Road home, p.16
Road Home, page 16
I take a sip. The ice-cold drink runs down my throat, the bittersweet cranberry lingering on my tongue.
“What if we get caught?” I ask.
“They throw us out.”
“They won’t arrest us?”
Sydney shrugs. “Probably not.”
“Probably?”
“Relax. Just enjoy it.” Sydney picks out a cube of ice and crunches it in her mouth. “What was your favorite Saturday morning cartoon?”
“Huh?”
“When you were a kid. What did you watch?”
While I’m thinking back, I feel the alcohol start to warm my insides. “Smurfs. He-Man. Care Bears. My favorite was Dungeons and Dragons. I had a huge crush on this guy who could shoot energy arrows with his bow. I also liked this girl with red hair who had a cape that turned her invisible.”
“Never saw that one,” Sydney says. “Care Bears were cool. But She-Ra was a total badass.”
“Yes! I loved her too. She was He-Man’s cousin.”
“Yup. And I was big into My Little Pony. I had to have all the figures. My dad used to buy them for me. One night he came home with this one, a So Soft Pony, named Cupcake. She was covered in light fuzz, like velvet, and she came with a comb and I spent hours brushing her hair. Man, she was like my most prized possession. I mean, she was until I discovered Barbie.
“Oh my god, I was such a girlie-girl. I had this all pink bedroom. Pink walls, pink sheets, pink clothes. My dad spoiled me rotten.”
Sydney’s eyes gloss over like she’s reliving happy memories. She’s smiling.
I like seeing her like this. So I don’t say anything. Instead, I reflect on my childhood Saturdays, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, way too close to the TV, and eating Lucky Charms cereal, even though I didn’t like the dry marshmallows. I preferred Cap’n Crunch.
Before I finish my drink, Sydney returns to the bar to get a second round. My head is starting to get floaty from drinking on an empty stomach, but I don’t mind. Sydney is enjoying herself, and I’m trying to do the same. As I start to loosen up, so does my tongue.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask.
Sydney shrugs. Takes another sip of her vodka cranberry. Then, playing with her lime, says, “You remind me of someone.”
“Who?”
She squeezes the lime into her drink, then takes another pull from her straw. “My little brother.”
“But you and me, we’re the same age.”
“You still remind me of him.” She looks over at me. “You have the same eyes, all innocent and naïve. You kinda look like him too, especially the way you wear your backpack with both straps all tight. Plus, I’m pretty sure he was gay.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“He was in the living room window, waving at me. Mom said she wanted to talk to me, take me out to eat, just mother-daughter time. So when we drove off, he was waving at me. I can’t remember if I waved back. I don’t think I did. Cause I thought I’d see him later.”
Sydney starts tearing off pieces of her napkin. Her eyes get all distant, like she’s looking past the table, past the floor, and into the earth.
“Mom took me out to this diner. It was next to a bus station. She was all quiet, the whole drive. I shoulda known something was up. When we got there, she didn’t get out of the car. She said she knew. About the baby. That she and my dad weren’t about to help me take care of it. She didn’t scream or anything, she just talked at me in this real cold voice. Said Dad didn’t want me around anymore. Said she was ashamed, that I was an embarrassment. That I disgusted her. She gave me some cash and told me to get on the bus and not to come back.”
Sydney wipes her eyes one at a time. “She had to drag me out of the car screaming. But when she drove off, I just stood there. Eventually I got on a bus. And that was that.”
After a deep breath, I say, “I’m so sorry.”
Sydney takes the straw out of her glass and drops it on the table. She gulps down the last of her drink. Shakes her head, like she’s trying to clear it. Then she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. When she opens them, she says, “Another round?”
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Nope,” she says. Then she walks back to the bar.
jedi mind tricks
I always like this time of day,” Sydney says. “When the sun sets, it’s like the sky is all like those paints you mix with water. Watercolors, right? Then they catch fire, the light bounces off the buildings, and everything has this kind of glow about it.”
