by Julie Frayn
Men stared as she passed, scrutinized every inch of her like they knew what she had done. Like she had slut emblazoned on her shirt, prostitute tattooed across her forehead. She clutched her hoodie tighter over her chest and slumped her shoulders.
At the far end of the park, just beyond a line of weeping cherries, Guy’s thick, black hair glistened in the sun. She drew a deep inhale and released the grip on her jacket. Reese would be there. She ran toward Guy, but when she broke through the trees she found only him and Amber.
August stood, mute, and stared. They turned and looked at her.
“Have you seen Reese?”
“Well, good morning to you too, September.”
“Reese is missing!”
Amber shook her head and sniffed a small laugh out her nose. “I see you survived yesterday.” She sat cross-legged staring down at the grass. “He’s probably turning dates. Or maybe he feels bad about how he treated Ricki and is drowning his sorrows like he used to.”
“Ricki? She punched him. Maybe she should feel bad.”
“She does. But not for hitting him.” Amber glared at her. “She was bawling. I’ve never seen Ricki cry before.” She crushed a cigarette butt between her thumb and middle finger, rolling it back and forth. Tobacco dropped out onto a small pile. She flicked the empty butt onto the grass next to several others. “She took a date with some geezer last night. Don’t know where the hell she is. Probably on another binge. I swear we’re going to find her in an alley one day, dead like Tanya.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know about them, honest. I really just need to find Reese.”
Guy accepted the new cigarette Amber had rolled from discarded newspaper and lit it, sucking hard before handing it back to her. “He was flipping out yesterday,” he said on the exhale, smoke puffing from between his lips with every word. He stood and slapped fresh dirt from the back of his jeans. “C’mon, I’ll help you look for him.” He gave August the up-down. “Man, you look like shit.” He pulled the pink ribbon from his hair and turned her around, then tied her hair back into a ponytail. “There, downright respectable. Let’s go.”
Amber let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, hell. Wait for me.”
Guy led August and Amber to a dingy crash pad where he knew Reese and Ricki used to shoot up together. The two story building was boarded up in preparation for demolition. Warning signs and caution tape didn’t slow down the flow of junkies in and out. Guy climbed through a broken window and left Amber and August waiting on the street. He exited a few minutes later and shrugged – Reese wasn’t with him.
They rushed to the stinking laneway a few blocks away where she had watched him pick up a date the first time. It was crowded with hookers, but Reese wasn’t there. They checked the high-backed booths at a twenty-four hour smoke-filled dive of a coffee shop Reese sometimes sat in at night before he claimed his place under the bridge. Guy ducked into the bathroom to check the stalls, but Reese was nowhere. Guy was running out of ideas where to look.
They turned into the alley where August and Reese first met. Near the back of the deli a denim clad leg stuck out from behind a garbage bin, a familiar red, high-top runner on the foot.
Reese was leaning against a pile of trash bags, his head hanging down, one jacket sleeve rolled up. Blood smeared his hands and stained his left arm, fresh drops oozed from a slash near his wrist. Shards of broken glass were strewn about, a large piece held together by most of a Jack Daniel’s label in his limp right hand.
August threw herself down beside him, her breath heavy. The stench of rotting meat emanated from the garbage behind him, like heat rippling off the asphalt.
“Reese. Oh God, Reese!” She brushed his hair back from his face and patted his cheeks. “Wake up, damn it.” Adrenaline fueled blood pounded in her ears, muffling Guy’s curses and Amber’s assertion that Reese was a stupid fucking idiot.
Reese stirred and looked at August, his eyes dull, his breath reeking of bourbon. “August.” His voice was weak and small. “August.” He started to cry. “I’m sorry.” He reached up and touched her face leaving a wet smear of blood on one cheek. “I’m sorry.” Then his arm fell back to the ground, his chin dropped to his chest, and he lost consciousness.
*****
The painted brick of the two-story building had aged and faded from what might have been white at one time to tapioca pudding beige. Some of the windows on the second floor were broken, wood planks hammered crookedly over them.
Guy carried Reese piggyback style, bloody handprints staining the front of Guy’s shirt where Reese’s limp arms hung. Amber followed behind them, her hand resting on his back as if that would keep him from keeling over. August led them all through two sets of double glass doors so filthy and fingerprinted they had lost their transparency.
The stench of fresh vomit, pungent with alcohol, ambushed her. She covered her face with her sleeve. The smell in Dr. Robertson’s office back home was bad, but August would take the mustiness of old carpet and old ladies over this place any day. Dr. R.’s examining rooms were peppered with Norman Rockwell posters depicting quaint rural life. Here she was confronted with posters about HIV and AIDs, IV drug use, STDs, and violence against women.
They joined a steady stream of drunk, stoned, and bleeding people who had stumbled in the dirty doors and accosted the triage nurse behind the admitting desk. The man at the front of the line banged on the Plexiglas sheet that had saved the nurse from being spit on many times.
