Hiro Loves Kite

by Lauren Nicolle Taylor

  My chin falls, and I smile widely at the floor. Kricket. It’s more perfect than I could have imagined. “Kricket!” Frankie spins around in a circle, skirts flying out like a parachute. “Kricket!”

  I risk my hands to reach out to grab her. Folding her into my arms. I nuzzle my chin in her hair. Firelight and broken leaves. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, weights on my eyelashes. She’s here. She’s safe. I will never let her go.

  Kettle sees my face. A flash of pain crosses his features, but then is replaced with heart. His family is still incomplete.

  The lights flicker above, and Frankie tenses. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It happens all the time.” I stroke her head, and she presses close to my chest.

  Kettle claps his hands, and the others snap to him. “Time to cut the gas!” He puts a finger to his lips.

  Frankie yawns loudly. It’s been a long day.

  After I undress her, I help her into her nightclothes. I change into one of Kin’s shirts, which sweeps my knees.

  Kettle shouts out a last call for the bathroom before shutting off the lights by pulling a fuse from a switch board. They switch off with a loud bang.

  Sleeping with Frankie is like sleeping in a bed full of vindictive coat hangers. She seems twice as big as she should be, and squirms like a caged ferret. I’ve been pushed to the edge of the cushions, my injured leg numbed comfortingly by the cold floor. She rolls into a ball, then goes off like a bomb of legs and arms as she pushes out and finally expels me from the bed. I press my cheek to the stone and shiver. I can’t wake her. She needs the sleep. Her breathing has finally evened out after much puffing and panting.

  Standing, I shake my head. She is the wind that fills a pirate ship’s sails. Forceful. Magical.

  The darkness is total, and it presses down on me. In the dark was when he would come. I flinch, pulling my arms close to my sides.

  He’s not here. He’s not here. He’s not here.

  I step forward. A bruise flourishes up my side. A memory. But the pain feels real.

  It’s not real; it’s not real; it’s not real.

  The cold air between one bed and the next is like ice. I move fast, eyes closed. Hands hugging my ribs.

  A crack. Skin breaking. Blood dripping.

  I hurry, operating in a dream state. A nightmare state. My knees give, and I collapse at the foot of the bed. “Kettle,” I whisper. “Are you awake?”

  A grumble and a groan. A blanket opening like a door to a safer place. “In you get,” he mumbles as he shuffles backward to make space for me. Making a place for me.

  I crawl under the covers. My back against his chest. The breath of deep sleep lulling me. The warmth of his body welcomes me. His hand slides over my shoulder. Rests over my heart.

  I breathe in and out slowly. The pressure releasing. The fear easing.

  And as I fall asleep, my last thought is, This must be the worst feeling on earth. This safety. This pure comfort. Because it can’t possibly last.

  6

  KETTLE

  How can something feel so natural, yet also feel like it’s tearing shreds from my heart? She is as delicate as a cocoon, dry, fragile, easily crushed beneath my arms. She feels like she’s meant to be there. Like there was already a space, just waiting for her to fill. Her breath pushes her skin closer to mine. Her heels stack neatly on top of each other and pressed into my shins. Letting my forehead rest in her hair, I allow myself to sink into this moment because I know it might be all I get.

  This is going to destroy me.

  At first, I thought she was Kelpie. She is very far from Kelpie.

  The air sinks in temperature, like the heat is searching for the center of the earth, and she curls in on herself. I stroke her arm gently. I do all the things I shouldn’t, but can’t stop.

  Kelpie’s soft shuffling as he makes his way to me is the slide of reality. The flash of a camera. The crack of a whip. “Kettle,” he whispers into the dark. “I cain’t sleep.”

  I ease myself backward, leaving her. I imagine she shivers. That she feels my absence even in her sleep, and then I curse under my breath. What are you doing? This is not the way things go for you. The sooner you understand that, the better.

  I find the little King standing in the space between Kin’s and my beds. I reach out in the dark to find Kelpie’s head. “Come on.”

  I’m not sure what to do. I can’t take him to my bed. I don’t want to. And that feels selfish. Is it okay to want something just for myself? I’m not sure. It’s not a feeling I’m used to.

