Can't Get There from Here Page 6

She stood there waiting for one of us to say something, but no one spoke. It was no use. People like her never listened. They made up their minds, told you what they thought, and that was the end of it. Finally she left. Pest yelped and struggled to get free, but OG held him close like he was afraid to let the little dog go until the woman was well out of sight.

  “How comes she cares so much about a dog?” Tears asked. “What about us?”

  “Nobody cares about us,” I said.

  ELEVEN

  Rainbow was gone for days and I got worried. She didn’t usually disappear for that long. I waited until night and then went to look for her. The air was cold and damp, and my breath came out in big clouds of white. I headed for the streets near the Lincoln Tunnel where men in cars prowled for young girls and boys before they drove home to their families in the suburbs. I was walking down a dark sidewalk when a sleek silver car pulled alongside of me.

  The window on the passenger side went down. “Hey,” a man’s voice said. In the dark shadows of the car I could see that he was old. The lines around his mouth were deep and the hair on his head was so thin that unless you looked close you might think he was bald. He looked small for a grown-up. Not much bigger than me.

  “You look hungry,” he said. There was something mean about his smile. Like he knew he had what I needed and it was simply a matter of reeling me in. He was wearing a tan-colored jacket with a green corduroy collar. It looked warm. All I had on was a T-shirt and a thin sweatshirt. I left my jacket somewhere, but I couldn’t remember where.

  “Maybe.” I shivered, and my empty stomach churned like a washing machine with no clothes in it.

  “Looks like you could use a bath, too.”

  “Maybe.” It had been a week since me and Rainbow washed in the library bathroom, but I was already filthy again. My hands were almost black with dirt. My arms and face were streaked with it. I could taste it when I licked my lips. My hair was caked. When I scratched my head my scalp felt like it was full of sand.

  “Why don’t you come with me?” he offered. “I’ll give you something to eat. And a bath.”

  “What do you get in return?” I asked.

  He grinned in the darkness. “I guess we’ll have to see.”

  I heard a tap. Then another and another. A fat raindrop landed on my head. Another hit my ear. I felt a chill. The taps began to come faster as the big drops of rain pelted the sidewalk and me. I started to walk. The car moved along slowly.

  “You really want to stay out here in the rain tonight?” the man in the car asked. “You’ll probably catch pneumonia.”

  “Maybe.” I was already cold. Shivers ran up my back and arms, and I clenched my teeth so that he wouldn’t hear them chatter.

  “So you coming or not?”

  I didn’t answer.

  He frowned. The rain was starting to go into his car through the open window. “What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Money? Forget it. Fm not giving you any money. I’ll feed you and clean you up. But I know what you’ll do if I give you money. You’ll just spend it on drugs.”

  “Maybe.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You’d rather stay out here and freeze and starve and be filthy? Fine. There are a dozen kids just like you on these streets. You don’t want to come with me, I’ll find another one. What’s the difference? You’re all the same, know that?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe … Maybe …” he repeated. “Maybe you’ll starve or freeze to death out here tonight. Maybe in the morning they’ll find your body. Who’ll miss a homeless kid? You’re a waste. Not even a memory. Just someone who never was.”

  The car window went up. The windshield wipers began to swipe back and forth as the man drove away down the dark wet street. I stood in the rain, feeling the drops hit my head and shoulders. He could find some other hungry gutter punk who wanted to get out of the rain. But it wouldn’t be me.

  TWELVE

  I spent most of the night searching the streets around the tunnel for Rainbow, then slept for a while in a twenty-four-hour banking room where people came in and got money from ATMs. Toward morning the rain turned to snow and a brown security truck stopped at the curb. A security guard came in and kicked me out of the ATM room. Outside, the dark, snow-covered streets were empty. Skinny white icicles hung from the streetlights.