She takes another drag off a cigarette.
“It is pretty,” I say.
“Come on.”
“Where we going?”
“Bourbon Street.” She inhales, burning the white paper and tobacco down to the filter. Then she flicks it into the air. “I like the French Quarter. It feels safe here. Or at least familiar, I guess. And being around the tourists? Makes me feel like a tourist. Like maybe any day now I’ll wake up and it’ll be time to go home.”
She exhales.
“I know, it’s stupid.”
“No, it isn’t,” I say. “I know the feeling.”
“Doesn’t hurt that tourists are more willing than locals to shell out a few quarters or dollar bills for us needy.”
“Yeah, I figured that out the hard way.”
“Yo, Sydney,” someone says behind us. We both turn, and Sydney’s face flushes with excitement at the sight of two guys. She runs over and leaps up, wrapping her legs around the taller one. They start making out. For a moment, a pang of jealousy runs through me. Like he might take Sydney away from me.
They’re still kissing when the guy’s hand moves up to grope Sydney’s breast. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye and pushes his hand away. Like she would if I were her little brother watching. She steps down to the ground and brushes off her shorts.
“Rex, this is Dan. And that’s Thomas.”
Almost all of Dan’s visible skin is covered in tattoos. Some look homemade. Like they were pushed in with ink from a sewing needle or a safety pin. I wince at the thought. He wears a wifebeater tank top and jeans. He has a Mohawk, and I wonder how he can afford a haircut, or if he does it himself. And if so, how? I can’t remember the last haircut I got.
Thomas wears a black shirt that reads black sabbath, and has a fair amount of ink himself. His ears are pierced over and over, and a chain hangs from one earring, trailing to his nose ring. His greasy hair is long, just past his ears.
Both guys are in their early twenties. But it’s hard to know how old someone is out here. Their eyes always seem older.
Dan gives me a once-over, like I’m a dog he wants to kick.
“The fuck you looking at?” Dan asks when he sees me staring at a tattoo on his forehead that reads asshole.
“Nothing,” I say.
Dan shoves me and says, “You fucking my girl?”
Sydney shoves Thomas back. “He’s a fag, stupid.”
I hate that word, but I don’t say anything to defend myself. For the first time, my queerness is a shield that protects me.
“Oh,” Dan says, letting up a little. “Well, keep your hands away from me. I don’t want AIDS.”
“Real mature,” Sydney says. She puts her arm in mine. “Rex here doesn’t know shit. We need to teach him.”
“Teach him what?”
“How to feed himself.”
“Go suck some dicks,” Dan says.
“Or let someone suck yours,” Thomas says. There’s no judgment in his tone or his body language. He shrugs. “Cash is cash.”
“No, I’m talking about using the Force,” Sydney says.
“The Force?” I ask. “As in Star Wars?”
“Jedi mind tricks, motherfucker,” Dan says. He smiles. “Fine, you wanna learn, I’ll teach you. But I get fifty percent of your take tonight.”
* * *
Tourists flood the street. We’re sitting on the curb outside a restaurant. “Got any change?” Dan asks, though it’s more of a command than a question.
Customers go in and out of the Tex-Mex place. When they see us, some shrug. Some pat their pockets and say, “Sorry.” And some—most—just ignore us. We’re invisible.
Sitting this close to a restaurant, the smell of food wafting out through the open windows? It’s torture. Skipping lunch makes breakfast seem like days ago.
A couple comes out, the woman holding a white Styrofoam box. Dan nods at her, saying, “I’m hungry.”
She smiles as she hands him the box. She says, “Praise Jesus.”
Dan grabs his crotch. “Praise this.”
The husband pulls the appalled woman away, disappearing into the crowd.
“Score,” Dan says. He opens the Styrofoam box, and my mouth waters at the contents. A half-eaten burrito, rice, and beans. He grabs a huge bite of the tortilla-wrapped chicken, and tucks it back in the box. “Let’s go, freshman,” he says to me, chewing with a full mouth. Thomas follows us.
