Hiro Loves Kite

by Lauren Nicolle Taylor

  I breathe in deeply.

  The smell of wet grass. Grateful faces lifted to the sky. It was like that all the time. Searching for a promise no one was making. Hoping this month was the last month. Always disappointed.

  Always.

  These memories are cross-stitched into my skin.

  The creak of greasy hinges slaps me awake. “Hiro Deere. You are free to go.”

  Blinking, I stay right where I am. Needles and cotton sewing me to the floor.

  The knock of wood makes the cops turn around and me nearly smile, though I don’t trust it. “You’re telling me I came all the way downtown for nothing?”

  Kin’s imposing shadow looms, cut into long, proud pieces by the bars I’m still hiding behind. “Kin…” I sigh.

  I stand. Still wary. Still acting like a caged animal, not ready to take the freedom offered. Too used to captivity that freedom is frightening. I take a step forward, and the cop watches me. Kin watches me, too, dark concern over his features.

  “Do you want to stay behind bars or what, Mr. Deere?” the cop asks, confused. Kin raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything.

  I pass the cop, wiping my hands on my pants and staring at the floor. “I… I don’t understand. Why am I being released?”

  After he shuts the cell gate behind me, he locks it. “Well, we gave up on getting anything useful out of Marvin. So, we went looking for a statement from the ticket attendant. We had some trouble tracking him down after his shift. Anyway, he confirmed what we thought. That old Marvin here…” He points at the stinking, sleeping man, arm hanging from the low bench. “Threw the first punch.”

  My eyes widen. Still not quite ready to believe I can just walk out of here. “So, that’s it? There’s nothing else…”

  Chuckling, Kin throws his arm around my shoulder. “You’ll have to excuse my little brother here. He’s never been in trouble like this before. I think he’s a little shook up.” Kin’s wearing an army jacket, his father’s medals pinned to the chest. The men nod, looking him directly in the eye. I stand there like an idiot, waiting for it all to turn. For cuffs to snap and sharp words to be thrown. Quick punches and bowed heads. But Kin just shakes one of their hands before saying, “Thank you, Officers. I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

  They both nod, then go back to their paperwork.

  We walk out of the police station. Untouched. Unbound. And I can’t believe it.

  I also can’t believe the attitude rolling off Kin’s broad back. He seems irritated. Almost disappointed.

  The moment we’ve stepped onto the sidewalk, Kin shakes his head and groans. I flinch. “What, what is it? Are they coming?”

  My body tenses. I’m ready for flight.

  Kin’s mouth sets like concrete, gazing down on me with this serious, knowing expression I don’t like. “No one is coming, Kettle. That’s the point.”

  My shoulders roll and tense. My heart twists like a rope swing. Let it go and it’ll spin and spin. “What are you talking about, Kin? I was lucky.”

  He shakes his head, a strange, mocking smile on his lips. I don’t like the smile. “Get a clue, man.”

  My head switches back and forth. Looking for a dark alley. Returning to old habits. Old instincts. “Get what clue?” I ask, tugging on his arm so we can cross the street, but he won’t move.

  His eyes lift to a small delicatessen on the corner, and he starts hobbling toward it. He ignores my question. “I could use some breakfast. What about you?”

  Kin’s eyes are up. Connecting with curious gazes. Counting the people. Mine are on my hands, wrapped around the steaming cup on the table. “Look up,” he says quietly. My eyes stay low. I can’t quite shake the feeling something bad is just behind the newsstand or waiting around the corner. Kin thumps the table. “Look up, damn it!” he demands.

  My eyes lift slowly. “What’s the matter with you?” I say tersely, hunching down when eyes land on the two of us.

  “What’s the matter with you?” He points at my chest hard, and I freeze. Not understanding why he’s so angry. Who exactly he’s angry with.

  My butt hugs the edge of the chair as I slink down. “Kin. People are staring. Stop it.”

  He shrugs. “So what? Who cares?”

  “I care. You should care, too.”