  I walked downtown. The hood of my sweatshirt froze stiff and turned white with snow. I was cold, but I liked being outside. As morning came the darkness turned to a dull gray. For once the city was quiet and pretty. Hardly anyone was out. The streets were white, and all the storefronts were covered with metal gates and grates. The only footprints down the sidewalk were mine.

  Soon the cold seeped deep into me. My teeth chattered. My feet were numb and each step I took hurt. My fingers grew stiff and throbbed with pain. Up ahead was that brick building with the big windows. The library—a warm, dry place that was open to the public. But all I could think about was that mean creep Bobby. As I passed the building I looked in through the windows. It was dark inside. I could see the tables with all those computers that anyone could use. The chairs were empty and the computer screens were blank. No sign of Bobby, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in there somewhere.

  “Hello.” Coming toward me was someone wearing a long brown coat and a fuzzy cap of blue, red, and yellow wool. He was tall and carried two big shopping bags. It was the man who had blotchy skin like mine. We stared at each other.

  “Vitiligo,” he said.

  “What?”

  He pressed a finger against a pale patch on his chin. “That’s what this is called. Have you always had it?”

  I nodded.

  “Me too,” he said. “Did you want to get into the library?”

  I didn’t answer. I was confused. I thought he’d say more about our skin. But he acted like it was no big deal. Like it was the same as two people who were both lefthanded or had green eyes. Then I looked in the shopping bags he was carrying. They were filled with paper plates and napkins and plastic cups. I thought I could smell doughnuts.

  “Well, I’m afraid it’s too early. We won’t be open for a few hours,” he said. Then he cocked his head and looked more closely at me. “You’re shivering.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Maybe.”

  He made a funny face. “We’re having a Martin Luther King celebration today. I came in early to set up. If you’d like to come in now you can get warm and I’ll give you something to eat.”

  “What about Bobby?”

  The man frowned. “How do you know Bobby?”

  “The other day he hurt me and my friend.”

  The man’s mouth fell partway open. “That was you? Tony told me what Bobby did.”

  “Who?”

  “Tony’s the security guard,” he explained. “I want you to know that you’re welcome to come in here any time you want and you will not be hurt. I’ll make sure Bobby leaves you alone. Of course, you’d be better off washing someplace else. If you need a place to do that, I can probably help you. Bobby won’t be here until later. You can come in now and get warm and have something to eat.”

  He sounded sincere, like one of the nice ones. But you never knew. He might still want something. Everyone wanted something. He went past me and up the snow-covered steps, then took out some keys and opened the door. He looked back. “Still not coming?”

  I wanted to so bad.

  “You can eat and get warm and go. I promise. No one will hurt you.”

  I followed him through the front doors, but stopped inside where the air felt dry and warm. I stayed close to the doors. Just in case.

  “You can wait here if you want,” the man said, leaving the shopping bags by the computer tables and going toward the back. I waited, still shaking from the cold outside, my stomach churning hungrily at the thought of food so close.

  It seemed like a long time before he came back, but it probably wasn’t that long. He left
his coat and hat somewhere and was wearing green corduroy slacks and a green pullover sweater with red and blue and other colors on it.

  “That sweatshirt’s all wet,” he said. “Why don’t you take it off, and I’ll put it on the radiator to dry.”

  I pulled the sweatshirt over my head. The hood and shoulders were soaked dark. The man held it with the tips of his fingers.

  “That’s all you have?” he asked, looking at the torn, black T-shirt I still had on. It was also wet and clung to my shoulders. “You’re so thin. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He left again, then returned with a white T-shirt and the brown sweater he wore the first time I saw him. The T-shirt said NEW YORK IS BOOK COUNTRY on the front. The sweater had buttons.

  “Why don’t you put these on?” He handed them to me.

  I took them and looked around.

  “You need a place to change,” he realized. “Okay, come with me.” He led me between some tall bookshelves. “You can change here. No one will see. Promise me you’ll throw that black T-shirt in the garbage.”