Sydney doesn’t move. I hesitate, but Sydney says, “I’m waiting for the next to-go meal. Go on.”
“Your to-go box is open,” I note to Dan.
“Yeah, no shit,” he says. “That’s on purpose. Now, shut up, watch, and learn.”
He moves into the crowd, scanning. He pinpoints a man with a tourist shirt who is drinking from one of the oversized neon plastic cups. Dan walks right up to the man and slams into him. The Styrofoam box hits the pavement, the food spilling out into a small hill of what could have been in my stomach.
“What the fuck, man?” Dan shouts at the tourist. “You spilled my dinner!”
“Huh?” the man says, shaking his head as if waking up. “I didn’t—”
“You ran into me and knocked the food right out of my fucking hand.”
“I’m sorry,” the man stutters. “Sorry.”
“Sorry don’t fix shit. You need to pay for my dinner.”
“What?”
“That was twenty dollars,” Dan growls, jamming his pointed finger into the man’s face, just an inch away from between his eyes. “You owe me, man.” Thomas backs up Dan, flanking the tourist.
The tourist’s wife looks afraid. Dan and Thomas’s tattoos don’t help put her at ease. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“Then pay up,” Dan all but shouts.
The tourist fumbles with his wallet. He pulls out a five and hands it over.
Dan snaps, “Five? This meal cost me twenty!”
The tourist looks at the burrito. “Yeah, but you already ate half of it.”
“Don’t tell me what I ate.”
The tourist fishes out a ten. “I’m sorry, okay? That’s all I got.”
“Come on, Harold,” the wife says.
They shuffle off into the crowd as Dan shouts after them, “You better walk away. Rude motherfuckers, this is my town.”
Then Dan turns back to me, holding up his hard-won cash. “Fifteen dollars. I can buy whatever I want for dinner instead of begging for food. And the best part?”
He squats down, picks up the Styrofoam box, and uses his fingers to shovel the rice and half-burrito back into the box. “I can do it again with the same props.”
He and Thomas smile.
“Jedi mind trick,” Dan says, “is tricking people into thinking what you want them to think.”
* * *
Dan fishes into his pocket. He reveals a pair of glasses. He waves them around like a magician. “Voilà!”
“They’re broken,” I say, noting the glass in one eye is shattered.
“No shit,” he says. “I broke them on purpose after I lifted them from a pharmacy. They’re reading glasses. Worth about ten bucks. If that. But for me, they’re my number two moneymaker.”
He moves into the crowd again. Thomas stays behind with me. He says, “Always look for a tourist. Not a young one, but someone in their thirties or forties. Not a strong one or a tall one. Someone medium size, or shorter than you. Someone you can intimidate. Look for someone not in a group. Usually a couple, or someone alone. Get them when they’re vulnerable.”
Dan moves through the throngs of people. When he finds his mark, he pounces. Only it’s less of a leap, and more of a shoulder-slam. It all happens so fast, the victim doesn’t see Dan toss the glasses at the pavement on purpose.
“The fuck?” Dan shouts.
The lone man turns. “What?”
Dan picks up the glasses. “You broke my glasses.”
“No, I didn’t,” the man slurs.
“You slammed into me, then you stepped on them.”
The man shakes his head. “I didn’t.”
“You did,” Dan snaps. “You broke my fucking glasses. And you’re going to pay for them. They cost me two hundred dollars.”
The man looks confused. He looks at the glasses. He’s doubting himself now.
Dan holds up the broken specs. “Fuck, man. I can’t see shit with these now. You owe me a new pair.”
The lone man’s face looks frightened. Until his six friends show up. The crew of men move around his sides protectively. They’re both taller and stronger. “What’s going on?” one of them says.
“Your amigo broke my glasses,” Dan says.
