You've Got Something Coming

by Starke, Jonathan;

  “How?” she asked.

  He knew they wouldn’t suspect a little girl of taking things.

  “Put this in your coat like you did with the T-shirt the other day. Then follow me around the store. I’m gonna pick things off the shelf and hand them to you. We’re gonna do this in secret. When nobody’s watching, you’ll put these things inside your coat too. And look all around before you put it in there. Make sure nobody’s watching you. Maybe think of it like looking both ways before you cross the street. So you don’t get hit by something.”

  “I don’t wanna,” Claudia said.

  “What?”

  “I don’t wanna do bad anymore.”

  “This isn’t bad. I told you. Don’t you remember? We don’t wanna do these things. We have no choice. Sometimes we’re forced to need borrow. Okay?”

  Claudia looked away.

  “Listen, remember, when we’re living an all-right life somewhere, we’ll pay it all back. We’ll donate to the local charities and serve food at the soup kitchens. It’s like that karma we talked about. Right here, the world’s giving to us, and we’re accepting. That’s positive karma for the world. Then later, we’ll give back, so that’s returning the karma. Like a thanks for the need borrowing.”

  Claudia shrugged. “Not in my coat. I don’t wanna.”

  Trucks stood. He shook his head and walked over to the clothing area. Then he unzipped his coat, took a pair of children’s thermal tights, and stuffed them inside.

  “You need some earmuffs?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I thought the hearing aids might make your ears colder. The hard plastic and everything,” he said.

  Claudia reached up and fidgeted with the hearing aids as if she was testing the hard shells.

  Trucks grabbed a pair of earmuffs. They were purple and fuzzy. He squeezed the muffs. He worried the hard, plastic wire might press too much on her head and the muffs might push her hearings aids against her ears. Maybe cause more discomfort than warmth. Trucks put the earmuffs back and found a winter headband. Looked like it was handknitted from a strong yarn.

  “How about this?” he said.

  Trucks handed Claudia the headband. She put it on.

  “It’s warm,” she said.

  Trucks took the headband back, looked around, then stuck it in his coat.

  “We’ll need a sleeping bag. Come on.”

  Trucks walked to an area with old lanterns, kindling, tents. He went through their assortment of sleeping bags. Not as many as he’d expected being in Montana where Gerald said everyone cherished the outdoors. Trucks chose the thinnest sleeping bag because it’d be easier to carry and sneak out with. It was dark green, and the tag said it held heat at twenty degrees. It would have to do.

  “They called them rollie blankets,” Claudia said.

  “What? Who did?”

  “At the home.”

  “Never heard them called that.”

  “It was their words.”

  “You’re thinking of the home?”

  Claudia looked away.

  Trucks rolled up the sleeping bag as tight as he could.

  “What are you thinking of the home for?”

  “I miss playing with Suzie and Mary and Connie. I miss Mary most. She was nice to me most times.”

  Trucks found a stuff sack lying on the shelf and put the sleeping bag in there. It really wasn’t all that big when compressed like that.

  “What’d you say?” Trucks asked.

  “I miss Mary most. It was good there sometimes.”

  “Look, I didn’t mean to take you away from your friends, but how else could I make you a better life? Don’t you think that’s where we’re headed?”

  Claudia didn’t answer.

  “Is that where you’d rather be now? At the home?”

  Claudia ran her finger along the thin fabric of a sleeping bag.

  Trucks didn’t even want to think about it.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “We’ve borrowed enough.”

  Trucks tucked the compressed sleeping bag in the stuff sack under his arm.

  “Promise we can get the camera back,” Claudia said.

  Trucks looked around.

  “Promise,” she said again.

  “I think the karma gods can forgive this one,” he said, and grabbed her hand.

  Trucks walked a slow stride past the register counter. When he thought they’d made it safely, almost to the door, Claudia jerked from his grasp and yelled, “Liar!”

  The woman at the register looked over. “What’s going on?” she said.

