He didn’t tell Phee about the offer. He wanted time to think about it and contemplate his choice with a clear head. She would fill his mind with what he had to do and how good of an opportunity it was and talk him into taking the job, even if that wasn’t really what he wanted. And he wasn’t sure that was what he wanted.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Phee asked, that Saturday night. He’d had a haircut and Phee wanted to do a little shopping. She was now the proud owner of a DVD player and several DVD’s.  They ordered Chinese, hooked up the DVD player and put in a movie.

“Nothing. I keep forgetting that you lived on the street for 6 years. You haven’t seen Rush Hour and that’s like… amazing to me.”

She unpacked the cartons of stir fried chicken and vegetables, chow mein, white rice and honey chicken and set them out on the floor, got up and grabbed two forks from a box and sat back down in front of the TV. 

“Why is it so amazing to you? I don’t remember it being hailed as a cultural institution or anything. Did it give people ideas for solving world peace? Did it ease relations between North and South Korea? Or wait… it’s Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker, right? Relations between the blacks and the Chinese?”

JC laughed so hard he almost choked on a mouthful of noodles. “You are wrong for that, Phoenix. Just wrong.”

“Quit calling me that. You’re the only person that calls me Phee. Call me that.”

He eyed her over the carton of vegetables. They didn’t even use plates, just forks, and passed the containers back and forth. JC insisted that this was the real way to eat Chinese food. 

“Okay. Phee. Phee Phee?” She glared. “No? Okay. So, I guess you’re not mad at me anymore?”

She shrugged, digging into the Chow Mein JC had just passed her. “I wasn’t really mad. I just worry about you.”

“You worry about everyone.”

“Yeah. But I have a different worry about you. I just…” She sighed, shoveled a forkful of food into her mouth and then uttered a muffled, “Whatever.”

“You can say it. I have potential for more but I won’t go for it and that’s pissing you off.”

She nodded while she chewed, then swallowed and said, “Yeah. That.”

“Was that something you fought with Davey about?”

Phee paused, sticking the tines of the fork in her mouth. Then nodded. “I finally got him to think about getting off the street. Seeing a Social Worker to find out if he could get work, maybe go to school. We were going to go to the office together the day after…”

JC ate and contemplated and then ate some more, his attention returning to the movie. “Now watch this part, it’s hilarious,” he said, pointing toward the screen and inadvertently changing the subject.

In the back of his mind, the wheels were churning. He’d give it another week and if things still seemed okay, he would take the job with Jefferson. He wished he could feel happy and settled about it, but it was like Phee said… there was no in-between. Either you had a ton of responsibility and wished you had none, or you had no responsibility and were held prisoner by the smallest of tasks, like finding food to eat and a place to get out of the rain. 

***

A week later, first thing Monday morning, JC found Jeff and asked to speak with him.

“Is this about what I think it’s about?”

“Yes sir,” said JC.

Jeff clapped him on the shoulder, then gripped him and shook him hard. “This is a good opportunity, son. Congratulations on moving forward with your life.”

JC smiled, mostly because Jeff seemed so happy about his decision. The more he’d thought about it, the more he had come to accept that this was something he had to do, and the better he felt about it. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m feeling okay about it.”

“It’s an adjustment, I’m sure. You’ll do fine. So, you’ll continue working as day labor until you’re an official employee. On your day off, go on up to the Corporate Office and fill out your paperwork. Easy as nailing a two by four.” Jeff grinned at his construction joke.

JC laughed, and joked back, “Or painting a wall.”

“That’s the spirit. Now get back to work. You’re costing me money.”

 

By the time the truck dropped him back at the corner, the decision had settled so much within him that he was excited about it. In a few days, he wouldn’t be picked up at the corner anymore, because he wasn’t a day laborer anymore. He would have to find his own way to work and pay for his own lunch, but that was a small price to pay for steady employment and benefits.

He rushed to the room and showered and changed. He waited for Phee to get off work and get home. Maybe they would go out that night and he’d break the news to her over a nice dinner. She would be proud. Maybe she would even cry. Nah, she wouldn’t cry. But she’d be excited. He couldn’t wait to see her face when he told her he’d finally done something right.

Phee was late, by at least an hour. He hadn’t been paying attention, but the sun was setting and she wasn’t home yet. He got up from the mattress where he’d been laying down and watching a movie and peeked through the curtains to see if he saw her coming from the bus stop.

A car pulled up. It was shiny and black and fancy and did not, by any stretch of the imagination, belong in the neighborhood. The person driving had to either be lost or looking for someone they knew… maybe they were looking for the guy who lived upstairs at the end of the hall and sold weed. Both doors opened and, to JC’s surprise, Phee got out of the passenger side. She was wearing her uniform and had her trusty bag with her and was carrying a large envelope. The woman that got out of the driver’s side could only be Phee’s mother. They looked nearly identical, except for the older woman looked… well… older.