“So?” the friend says. “Shit happens.”
“Shit happens? Shit happens?” Dan growls. “I need my glasses, man.”
The men talk among themselves, consulting each other. Dan’s eyes count the men, and some of the conviction melts out of his stance. “Sorry,” the tallest friend says. He nudges the victim to keep walking. They walk away as a group.
Dan hesitates, then grabs his target by the back of his shirt. “You broke my glasses. You gonna make me call the police?”
“Call the police,” the friend says, speaking for the mark. The others step forward. They aren’t playing anymore. And they look pissed at Dan for wasting their time.
“Look. Just give me twenty and we’ll call it even.”
The mark looks at the friend who first defended him, his eyes asking for direction. But the friend shakes his head no. “We’re not giving you shit.”
Dan puffs his chest out, proud peacock, saying, “Fuck you.”
“Yeah, fuck you too,” the man says. Then the men crowd around their friend and continue on their way.
“Fuck you!” Dan shouts after them. “Fuck you!”
Dan shoves the glasses in his pocket. He’s all adrenaline. He slams past Thomas, and slams past me. “Fuck you two for just watching. You shoulda had my back.”
Thomas shrugs. When Dan’s far enough away, he says, “You win some, you lose some. And Dan hates to lose.”
* * *
“You starting to get it?” Dan asks. He’s counting his cash. I see enough tens that Dan could probably get a place to sleep. Or feed himself for a week. He crams the wad of bills into his pocket. Then he circles me. “Not that it’s gonna work when you do it. You’re about as intimidating as a kitten.”
“Maybe that’ll work to his advantage,” Sydney says. “He looks trustworthy.”
“Let’s see you do it, then,” Dan says.
I hesitate.
Dan shoves a mostly empty Styrofoam box into my hand. “Go on, then.”
“I don’t want to,” I say.
“What do you mean, you don’t want to? If you wanna eat, you have to.”
“I don’t mind just hanging outside a restaurant and taking leftovers,” I say. “I don’t want to steal from people.”
“It’s a dog-eat-dog world,” Dan says. “If you think any of these pricks wouldn’t do the same in our position, you’re wrong.”
I want to say it’s not right. But I bite my tongue. The last thing I want to do is piss off the first group of potential friends I’ve encountered. Not when they’re better at this than me. Living on the street, I mean. Not the scamming. Though they’re obviously better at that too.
“You have one more Jedi mind trick to show off,” Thomas says.
“It’s a trick, all right, but nothing Jedi about it.” Dan grins. He walks along the edge of the crowd, scanning for his next target.
This late at night, everyone on the street is drunk. I’ve seen it before. The slurring, the stumbling, the puking on the side of the road. This time, Dan picks a large, rotund guy. He bumps into him, gentler this time than when he did it earlier. In fact, he says, “Oh shit, man, I’m so sorry.”
Then Dan parts ways. He walks over, a smirk stretched across his face.
“I don’t get it,” I say.
Dan holds up a wallet. “Idiot had his wallet hanging out of his back pocket. He was just begging for it to get stolen.”
“You robbed him?” I say pointedly. “That isn’t right.”
“ ‘That isn’t right,’ ” Dan mocks, then laughs. He throws his arm around my neck, saying, “Look what we got, folks. Jiminy Cricket here is gonna be our conscience. Guide us to a life of virtue.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. But there’re other ways.”
“You’ve been on the street, what? A couple months? Less? Know how I know? Cause you’re not hungry enough yet. When you are, when you really know what it’s like to live like us, you’ll do what you have to.”
“You can go to the shelters. You can grab donuts behind donut shops. You can—”
“Beg? Plead for mercy? Ask god to take me back under his good graces?” Dan growls, his hands clasped together like he was some twisted angel. Then he gets in my face, yelling, “Fuck that. I’m done trying to be good. The world took everything away from me. Everything! It’s my turn to take some of it back.”
He storms back into the crowd.
* * *