  Trucks grabbed Claudia’s hand and squeezed hard. He shoved the door open and dragged her onto the sidewalk. He looked down at her with fire in his eyes, and said, “Run, goddammit, if you know what’s good for you.”

  MOONLIGHT POLLUTION

  The two flickering comets had run through the wall of cold. Sprinted down the street, breathing hard as they ran the stretches and turned the corners. The taste of blood had filled their throats. Tongues metallic. Trucks had led them north to Swords Park, a place he’d spotted on the wall map back at the shelter. It was the closest place he could remember, and the harsh conditions of the park would have to do.

  They’d spent most of the day hiding. After running so hard they walked to a small picnic site and hid for hours. There was a bathroom hut nearby and a picnic table under a gazebo. Trucks said they’d make camp there later on. When they got hungry, Trucks led Claudia to a grocery store. They paid for bread and peanut butter and a few bottles of water. He didn’t feel right need borrowing all the time, and he’d told her that repeatedly, but she didn’t seem to believe him now. They were down to thirteen dollars. When they’d returned to their spot in Swords Park, he’d reached in his coat pocket for the sachet of antibacterial wipes, but they weren’t there. He’d lost them in the scuffle back at the shelter. Instead they washed their hands in the bathroom hut. The hot water never came, and just using hand soap from a dispenser on the wall didn’t make Trucks feel clean enough. They made peanut butter sandwiches at the picnic table and drank their waters fast and refilled them in the bathroom sink. Then they walked along the nearby trail. Trucks tried to forget about how she’d turned on him at the store. He’d been pissed and wanted to spank her, but the run had taken a lot out of him. He’d been able to calm himself with breathing techniques and later showed Claudia the gray rimrocks overlooking the city. Though she didn’t seem interested and kept trying to look at other things. Still. Trucks had tried to make up a story about how the jagged formation was shaped thousands of years ago and paint the image of what the wildlife was like. But he didn’t have the heart or mind for it. For the first time since they’d left Klakanouse, he couldn’t get up the energy or desire to teach her. To tell her his version of the making of the world.

  It got dark fast. Trucks opened the pull string on the stuff sack and took out the sleeping bag. He unrolled it and shook it out. The tag said it was made of goose-down feathers, which Trucks knew were supposed to be warmer than most. He could see from the glow of the moonlight and the city’s light pollution. Their eyes soon got used to it.

  “I wanna eat some more,” Claudia said, watching him shake the sleeping bag.

  “Not tonight.”

  “But I’m hungry still.”

  “You just ate a few hours back.”

  “Still I’m hungry,” she said.

  “We have to ration now. We’re down on money, and you don’t wanna need borrow any more than we have to, do you?”

  Claudia shook her head.

  “Do you?” Trucks repeated. He laid the sleeping bag across the picnic table.

  “No,” she said.

  “I know you’re not comfortable with it, so I’m trying to figure out another way. I just don’t know what yet. You realize sometimes it just comes to that, right? That you gotta take or freeze or starve or die. It’s the way the world works.”

  “I guess,” she said
. She walked closer to him and ran her hand across the sleek material of the sleeping bag.

  “Can’t tell if it’d be better here than in the snow,” he said. Then he knocked his fist on the table and walked from under the little gazebo out into the snow. He stomped his boot. “Can’t tell which surface is harder. And all this snow on the ground.”

  Claudia walked over and dug her heel into the snow.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  She didn’t say anything. Just kept looking at the snow.

  He thought about how she’d said she didn’t want him to be “home” anymore. It had cut him deeper than anything, the thought of her not wanting to be with him. And now all this pushback and attitude. He didn’t know how to handle it.

  Claudia bent down and patted the snow.

  “I think it’s maybe softer here,” she said.

  Trucks got on his knees. He pushed into the snow. He did it with his bare hands.

  “You’re cold,” she said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Your hands are all red. Like flowers.”

  “It’s not so bad. It’s one of those things you get used to.”

  “Why didn’t you borrow gloves?”

  “It’s not something I thought about. I was only thinking of you.” Trucks looked up at his girl. “Anyway, how are those tights feeling?”