They were talking, but JC couldn’t hear what they were saying until they got close to the door.

“Really, mom. You don’t have to come in. I’m sure it’s not clean and it’s real small. And you’ll just get all snooty about it.”

“I just want to see where my daughter is living, Phoenix. Can’t I at least see it?”

“Well… JC is in there, I’m pretty sure. I don’t know if he’s uhm… decent.”

Her mother blanched and reached for a necklace that dangled from her neck. “Is he the… dangerous type? Should I take off my rings, and such?”

JC almost laughed out loud. He could hear Phee’s eye roll from inside the house.

“If you’re going to act ridiculous, you can just go home. He’s not a thief.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll be good.” Phee stood there, unmoving. “Promise,” the older woman said. Finally, Phee inched toward the door and held up her hand.

“One second. Let me… let me just check on him, okay?”

Her mother sighed and stepped aside. Phee opened the door and quickly shut it behind her.  JC was waiting there for her.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “She picked me up at the hotel and wouldn’t leave unless I let her bring me home.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. It’s okay. Just… don’t take her seriously. Like, at all.” JC nodded and she reached for the knob. 

Her mother, dressed in a nice jacket with a blouse underneath, a skirt and expensive heels, tentatively stepped into the room. She tiptoed around, looking at the system of baskets on and under the desk, frowning at the mattress on the floor, rearing back at the makeshift kitchen.

“How… err… cozy,” she said, moving into a corner and then standing there. The room was just barely big enough for one. Three was pushing it. “I’m Susan,” she said to JC, offering him her hand. She shook his, limply, and pulled back, surreptitiously wiping her hand on her thigh and clutching the straps of her handbag.

JC didn’t like her much at all. Phee seemed to hold the same sentiment.

“So, you’ve seen it. This is where I live. With my uhm. Boyfriend.”  His head whipped around to Phee at the mention of boyfriend. Obviously they were together, but they hadn’t put a label on it as of yet.

“Yes. Well.” She sniffed, looked around, and then sniffed again. What was she sniffing at? “Do… errr… let your father and I know your decision. The offer stands.”

“Yeah, sure,” Phee said, opening the door and ushering her mother out the door and toward her late model Mercedes. “You should probably go. This isn’t a safe neighborhood for the car. Bye, now!”

Phee closed the door before her mother could wave goodbye. Moments later, he heard the car start and pull away.

“What was that about?”

Phee rolled her eyes, exhaling a long breath. She stripped off her clothes right where she stood. “That’s classic Susan Gredvig, right there. Isn’t she stuck up? How did I come from her?”

“It’s probably your name,” JC said, teasing. She didn’t seem to catch the joke. “Hey, put something on. Let’s go eat. I have something to tell you.”

Phee froze in place, in her underwear, in the middle of the room. “Uhm. Me too. But do you mind if we just stay here? My mother wears me out.”

JC shrugged, slightly disappointed. He’d wanted to make a big deal out of it, but he wasn’t about to drag her out if she didn’t want to go. “If you want.”

She glanced up from digging through her baskets, noting the change in his voice. “I’m sorry. You seem excited about something and I’m screwing things up. What did you want to tell me?”

“Well…” He paused for a beat or two, simply for dramatic effect, which made Phee flick her eyes up to him and scowl. “I got offered full time at Jefferson. I have to go do my paperwork on Thursday. As of Friday I’m official.”

“Really. Wow.” Okay. That wasn’t quite the response he had been hoping for, but she was tired.

“Yeah,” he continued. “I’ll get more money and benefits and probably overtime.”

“Yeah, probably…”

“And I was thinking… once I get my first full paycheck, we could maybe get a bigger place together. I don’t know if you’re ready for that or not, and I don’t want to push you into anything, and I’m not saying I’m not happy here with you because I am, it’s just that—“

“JC.”

He stopped talking and looked at her. Really looked at her. She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Her nose was red and so were her eyes. She didn’t look tired…she’d been crying.

“Phee… what? What’s wrong? Why do you look so…bad?”

“Thanks, JC.”

“Sorry. That was a bad choice of words. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, picking out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts and slipping them on. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m happy for you. I’m really happy for you.”

She stepped over to him and drew her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Something is wrong. Tell me what it is. What did your mom mean by your decision? What decision? Did they ask you to come home again?”

“Nothing. She didn’t mean anything.” Her voice was muffled up against his chest. Her arms tightened around him. This Phee was not the Phee he was used to. He lifted his head, glancing around the room. There was nowhere to go, really. He was stuck standing there in the middle of the room with Phee clinging to him for all she was worth.