  He likes to sleep at the foot of my bed like a pup. I lead him to Kin’s bed. “Frankie,” I whisper. She snores loudly. Her feet barely reach halfway down the bed. She won’t even notice he’s there.

  I pat the foot of the bed. “But there’s a girl in there,” Kelpie whispers, and I almost laugh out loud. There’s a girl in my bed, too. As miraculous and yet completely ordinary as that may seem.

  I lift the covers, ushering him onto the end of the bed. “She’s a King, just like the rest of us, Kelpie.”

  He accepts my explanation, shuffling under the covers. Patting his head, I soon hear the small rumbles of him falling asleep. I back away. I back away until I’m standing between the two beds, hands on hips, wondering what to do.

  My shadow leaves me. It’s already folded under the covers. Light hands on her waist. Feeling the expansion of her chest as she breathes. I want to go. But something stops me.

  It’s the press of the real world. The stupid, prejudiced real world that stops me. I scrunch my toes, staring up at the opaque ceiling I know by heart.

  I curse again. To hell with it. This is my home. This is my own little handheld world. It spins at a different angle. It catches a different light. It could be crushed, but not tonight.

  Creeping back, I crawl under the covers and take my place next to the beautiful, brandy-eyed girl who climbed into my bed.

  7

  KITE

  A rumble like a soft landslide down my ribs as the morning trains speed through nearby tunnels. A struck match. The softest golden light lays across his forehead like a kiss. He opens his eyes, dreamy, deep blue, and beautiful.

  Our bodies make a heart shape. “Hi.” His voice is crackly. He brings his hand to my face, his touch like the brush of fairy wings. Enchanted. Soft and charged.

  I blink. Trying to freeze this moment. This idea of us.

  “Hi,” I mouth, not even wanting to speak. Speaking might break this moment. I want to press it behind glass. Hang it on the wall.

  Children talking nonsense floats over the curtained walls.

  “But if you were a bear, you couldn’t live in a tunnel no more.”

  “Bears live in caves, silly. Dis is lika bear’s cave.”

  “You talk funny.”

  Frankie blows a raspberry.

  Reality throws lassoes around our shoulders and pulls us up. Kettle jumps. His hair spiked and rough. I stare down at my bare legs, and pull them under Kin’s shirt. Our eyes connect. Tracks of regret—of longing—are laid down between us.

  But the world doesn’t wait. It doesn’t give us time to catch up.

  I wrap the blanket around my waist and stand, too. We are inches apart in this small room. He looks up at the ceiling, at the flickering shadows that dance and wobble over the sandstone. Mouth pulled down. “I need to turn on the lights.”

  I nod sadly. But then he grasps my shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’m not…” He rakes a hand through his hair, staring at the floor for a breath. “I need…” The Kings are waking. Cursing, he leans his forehead against mine for the split breath of a second. “Sorry.”

  I’m not… I need… Sorry.

  Beginnings of sentences he can’t finish.

  He leaves me and stalks to the back of the tunnel, and I rush across the floor to Frankie. The cold stones sting my bare feet. The unfinished-ness of the night hangs over me like a cloud about to open.

  Frankie yawns loudly, stretching those ro
cks on rubber bands she calls arms. “What’s fer brekfast?” She sits cross-legged on the mattress with Kelpie, cushions stacked in a wobbly tower between them.

  Kelpie tips his head, scrunching up his little face. He’s probably the same age as she is, but life has matured him. “You’re kookie, Kricket. Food don’t fall from the sky.”

  Frankie crosses her arms, fire building in her eyes. “I aren’t kookie, and I know dat.”

  The lights flicker and crack on, pouring strong light down on us. We rub our eyes. Kettle rattles a box by the door and Kelpie springs from the mattress, sending the tower toppling. “Breakfast is whatever’s in the box.” He licks his lips.

  The other Kings stream toward Kettle like chickens to feed.

  Frankie’s eyes widen, and I have to remind myself she’s new to this life. She’ll need to be eased into it like a foot to a new shoe.