  He left me there. I looked around to make sure he wasn’t hiding in the other rows watching, then I stripped off the black T-shirt and put on the white one. I didn’t like the sweater. But it felt soft and warm so I put it on.

  I came out from the bookshelves. The library man had laid out my sweatshirt over the radiator.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  Once again I waited, listening to the steam radiators hiss and my stomach rumble. The man returned, drying his hands on some paper towels like he just washed them.

  “Okay, let’s make a place for you,” he said, carrying one of the shopping bags over to a small round table. He put out a red plastic plate and a plastic cup, which he filled with Hawaiian Punch. On the plate he put one chocolate, one sugar, and one cinnamon doughnut.

  “If you want anything more to eat or drink, I’ll be over in the children’s section.” He pointed toward the side of the library where there were smaller tables and chairs and colorful posters on the walls. He picked up the shopping bags and left.

  I ate the doughnuts and drank the punch in no time, but didn’t ask for more right away. I was afraid he might say that was enough and I should leave. I wanted to get warm first. With food in my stomach I got warm faster. I watched the library man spread red tablecloths on the little tables in the children’s room and then put out plates and cups. Now and then he looked in my direction and smiled.

  Finally, I picked up my plate and cup and went over to him. The library man was putting books on the tables. Most of them showed a round-faced black man on the cover.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Martin Luther King,” the library man answered. “A very good man who made a difference for many people.”

  I held up my empty plate and cup.

  “I thought you might still be hungry.” He filled my cup again and gave me three more doughnuts. I went back to the table at the front of the library and ate them. No one would ever write books about me. I would never make a difference to anyone.

  Outside cars, trucks, and buses started going up and down the streets, their windshield wipers swiping back and forth. The snow was still coming down in big white clumps, but the streets slowly turned into gray slush. The same with the sidewalks where more and more people were now walking. I sat at the small round table and watched through the big windows. It felt good to be in a warm place.

  After a while the library man came over. “Still hungry?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “I want you to know that Bobby will be coming in soon. If you want to stay I promise that he won’t hurt you. You have as much right to use this library as anyone else.”

  “I think I’ll go. Thanks for the doughnuts.” I got up and started to take off the brown sweater.

  “No, I want you to keep it,” he said.

  “Okay, thanks.” I took my sweatshirt from the radiator. The cuffs were frayed and it had holes in it, but it was only damp now and even the dampness felt warm. I pulled it over my head. The library man looked outside at the falling snow. The lines in his blotchy freckled forehead deepened slightly. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

  “Sure,” I said, and started toward the doors. He walked with me. I pulled the doors open. The air smelled cold and fresh.

  “Wait,” he said. “My name is Anthony. Come back here any time you want. If you don’t see me by the computer tables you can go to the front desk and ask for me. They’ll get me, okay?”

  “Okay.” I left.

  THIRTEEN

  By the time I got to the empty building, I was wet and shivering again. Pest barked when I came up the steps, but everyone else was asleep on the mattress or the floor, covered with blankets, discarded clothes, and rags. I looked around for Rainbow, but she wasn’t there. I pulled together a bunch of clothes—pants, shirts, sweatshirts—and made a nest on the mattress and crawled into it. I’d been up most of the night looking for Rainbow. Now that I had those doughnuts in my stomach, it was easy to fall asleep.

  “Maybe, wake up.” Someone touched my shoulder. I opened my eyes. I was lying on the mattress, trembling from the cold. My breath was a white cloud in the dim room. I couldn’t stop shaking and had to clench my teeth to stop them from chattering.

  It was Tears who woke me. “2Moro got us free passes to The Cradle tonight.”

  “How?” I yawned. The Cradle was the hottest club in the world and impossible to get into.

  Tears looked over at 2Moro, who was kneeling in front of the broken mirror, putting makeup on Jewel, who was wearing a pink wig. “How’d you get the passes?”

  “The bartender likes me,” 2Moro said.