Along the edge of the walls was proof the floors were once blue. The old linoleum was worn through, revealing the dirty underside, creating a road map of paths often traveled – around the waiting room chairs, cigarette burns and blood stains marring their fabric; past the TV set, a hole the size of a bullet killing the picture tube; and ending at a big stainless door smudged with greasy prints of fingers, hands, and even whole body parts.
August wanted to push everyone else aside and scream at the nurse to take Reese in first, but Guy and Amber showed a quiet calm borne of experience. Amber held August’s hand, tugging straight down to get her to stop fidgeting, like her mother used to do when she was a kid.
More than one police officer came and went. She turned away from them. Were they looking for her? Coming to take her home? No, they were much too busy to care about her. One of them tossed the violent glass-banging man out the front door. Another handcuffed a guy stoned on something, said he had outstanding warrants and told him he had the right to remain silent as the cop dragged him out. Fine with her, two less people ahead of them.
When they got to the front of the line, the nurse took one look at the cuts and fresh blood dripping off Reese’s fingertips and hit a big red button. The stainless door buzzed and a loud click released the latch, her voice like a muffled robot through the speaker in the glass. “Bring him through. No, just you. Girls, stay out there.”
“No! I have to go with him! Please?” August couldn’t stop a gush of tears.
The nurse’s mouth soundlessly said shit, then through the speaker, “Fine.” She looked at Amber. “Sorry, sweetheart. Have a seat.”
They were whisked into a tiny room. Guy backed his way into the examining table and eased Reese onto it as a young doctor in mint green scrubs strode in.
Without ceremony or a single word the doctor snapped on a pair of latex gloves and covered his nose and mouth with the mask that hung from his neck. He stripped Reese of his jacket, laid him back and checked his pulse at the wrist of the injured arm.
Guy put his arm around August’s shoulders. The gesture and the smell of Reese’s blood on his hand, like a fistful of dirty pennies in her nose, released a fresh stream of tears.
With his back to them, the doctor cleaned and bandaged the wounds and reeled off his diagnosis and instructions as fast as he tended to his patient. “There’s dried and fresh blood. He cut himself a few times over a few hours. Nothing deep, nothing dangerous, he won’t die on you. Not today.”
Her legs went weak. She t
ook hold of Guy’s t-shirt in her fist, then collapsed.
Guy grabbed her and propped her up, holding her firmly around the waist. “It’s cool, he’ll be all right, trust me. We’ve been down this road before.”
The doctor glanced back at her. “I’m giving him a shot of antibiotic for good measure.” A syringe was nimbly filled and shot into the uninjured arm. He took some things from a drawer and turned, speaking directly to Guy. “In a few hours remove the bandages. Clean the cuts with the antiseptic towels,” a sealed packet was held up, “apply antibiotic cream,” a tube of ointment was held up, “and redress the wounds with the bandages.” The supplies were pressed into Guys hands. The doctor handed August the bloody jacket and helped Reese to his feet. “Now take him home and let him sleep it off.”
Guy shoved the supplies into his pants pockets. He braced his friend against his side, throwing the good arm over his shoulder and hung on to Reese around his middle.
“Thanks, Doc.”
The doctor stripped off the gloves and shoved them in a yellow bin marked “Biohazard Waste.” He brushed past August and left without another word.
*****
August walked on shaky legs. Amber held her hand. Ahead of them, Guy half supported, half carried Reese, moving quickly down the sidewalk and away from the clinic. After two blocks, Reese passed out. Guy picked him up with surprising ease and carried him like August’s father carried the newborn lambs, belly around his shoulders, grasping limp arms and legs that hung in front.
Within a block of home August ran ahead and pulled the cardboard mattresses and blanket from their hidey hole in the bush. She laid the cardboard side-by-side in their spot, shaded by the bridge overhead, and shook out the blanket. She held it on one edge and flipped it up in the air, then floated it over the mattresses like her mother did with fresh clean sheets over her bed on Sunday mornings.
Guy and Amber helped Reese down to the blanket. He slumped to the ground and rolled onto his side.
Amber strolled over to the rock and lit another newspaper cigarette. She perched atop the boulder and polluted the summer air.
Guy sat next to Reese and stared at him while he slept. August hadn’t seen this side of Guy. He was always sarcastic and cracking stupid jokes. He never seemed to give a damn about anything. Today proved he cared about his friends. There were still no tears, no real emotional displays – but he didn’t leave Reese’s side. And he knew when to shut off the sardonic comic routine.
August grabbed Reese’s jacket. At the river’s edge, she knelt at the shallow spot where they brushed their teeth. She dunked the coat in the cold water and rubbed the sleeve against a rock, doing her best to get out the blood. But the stains were persistent. Guy’s words at the clinic echoed in her mind. ‘We’ve been down this road before.’ Reese had shown her the scars, told her he cut himself. How long ago had he last done that? And why now?
She wrung out the jacket and climbed back up to the others, pink water dripping from the sleeve leaving a diluted, bloody trail in the dirt.