His eye caught the envelope in a passing glance, and then a more pointed stare. It was large and kind of thick. The admissions applications! Maybe one of them had come back. Had she been rejected?

Well then, she would need some comfort.

“What’s in the envelope? Is that what’s making you sad?”

“Just some stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“College stuff.”

“A rejection?” She shook her head. “No? Not a rejection? Then why do you look like you’ve been crying?”

Phee didn’t move or answer for a few moments and then pulled away, grabbed the envelope and showed it to him. The return address read Columbia University.

JC’s eyes were big and around as he reached for the envelope. “Columbia? This is…” He felt it, measured the heft of the envelope. If she’d been rejected, it would be small and thin. This was large and thick. “You got into Columbia?”

She nodded, then moped over to the mattress and plopped down in her usual spot.

“But… I don’t get it. Why aren’t you happy?”

“I am,” she said quietly. “I never thought I would get in. My mother brought me the envelope. They mistakenly sent it to their house. She had opened it and she was all excited and making plans for me and everything. I didn’t even get to be excited about it first.”

“But now… are you proud? Excited? Sad?”

“All of the above.”

“Okay. Let’s talk about the sad part.”

“Well…” She shrugged, and then slowly lifted her head until her eyes met his. “The idea of staying here and having an apartment with you sounds amazing. And if I leave and go to New York, who will make sure Jamal stays in his classes at the Community College and Cass keeps herself on the right side of DFCS, and you—“

“We,” JC interrupted, “Are all grown up people. You remember when we talked about dreams and goals and stuff? 7years ago, you gave up the idea of going to school to follow Davey around.  How he let you do that, I don’t know. But I’m not Davey and I’m not letting you give that up again to follow me around. You’re going to Columbia.”

“But—“

“But nothing. You’ve been taking care of everyone for so long, Phee. You get to take care of you, now. And you can always come back and visit. I’ll take over this place and you’ll always have somewhere to come home to.”

“I thought you were getting an apartment?”

He shook his head, trying hard to hide the disappointment. He’d almost been day dreaming about a cute little space for them. “There I go, dreaming again. So your mom is excited?”

She nodded, leaning against him, her cheek on his bicep. “Way. More than I am. She said they’ll pay for it, if I go. And they’ll give me the car.”

“What’s wrong with all of that?”

“It feels like a bribe.”

He tipped his head back and had a hearty laugh at her expense. Eventually she joined in. After they stopped laughing, JC asked, in his most serious tone, “Do you want to go to Columbia?”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“Then go to Columbia. However you have to do it, just go.”

“What about you?”

He sighed. Yeah. What about him?

“Don’t worry about me, Phee Phee. I’ll be okay.” 

Making all his nowhere plans
for nobody.

 

JC tried hard to remain neutral and nonchalant about Phee’s news but if he was being honest with himself, his heart sank at the thought her leaving. In all the time that he’d been out on the street, homeless with no one to turn to, she’d been the only person to be selfless and generous, bold and daring with him. She had unknowingly solved problems and opened doors and used her charm and wit to win not only him, but everyone over.

He wasn’t ready to let her go. He didn’t have much of a choice.

His own life seemed to be coming together, at least to everyone else’s standards. He had a place to stay and food to eat and clothes to wear. He was working and had a good job offer doing work he never thought he would be doing but he really liked, especially when he could be alone in peace and quiet, with only the sounds of the foam paint roller to keep him company.

The week rolled by slowly and quietly. Phee and JC made their plans for Thursday- she would pick up her check as normal and instead of going to the library, they would stay downtown and go to Jefferson Construction’s corporate office and sign his employment paperwork. He had everything in order and he was ready to go. Phee was ready, too. Her Columbia paperwork was all signed and filled out and both Tuesday and Wednesday, her mother had dropped her off at home instead of letting her take the bus. It was like she couldn’t let Phee out of her sight, lest she change her mind.

Phee was quiet, again. JC was sure she felt trapped by her decision, but he didn’t see another way out to a better life, for her. She had to go. Even if he didn’t want her to.

After the stop at the hotel and the credit union, they got back on the Number 34 and headed to the other end of town. They got off the bus a block away from the two-story red brick building with the Jefferson Construction logo on a billboard above it.

The front doors were dark glass, designed to shield the reception desk from the glare of the sun. From the outside, they made the building look ominous and foreboding. A twinge crawled through his chest and gripped his heart, the closer they came.

Do I really, really want to do this? This is not a big deal, right? If I don’t like it, I can quit. Right?