  He exhales noisily and bites into his bagel, chewing slowly and watching me with shadowy, unreadable eyes. Finally, he swallows and speaks, “No. You’ve got it wrong, brother. I’ve let that fear go. I don’t need to care. No one’s looking for me. No one’s going to lock me up and throw away the key.” He’s talking too loudly, and I shrink. “You need to let go of your fear.”

  Meekly and without much conviction, I say, “I have.”

  He chuckles in a sarcastic kind of way. “No. You haven’t. It rules you. You have a right to be here. To live here. This is your city. Your home.”

  I want to believe him. I feel like I’m over halfway there, but I can’t just drop my shadow in the street. It’s going to cling to me. Follow me whether I like it or not.

  “But you saw what happened. I got arrested just for defending myself.” I shove the proof in his face, but he won’t take it.

  Kin snorts. “Yeah, you got in a fight. You got arrested, and you were released. They treated you like any other idiot who got in a fight in the subway. Welcome to America, buddy.” He puts on a harsh Yankee accent.

  I breathe in and expel something. The last little piece of barbed wire that’s been living inside me, scraping out a small round space. It falls to the floor, then rolls under the counter of deli meats and cheeses. “You done?” I ask, kicking his good leg under the table.

  Kin straightens. “I’m never done. I’m like a zombie. You can keep shooting, keep putting me down, but I’ll always get back up. I’ll keep on comin’ and comin’…”

  I finally smile. It breaks my face and the tension. “All right. All right. You can let it go now.”

  Kin takes another bite of his bagel, then spits crumbs across the table as he asks, “Can you?”

  I’ll try. I’m trying. This battle is long. I’m not sure I’ll ever stop looking over my shoulder. But I have learned something. The world can be fair. On occasion. The most I can offer is that, even as I hunch from perceived shadows and threats, I’ll keep walking forward. I won’t hide. I won’t let it hold me back any longer.

  “I hope so,” I reply.

  He grunts. It’s probably not enough, but it will have to do for now.

  Light settles over my shoulders. A sprinkling of hopeful dust as I remember I have something to tell him. “Kin…” I start, grinning.

  He swipes at his mouth, “What… do I have something on my face?”

  Shaking my head, I laugh. A barbed-wire-free laugh.

  I hold the news in, savoring it. It’s not every day you get to tell someone their fantasy is about to come true.

  54

  KITE

  I hear him before I see him. A rumbling voice followed by nurses giggling. I imagine them blushing and falling all over themselves as he throws them a wink. Kin. I strain for Hiro’s voice. And soon enough, I hear him chastising his brother as Kin tries to commandeer a wheelchair. “You can walk. Hop along,” Hiro snaps.

  Together, they are the bell and the rope. Their absence from each other’s lives had left a music-less void. It is wonderful to hear the song again. “Yeah, but I’m going for ‘wounded soldier’. This completes the look.”

  “You want to get girls through pity?” Hiro chuckles.

  There’s a pause. Another giggle. “I’ll take what I can get.”

  “I guess beggars can’t be choosers.” Their words are a line I reel in. I pull them closer. Closer.

  “Watch it! Who are you calling a beggar?”

  They sound happy.

  They enter the room. Kin’s eyes widen briefly, but he covers his surprise well. Coughing, he limps farther into the room. “Looking good, Kite, though I don’t I think much of your outfit.” His
eyes go up and down animatedly.

  Staring at my hospital gown, I drag it up to my throat. “Kin, I’m so glad to see you,” I gush.

  Hiro comes in behind him, his eyes a little beveled from tiredness. He gives me a quick smile, and my heart flips like a coin. “Where have you been?” I ask.

  His eyes sweep the floor before rising to meet mine. There is a pain there. A chest he doesn’t need opened right now. He comes to me. Takes my hand. “I’m sorry I took so long,” is all he says. It is enough for now.

  I want to lean into him. I want to take his face in my hands and kiss him, but Kin’s watching us, amused and unapologetic. This self-congratulatory expression on his face. “This…” He smiles wide and points between us. “This makes me very happy.”

  Hiro strokes my hair, ignoring his brother. “Kite, I have something to show you.”