  She taps her head and rocks on the bed. “I cain’t hear good, Nor-ah.”

  I lift her suitcase onto the bed and search for her hearing aid, sighing at the low battery count. “Get dressed and I’ll help you in a second.”

  Unwinding the wires, I wonder whether Mrs. Beauchamp even made her wear it. Her language seems to have slipped a little. Dropped letters and sounds lie in piles around her pumping feet.

  I help her wiggle into a dress and put her shoes on. Her pale face pops through the head opening, and she grins. “Mornin’, Hiro!”

  Kettle puts a finger to his lips. “Sh! That’s supposed to be a secret.” He kneels, then presents us with two apples from behind his back.

  “I like Kettle better anyway,” Frankie says as she snatches the apple.

  I tell her off. “Frankie! Use your manners.”

  She takes a large bite, juice pouring from the corners of her mouth. “Tank you.”

  I take the apple gingerly. Feeling a little shy. A little unsure how to act around him now.

  I’m not… I need… Sorry.

  I stare down at the wires in my lap, deciding it’s probably best to put this on her while she’s distracted. Kettle watches me closely. Studying my movements.

  I start plugging in the leads, and he puts a hand out to stop me. I freeze. Frankie chews noisily behind me, chunks of apple falling on the bed. “Can you show me how to, er, can you teach me how to put that thing on?”

  Maybe I’ve been shot. Because I feel this flooding of my chest, like warm blood is swirling around my heart. “What? Why?”

  He smiles, carefully. No teeth. More of a gentle smirk. A dimple appearing on one cheek. “Well… I want to know how to care for her, you know, in case you’re not here or something.” The last part is mumbled, and he shuffles backward self-consciously.

  I reach out to stop him like he might disappear. I’m taken aback and so touched by his interest. His care.

  Of all the things he could have said and done to enamor himself to me, this would have to be the worst. The absolutely worst. There is so much meaning in those words. My heart wants to jump from my chest and live between his palms. It is painful and wonderful, and I feel the world tipping and leaning into something new.

  He takes my silence as doubt, and starts to stand. “I just thought it might be a good idea, is all.”

  I catch his leg, composing myself. “Kettle, wait.” I stare up at him. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.” My voice runs out at the end.

  While Frankie bounces around on the bed, I show Kettle how to attach all the wires, curl it around her ear, and tuck it into her sash. He listens and copies with the seriousness of a grad student.

  I take it all off, then get him to do it by himself. He lets out a laugh when he’s done it successfully. “At least that was easier than braiding hair.”

  I giggle, covering my mouth. “You’ve braided hair?”

  There’s that wistful expression again, as memories cross his face like weather patterns. “I have been known to… On occasion.” He grins to cover it and stands, glancing at his watch, a band as scuffed as a workman’s shoe.

  “Do you have somewhere to be?” I ask, teasing.

  He shakes his head. “No. Not today. But in a couple of days…”

  Frankie inhales deeply. On the out breath, she sounds like her lungs have halved in size. We look to each other, concerned, but then she jumps up and runs over to the others. Tapping Kelpie on the shoulder and play fighting.

  “What’s in a couple of days?” I ask.

  “Kin’s eighteenth birthday,” he says with pride and guilt mixed together.

  8

  KETTLE

  Kite smiles in a shy, secret, blushing kind of way when she says, “Kin,” and I don’t like it at all.

  I shove my hands in my pockets and mumble, “I’ll probably go visit him.”

  Hands clasped in her lap as Frankie pinches her shoulders and jumps up and down on the bed. They are the rose and the bee. Kite purses her lips, rolling her eyes at her little sister. “Can I come?” She knocks her head backward in the direction of the creature with invisible wings. “I mean… can we come?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”

  She ignores my reluctance, clapping her hands. “Peachy.”

  I snort. Yeah, peachy.

  “Kettle,” she asks, blinking sunflower eyes up at me. “What are we going to do for money?”

  She needs that steady dependence. I bend my toe into the cracks between the stones. I don’t know what that’s like. “It’s too late to go to the docks today.” I glance at my watch again, knowing I should have left ten minutes ago. I raise my voice so the rest of the Kings can hear me. “Today’s a dumpster day,” I announce. The Kings nod solemnly, then fetch bags and sacks from their sleeping quarters.