  “Tight,” Claudia said. She pulled the band up out of her black jeans and snapped it back.

  “And the headband? Looks like it’s not too snug.”

  Claudia pulled her hood down and put her hands over her ears. “It’s really hot. Kinda itchy.”

  Trucks reached over and pulled her hood back on.

  Claudia looked down. She scooped snow, held it over her head, and watched it fall. Her breath came out as she looked at the ground. Trucks could see it sharp against the moonlight.

  “So what’s it gonna be? In the snow or on the picnic table?”

  Claudia stood and walked into the gazebo. She pounded on the picnic table a few times. Then she came back and put her knees in the snow.

  “It’s dryer in there. And it feels warmer. I don’t know. But the snow is pretty.”

  “So maybe up on the picnic table?” Trucks said.

  “Yeah. But I don’t wanna be cold.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Trucks said. “It’ll be cold, but it’ll be okay. There’s two of us, and we can share the heat. And we got the bag. It can keep us warm down to twenty degrees.”

  “Twenty degrees?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How cold is that?”

  “Pretty damn cold.”

  “How cold is it now?” She breathed out a puff of breath and watched it float.

  “Also pretty damn cold. But not so cold we’ll freeze or anything. We’ll be okay.”

  Trucks stood. He reached out. Claudia shook her head. It hurt him every time she rejected his attempts at connection.

  Trucks walked to the gazebo. Claudia followed.

  “Just keep all your stuff on. You’ll get in the bag first, and I can come after. Sit up here,” he said.

  Claudia stood on the bench and sat on the picnic table. Trucks smoothed out the sleeping bag along the table top. Then he unzipped the sleeping bag and peeled it open. Then he untied her boots.

  “I’m gonna take these off. Get in the bag right after, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Trucks took off her boots, and Claudia scrambled into the sleeping bag. Then he pulled the flap over her. He took the cloth tote bag with their supplies and held it by the handles. Spun the bag until it was cinched up tight. Then he tied the spun handles to an outside strap on the sleeping bag so it’d be as secure as he could make it and keep it close to them. Trucks sat on the picnic table with his boots on the bench. He untied his boots and took them off. Then he quickly tied them to the loop holding Claudia’s boots and the tote bag.

  Soon he worked his way into the bag and pulled the dual zipper from the inside nearly up to the neck. Since it was a bag for one adult, it didn’t fit right. Just then Trucks realized why the tag had called it a “mummy” bag. There was a gap for the face, and the bag surrounded the whole head and rest of the body. It was a tight fit. They tried to move in different positions, but Claudia could breathe the easiest lying against his chest. It reminded Trucks of the first ride they’d hitched together in the bed of the pickup under the cattle tarp. He breathed in deep with the memory. He looked up at the arched gazebo ceiling. All those beautiful angles. The aura of blue moonlight around it. He could feel the beats of her heart against him. And that was more than enough.

  INSIDE THE MUMMY BAG

  She woke in the night. Trucks hadn’t slept. He was paranoid about winter coyotes and weirdos that lurked in the dark. Both were dangerous for different reasons. He hadn’t been too worried at the shelter. Something about the four walls and heat and that slight humming. Like the electric world was praying. But out here it felt like a whole different thing. The way he could hear the wind and feel the snow being blown across the sleeping bag and through the gazebo. It all echoed under there. Like they were lying in a wooden chamber with knocked-down walls.

  “You’re up,” he said.

  “I had a nightmare. It really wasn’t good,” she said.

  Her face was on his chest. When she talked, her lips buzzed against him.

  “You wanna tell me about it?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “All right,” he said.

  They lay there in silence. The later it got the more the moonlight seemed to shine blue around them. But Trucks couldn’t see much through the face hole. His vision was limited to forty-five degrees. He couldn’t look left or right. It hindered his ability to see and feel protected. It made him tense.

  “I gotta pee,” she said.

  “Hold it,” he said.

  “But I really gotta go.”

  “It’s freezing out there. And I think I hear coyotes.”