  I gulp. His eyes are a mixed oil painting. Hope and happiness. Dread and anticipation. A collage of past hurt and a free future. He pulls a newspaper from his back pocket. Kin suddenly becomes very interested in the view outside my window. My eyes scan the headlines. My eyes watering from fear. I’ve not known much good news in my life.

  I can’t find what he’s trying to show me. He places a finger on the small headline, right at the bottom of the page.

  Lawyer Confesses to Attempted Murder. Judge unmoved… There are more words and a lot of numbers. Years. Years and years. I have stopped breathing. My body frozen in shock. I mouth the words over and over. My hands shaking as I grip the edges of the paper.

  My eyes slide to Hiro, who’s watching me with care. Waiting for a cue. “How?”

  He shrugs slowly. “I don’t know, Kite.”

  I let the paper fall to my lap. “Does this mean I don’t have to face him in court? That he’ll just stay in prison now?”

  He nods. “I think that’s what it means, yes.”

  “Oh.”

  Kin groans. “You two are the absolute worst at celebrating.” He hobbles over and slings an arm around us both, though very gently around my shoulders. “This is a good thing. A very good thing.”

  Is it? It is. Of course it is.

  I’m waiting for the news to sink in, but it keeps bouncing on the outside of my head and can’t find a way in. It just seems so impossible that he would plead guilty.

  Hiro says what I’m thinking. “Just give her a second, all right? This isn’t easy to accept. It’s like you’re asking her to believe in fairies and cotton-candy clouds when all she’s known is torn wings and hard concrete.”

  Kin sniggers. “Sometimes I forget how sensitive and poetic you are.”

  I giggle. I do want to believe in those things. “He’s right though, Kin. I need a moment to get used to the idea…” I stare down at my healing hands. My arm cast that Frankie scribbled on. Large loopy letters spell her name and mine. Kite and Kricket.

  Kin smiles with a regal nod. “Just not too long. We have more important things to discuss—like where my room is. I need first floor, southern-facing windows…”

  Hiro punches him lightly in the arm. Everything is light. Lighter. Lightening.

  Like the sun on its way up.

  It will find its way in. Slowly. It starts with a small smile and a little hope.

  55

  HIRO

  Kelpie slams into my leg, clamping on like a monkey to its mother’s back. His blue eyes are full of street stories. Scavenging victories. Scrapping wins. His face is smudged with grime, and his hair is knotted in places. I try to scruff his hair, and my hand gets caught in the mess of curls. “What have you been doing in the last two days, rolling in the mud, rubbing tree sap in your hair?”

  Kelpie snaps his teeth. “Did you bring food?” He has that scrounging, hungry look. His fingers tickling the air, waiting for something edible to be pressed into his palm. He skirts my legs, assuming I have a bag behind my back. I don’t.

  “I’m sorry, Kelpie. I don’t have food. But I have something better…” I squat to his confused face. His eyebrows look darker. Crusted with dirt, giving him a Marx-brother kind of look.

  He tilts his head. “Nothing better than food in my belly.” He pats his stomach, glancing around at the other boys. They are creeping closer like shadows over a dying fire in the forest.

  I straighten his dirty collar with a smile. “I have some pretty neat news.” I feel nervous. Stalling. I’m worried they won’t go for it. Won’t trust it. I wouldn’t blame them. These kids have traveled here on the backs of broken promises and raised fists. It’s not in their nature to believe in fairy tales.

  Krow slopes toward us. “Where’s Kite?” he asks suspiciously, then he flaps his hand around eight-year-old height. “And the little one who can’t sit still.”

  How to start… I tap my chin. The smell of wet stones and dirty clothes is a homely scent, but it was one we always knew was temporary. I stand, bringing Kelpie under my arm. He nuzzles me. “I’m sorry I haven’t been back in a couple of days. A lot has happened. Some good things, and some not so good things…”

  Krow leans in. “Are they all right, Kettle?” His fists tighten. We lose kids all the time, but it never gets easier. The idea that we may not have to lose anyone anymore breaks sunlight over my head.

  “Kite’s father got to her.” The Kings seem to draw in one breath and hold it, and I follow quickly with, “She’s okay, but she was badly hurt. Kricket wasn’t hurt.”