  Kite blanches, and Frankie looks confused. “Dumpster day?” I think Kite probably knows what it means, but is hoping she’s mistaken.

  Frankie tugs on my sleeve, Kelpie holding her other hand. “What’s dumpster day?” and I don’t know how to answer her.

  Kelpie leads her to the door. “C’mon, Kricket. I’ll show ya.”

  Kite’s hand hasn’t left her shocked mouth.

  I reach for her, but the Kings are watching and my hand falls, empty as a starved stomach. “C’mon, Kite. You want to be a King? Well, this is part of it.” I force cheerfulness into my tone, hoping she’ll buy it.

  We begin filing out in small drips like a barely working percolator. Bags tucked in our waistbands or clutched in our hands. We don’t want to draw attention.

  As we wait in the crawlspace, Krow clears his throat and taps my shoulder. I turn around, almost chest to chest in the tight space. “Er, Kettle, I… er, I found this yesterday.” He presses notes into my hand.

  I scrunch the money in my fist. “You found it?” I wish I could see him better. Check his face for signs of lying.

  His hands fly up defensively. “I didn’t steal it, I swear.”

  Frankie makes a loud clucking noise with her tongue. “You shouldn’t swear. It’s rood.”

  Krow sighs loudly, his feet hitting mine. “Just take it, will you?”

  I’ve already taken it. It’s sitting in my pocket, a ball of accusation. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “No sweat,” he mutters.

  I pat his back. It’s not like Krow to care. Kin would say I’m rubbing off on him. And if that’s true, then he wouldn’t steal. I unroll the note in my pocket, still not entirely trusting him.

  When we’re in the station, I pull Kite closer and whisper in her ear. “Kelpie’ll show you the ropes. I’ve got some business to attend to.”

  Before she can protest, I’ve disappeared into the crowd, tailing Krow as he walks with purpose to the eastside station.

  Maybe I should’ve stayed with her. I wanted to. But the Kings are my family. Each and every one. I have to triage my attention. I need to make sure he’s not doing something stupid.

  Krow slinks through the crowd inconspicuously like the shadow over someone’s shoulder. Being white, people don’t notice him the way they do me
. I cut my face with my cap, making an effort not to touch people. A dance I’m very used to. When we reach the upper level of the next station, he looks up at the clock and swears. I hide behind a large businessman, standing on my tiptoes to peek over his shoulder. The man rolls his shoulders and grunts, irritated, stepping forward.

  I blink several times at what I see. Krow slinks toward the wall, finds his reflection in the brass panels, and removes his cap. He slicks his hair back with a comb, then licks his fingers to clean a smudge of dirt from his cheek. My eyebrows rise in surprise.

  What the…?

  He looks left and right like he’s checking whether he’s being followed and then exits the station. I duck down, following closely behind.

  As I step in his sloping footsteps, I run through all the awful possibilities, starting with stealing, then gambling, then mob runner, drug dropper, back to stealing, and then the most horrifying of all, prostitution. My stomach turns and twists like a stretched jelly bean. The things I’ve seen kids do to survive…

  He crosses the street, shoulders low and hunched. Bright lights shine on the corner. D’Ogossini is written in large white letters over glass doors covered in paper ads.

  Krow slips through the doors, his movements always shadow-like. I stall on the other side of the street. It’s stealing then. Of all the options, it’s probably the best one, but it’s still really bad. It’s a strict rule, and I’ve kicked out other kids for stealing. I brace myself for a confrontation and cross the street, zigzagging around high-heeled ladies with fur coat collars tickling their ears.

  This is not a good place for me to be seen. Where Krow is a shadow, I’m more like a flashing neon sign on the upper side.

  I reach the window of the grocery store and pause. Between posters advertising discount mincemeat and bottles of aspirin, I see Krow. He’s smiling broadly, which is disturbing in of itself. Krow wearing an apron and tipping his chin as he hands a lady a paper bag bursting with green leaves and a cereal box.