  “Oh no,” she said.

  “Exactly,” he said.

  Trucks tried to raise up a bit to have a look out one side of the face hole.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “Just trying to see what’s going on out there.”

  “Do you see stuff?”

  “Not shit,” he said.

  “The swears,” she said.

  Trucks laid flat again. He could feel the divide of the boards beneath his back. Sometimes when his spine fell in a groove it’d hurt. He had an aching back from all those years of pivoting on his punches. Like the spine was a pole the body wound around to create the most speed and force. The anchor of the legs. Where all that brute power came from.

  “Were you ever really gonna get us a place alone?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Are you just saying that?”

  Trucks tried to picture their own place, but nothing came to mind.

  “We won’t,” she said. “Will we?”

  “It’s possible,” he said.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said.

  “Look, I can’t promise, and I can’t predict. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna try for you. I hope you feel the trying counts.”

  She didn’t say anything. He felt he offered her nothing but disappointment.

  “If we were gonna get a place, where would you want it to be?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t really know places.”

  “That’s fair,” he said.

  “I guess Mown Tinna. Cause we’re here already.”

  Montana. He held back.

  “Wouldn’t you prefer somewhere warm, like Nevada?”

  “Is there snow there sometimes?”

  “No. Not in Nevada.”

  “I was afraid they’d make fun of my hearing phones there. It’s not nice if they did that.”

  “I agree. They shouldn’t make fun of you. But you don’t know they will. We haven’t even gone yet.”


  “I don’t wanna.”

  “Don’t worry, because we probably can’t get there without hitching again, anyway, and I know you don’t wanna do that. So I don’t know if it matters what we want anymore.”

  Trucks sighed. He felt the weight of her lift with his deep breath.

  “What would you want if we could have our own place again?” he asked.

  “A room.”

  “A room?”

  “Yeah. For me only.”

  Trucks could feel how far she’d separated from him. He wondered if a place of their own would bring her back. Would anything now? And could they really stay in Montana? They probably needed to get somewhere else where he wasn’t wanted for assault. Or kidnapping, for that matter. He still wondered if anyone in Klakanouse would even care. Just a couple more deadbeats flushed out of the ghetto by the tracks. Probably presumed dead. If they even mattered enough to presume about.

  “We could work that out. We could get a place of our own sometime. Sure,” he said.

  Claudia didn’t answer.

  “But I think we gotta get outta here first. I know you don’t wanna hear it, but we should really hit the road again. I could be in trouble here. I probably am.”

  “I don’t wanna hitch,” she said.

  “I know,” he said.

  “You did bad,” she said.

  Trucks opened and closed his left hand. It was down along the side of the sleeping bag. He had his other arm keeping his girl against him so she wouldn’t slip away.

  “I did bad,” he said. “You’re right. Just because we’re people doesn’t make us better than animals. We might have these brains, but that animal heat, when it kicks in, there’s no telling what a man might do. It’s why you can’t really trust anybody. Aside from me. Remember that. You can always trust me. And remember that the world’s a hard place. Or maybe don’t remember that. I don’t know. But anyway, we’ll make it. We will. And I think you know that in your heart.”

  Trucks tried to look down, but he couldn’t see Claudia’s face. She was too close against him. He took her silence for sleep, and it stayed quiet that way until morning.

  THE DOING HAS NO NAME

  In the morning he took her for gas station pancakes. They were spongy and cheap. Claudia loaded them with syrup. Trucks resisted eating. Instead he drank cup after cup of water and bought a pack of antibacterial wipes for seventy-nine cents. They were down to ten dollars. When Claudia went to the bathroom, Trucks stole a couple toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste and hid them inside the cloth tote bag. He was exhausted from little sleep. All through the night he felt like he heard the calls of the winter coyote, but he could never be sure. Gerald had talked about them back on his property. How he had to kill them some years when they went after his livestock. He’d seemed happy not to have to pick up a rifle anymore. Like the shooting was a part of a violent past he didn’t want to think about.