  I sat up. My head was spinning and I felt dizzy. My ankles started to itch something fierce and I had to scratch them hard. It was the bedbugs. Even the frigid cold didn’t stop them.

  “I’m not going to some club,” I said.

  Maggot was reading a newspaper. “Here’s something that might change your mind. The weather forecast is for record lows tonight. Like in the teens.”

  “You sure that’s today’s paper?” OG asked.

  Maggot turned it around and looked at the front page. “Yeah. And with the wind chill it’s supposed to feel even colder.”

  “What’s wind chill?” Tears asked.

  “You know how the wind makes it feel colder than it really is?” Maggot said. “That’s wind chill.”

  I scratched my ankles so hard my fingernails broke the skin and my fingertips became damp and sticky with blood. But the pain made the horrible itching easier to take. The thin shafts of light squeezing past the window frames cut through the dim room like sabers. Dust floated in the shafts and shimmered. All the different tiny shapes caught the sunlight and turned white like snowflakes. When I breathed out, the cloud of my breath mixed with them and made them swirl and dance.

  “Now do you want to go?” Tears asked me.

  “Are you going?” I asked Maggot.

  “Oh, yeah.” He grinned devilishly.

  “I sold all those roofies there. They all think I’ve got good stuff. This time I’ll sell a couple of spoonfuls of baking soda for hundreds of bucks.”

  “Can I go?” Tears asked.

  OG was feeding Pest leftover ramen noodles. “Hell, yes. They like ‘em young in the clubs. Younger the better.”

  Tears bit her lip nervously.

  “Not to worry, sweetheart,” Jewel told her. “We’ll make you look twenty-one.”

  “What’ll we wear?” I asked. All I had was my sweatshirt and the white T-shirt and brown button-down sweater the library man, Anthony, gave me. Tears was wearing a furry black and orange sweater that made her look like one of those caterpillars you sometimes saw on roads.

  “I can get you clothes, too,” said 2Moro.

  Everyone except OG went. He was too old and crusty. With that beard and hair and missing teeth he could never get into the club no matter who 2Moro knew. It w
as dark when we left the building. Outside the snow and slush had turned hard and icy. I kept slipping on the sidewalk. Jewel had such a hard time walking in his platform shoes that he needed 2Moro and me to hold his arms so he didn’t fall.

  2Moro led us to a building on Avenue A. It was five stories tall and made of brick. A rusty fire escape zigzagged down the front. The front door was unlocked and the mailboxes in the hallway were dented and broken. Light came from a bare lightbulb hanging by a wire from the ceiling.

  “My, how luxurious,” Jewel joked.

  2Moro led us up the stairs. On the second flight a group of Goths were coming down. They had dyed black hair and black eye makeup and lipstick and nail polish and were wearing black leather coats and high lace-up black boots.

  “Looks like the cold forced the street scum inside,” the lead Goth snickered when he saw us. He was tall and wore black makeup. A wooden cross hung from his left ear.

  “If it isn’t the bridge and tunnel crowd,” Maggot shot back. “How’s life in the suburbs, kids? Where’d you stash your regular clothes? In a locker at the train station?”

  “Drop dead,” the lead Goth snarled. “Anybody can be a bum. It don’t prove nothing.”

  “Proves that I’m not pretending to be something I’m not,” Maggot said.

  I thought there might be a fight, but we passed each other without another word. From the floor above came voices and thumping music. The air started to smell sweet and smoky.

  “Is this the club?” Tears asked.

  “Oh, no, my dear,” Jewel answered. “This is just the warm up.”

  2Moro led us into the apartment. It was filled with smoke and kids. Most of them dressed in fashionable clean clothes. In the living room people were draped over the couches and chairs, or sitting on the floor watching a DVD of one of the Lord of the Rings movies. The air was so smoky it was hard to breathe.

  Shimmying to the music, 2Moro took Tears and me by the hand. “Come on, let’s see what we can find for you to wear.” She led us down a narrow hallway. It seemed like every room was filled with people.