Before they reached the door, Phee stopped walking. They’d been holding hands, so when she stopped, JC stopped too.

“What? You’re not going in with me?”

“I’ll go in. Just… answer me something, first.”

“Okay. What?”

“Is this what you really want? To sign on to Jefferson full time and be… here… for the foreseeable future?”

JC shrugged. He couldn’t make himself say yes. He didn’t feel like no was an option for an answer.

“I’m asking because I don’t think you want this. And it’s fine if you don’t.”

“I just…” He sighed, running a palm over his hair while turning a complete circle. “We are all the way here and you choose now to go all Moment of Truth on me?”

“Sorry. But you haven’t signed anything yet. So it’s not too late.”

“So… what? I should just stay a day laborer, working week by week, hoping some job will catapult me back to where I used to be?”

“Is that what you want? Your old stressful job and your old car and your old girlfriend? Your old life? Is that the Holy Grail for you?”

“Something tells me I should say no to that. And you’re going to tell me why I should say no.”

Phee took a deep breath and stepped to him, gripping the arms of his coat. “Look at me. Tell me the truth. Do you think I’m selling out, to go to Columbia?”

JC laughed and made an attempt to move away. “I am the last person that should have an opinion on that, Phee.”

“I know. Humor me. Do you?”

“Not really. Do you?”

She nodded. “I feel dirty and… and purchased and like I’m using my parent’s money to run away. I know I need to go and I want to go, but I don’t want to go like that. And I don’t want to go alone.”

He was starting to catch her drift. She wanted him to go to New York with her—something he was sure that Susan and Philip Gredvig would not approve.

“Phee, you know I can’t.”

“Because of the job?”

“Don’t act dumb. It’s not just the job. You know why I can’t.”

“I know I can do anything I set my mind to. And so can you, if you let yourself believe that you can.”

“I have… no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You know those old black and white movies with the cheesy dialog? One guy does something and another guy stands up and yells you’ll never work in this town again! That sort of applies to you, don’t you think? You’ll never live down what happened, JC. Never, ever. You’ll never be able to pay people back for the money they lost. The sooner you realize and accept that, the sooner you can forgive yourself and move on. The sooner you’ll stop punishing yourself by living just above the poverty line.”

She stepped closer, sure that she had his attention. “What if you could get away and start over?”

“How… how would I do that?”

“I know you’re not big on dreams and plans,” she started, with a smile. “But what if, between the two of us, we had one dream? Could you handle half a dream? Half a plan? Could you manage to think past tomorrow and the next day of nothing towards maybe… something?”

“Maybe,” he answered. “Tell me more about this half a dream.”

“Okay. I’ve been thinking. Getting into Columbia was half the battle. If I don’t take the money from my parents—“

“Phee, I don’t think you should turn down—“

“No, no. Listen, I’m going. I’m going. But I want to do it my way. I’ve been talking to an Admissions Counselor the last couple of days. There are scholarships and grants and work-study and financial aid. There’s student housing and lots of places in the area where a person could work. So, I’ll put off Columbia for a semester—“

“Phee—“

“Listen to me! You take this job and you work every hour they give you. Even overtime. I’ll work overtime, too. We’ll put away every penny we can for the next six months. We’ll buy a car, a little beater that runs well enough to get us up to New York and get around. After six months working your ass off for Jefferson, maybe they’ll refer you to another construction job up there… or you could do something else. Anything else. Anything you want, because you won’t have your old life hanging over your shoulder. You can be the real you. The real JC.”

“Why would you do it this way just so I can come with you, when it would be easier to take the money and the car from your parents?”

“Because…” She squirmed and played with the zipper on his coat, looked around him and past him and at anything but him. He grabbed her chin and tilted her head up so he could see her eyes and she could see his.

“Because?”

“Because… I refuse to lose another man I love to this place. You know what I keep saying—people leave here and they don’t come back. If I leave, I’m not coming back. So I’m not leaving without you.”

The only word JC caught was love. He was stuck on it, swinging from it like a tetherball. Two years with Rachel and she’d never said she loved him. Two months with Phee and she was asking him to run away with her.

“No more baskets. I can’t stand the baskets anymore.”

She laughed, the tension from her face slipping away. She looked relieved. “No studio apartments, either. Unless they’re cheap. I’m a sucker for cheap.”

“You and me, both. We’ll talk about it. Negotiate.”

“Does this mean yes? You want to share a dream with me?”

He grinned, hung an arm around her shoulder and guided her toward the glass doors. He had paperwork to fill out. She had an application to send off. And there was pizza and goofing off and then later, some mattress rocking.

Six months and counting until a new beginning for them both.

“Half a dream. You know how I feel about dreams and plans.”