  Kelpie frowns. His little body shaking. I hold him closer. “And the good thing?” Keg whispers.

  These words feel like the orange in an autumn leaf. Beautiful but so brief it’s hard to be sure you saw it. “The good thing is they caught him. He’s in jail, and he’ll be staying there for a long time.”

  The boys scoff. Krafty laughs, short and blunt. “Yeah, sure thing, Kettle. Pull the other one. He’s in jail.”

  I take a step forward, bringing myself to the center of this doubting circle. “It’s true.”

  Krow shakes his head sorrowfully. “You know that doesn’t happen. Even if he’s there now, he’ll get out. They always do. And it’ll just make him angrier. Shit like this doesn’t happen to kids like us.”

  Blowing air through my pursed lips, I glance at the sky. I understand where they’re coming from. They’re not used to things going even slightly their way. Why would they believe it? “I know this is hard to believe, and I haven’t even got to the best part yet. Kite has inherited the entire family fortune and she wants you all to come live with her… in her brownstone uptown.”

  Krow turns away from me, kicking a loose stone. It ricochets off the wall. Lands on someone’s bed. “It ain’t April Fool’s. Quit messing around.”

  They know the crack of a belt. The crunch of a fist in their guts. They know survival. That’s all they know. Their eyes tell me they want to believe me. But they can’t. History holds them back with strong, violent hands and cold, cold nights. “Kings!” I shout. “I need to you to trust me. Have faith. I know it seems unbelievable that good could happen to us, but sometimes you just have to take a leap. Now I’m not going to force you. But if you believe in me and the Kings, then pack your stuff and come with me. The Kings are finally getting a castle.”

  Some kids’ fates seem to be set. Carved in wood and stone. Some are born for the street. They’re wild and free and the life suits them. Some kids have been waiting patiently, hopefully, for someone to scoop them up, stroke their heads and tell them you’re home now. You’re safe, and I’m going to take care of you. Some have lost their trust, and there’s no way to get it back. It’s shed like a cicada skin, leaving a tougher hide in its place.

  Despite this, three quarters of the Kings stand in a huddle, bags and pillowcases slung over their shoulders. They have equal parts of hope and doubt in their eyes. But they’re trying to believe in me. Me.

  I sweep my eyes over the tunnel. The way it rises like a wave. The golden stones. The ornate lighting. I feel surprisingly okay. I don’t mourn it. This place served us well
for years. It saved us. It has done its job, and now it can be a resting place for others in need. I hand it over. I hand it in.

  I’m ready to go home.

  We are a spectacle as we walk down the snow-scattered street, looking like Snow White’s dwarves but missing our princess. I’ll have to do. I snort, and a woman with a dead animal draped over her shoulders audibly gasps and quickly trots across the street. She starts skidding on the icy road, and I run to help her. Her haughtiness and pinched face make me laugh as she accepts my help, and then bats down her clothes like she’s trying to get the homelessness stink off her clothes.

  I’m dreaming of a hot bath. It is the number-one luxury I have been thinking about since this all started. That and holding her, feeling her permanence in my arms.

  I jog back to the Kings, my feet used to the slip of ice. They stand in the street looking lost, like pieces on a chessboard awaiting a move. They’re used to the spaces between the buildings. Here on the sidewalk, passing cascading staircases hemmed with curling wrought-iron balustrades and men and women in suits and fur coats, they seem so out of place. Small doubt starts to creep in. But then Kelpie grabs my arm and tugs. “C’mon, Kettle. I cain’t wait to see Kricket!”

  We traipse down the streets that, come spring, will be tree-lined and wide, leaving uneven tracks in the snow.

  We turn the corner onto Kite’s street. Krow smirks, knocking my shoulder. “Which house is hers?”

  One block down, we reach the bottom of the stairs to Kite’s brownstone. I glance around at the boys. We’re a muddy puddle on this clean street.

  This is going to be a challenge.

  Chewing on my lip, I turn to them, taking my cap off and making them do the same. I eye each boy, trying to say without saying that they need to be well mannered. Respectful. They all give me a solemn nod. Caps in hand, we climb the stairs.

  A challenge worth facing.