“He’s going to need something to eat.” She hung his jacket on the bush and sat down at Reese’s feet. She stroked his jeans below one knee.
Amber nodded. “Yeah, we all are.”
August pulled the cash she’d earned the day before out of her back pocket and waved it at Amber. “Then I’ll go get us something. Will you stay with him?”
Amber stood. “Guy will. I’m coming with you.”
“No problem, I’ll babysit little Reese-man.” He tousled Reese’s hair. Reese didn’t stir. “I want pizza. Nothing weird on it.”
A few blocks away August walked with Amber along a quaint, but low-end, business district. Afternoon shoppers filled the sidewalks and after work bar-goers sipped happy-hour drinks on cramped patios.
“Sorry I was so bitchy earlier. It’s not your fault, you know. About Ricki.”
“It’s okay.”
Amber stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Are you all right? Yesterday kind of sucked.”
August looked at her feet. “I’ve fantasized about that moment. About losing it. But to someone I love. Someone wonderful.” She looked up at Amber. “That wasn’t it.”
Amber laughed and then stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny. But honey, way to state the obvious.”
“When I close my eyes I see that creep’s face and I just want to throw up. How do you do it? How do you just have sex with people you don’t care about? With complete strangers?”
“You float away. You fake it. Eventually you’re just numb to it. Sex is never good, never something you want or enjoy.”
“Never? You’ve never had a boyfriend you cared about, never enjoyed sex with them?”
“Nope. Not even before I was hooking. Sometimes it felt nice enough, but it never meant anything. It was just a way to get what I needed.” Amber pulled out a newspaper cigarette and lit it. She took a drag and jerked her head up the sidewalk, then started walking. “What Reese needed was drugs. For me it was a big fuck-you to my mother and a temporary escape from my shitty life. Now it just is my shitty life.”
“There’s got to be a better way to live than that.”
“If you find one, let me know.”
August paused in front of a thrift shop, the window filled with brightly colored old pants and funky tops. She grabbed Amber’s hand, pulled her inside and headed to a rack of men’s clothes. She flipped through a few dozen hangers with jackets on them and pulled out a dark denim one.
“Do you think this will fit him? It’s just six bucks.”
“You’re buying it for him? Like a present?”
“Of course, his is ruined. The blood won’t come out.” She put on the coat and held her arms straight down. “What do you think?”
“Too big for you, too long in the arms. Should be just about right for the beanpole.”
“Let’s get Guy a shirt, too.”
“Man, you are one weird chick. Nice – but weird.” Amber touched one shirt. “Get him a dark one. He’d look good in navy or something. No more white, it gets so gross looking.”
“Let’s get him...” August flicked hangers aside, assessing each hand me down like a seasoned pro. “A green one.” She pulled out the shirt, held it up against her body and tossed back her head, striking a pose. The lime green shirt sported a cracked and faded iron-on unicorn prancing on a rainbow.
Amber’s laughter burst forth as unexpectedly as a newborn lamb’s first bleat.
“Oh, shit. Can’t you just imagine his face? Goes well with the dark, brooding eyes and mini-dreads.”
August put back the shirt and pulled out a black one with nothing on it. “Maybe this is more his style, huh?” She grinned at Amber. “And with black, blood stains don’t show.” She inspected the shirt for holes. “All in one piece.”
“Can we get out of here now and get some pizza before I pass out? I haven’t eaten anything except Twinkies for two freaking days.”
August paid for the clothes then pushed open the store’s grubby glass door and stepped into the late afternoon heat.
“Is there a market around?”
Amber looked at her sideways, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah, a couple of blocks up. Why? You need flour and butter? Baking him cookies too?”
“No, silly. If we buy food there instead of getting pizza we can get more stuff for less money, make the cash last longer.” Was that her mother talking? She sounded just like her, all frugal and responsible. “Maybe not have to – you know – again so soon.”
“Huh. Fewer dates?” Amber eyed her with what could have been respect, or at least a little less scorn than earlier that day, and smiled. “I like the sound of that.”
In the market they wandered up and down the aisles, dropping granola bars and Pop Tarts, pastries and fresh fruit, juice boxes and chewing gum into a basket. On their way to the checkout they passed the deli counter where the inviting aroma of hot, greasy food grabbed them.
“Hey look. Pizza
by the slice.” August did a quick tally, then put the Pop Tarts on a nearby shelf and approached the counter.
“Why’d you put those back? You’ve got enough for pizza too.
“Not if I buy you cigarettes.”
“You’d do that?”
She just smiled at Amber and turned to a lady with a net on her head. “Can we get four slices please? Pepperoni.”
Laden with grocery bags and chomping on peppermint gum, they moved up the block. Amber stopped in her tracks and stared past August into a storefront window.
“Uh, honey – isn’t that you?”
August wheeled around. Through the glass of an electronics repair shop, a TV broadcast the news. On the screen, behind the muted talking heads, was her school picture, “teen girl missing” emblazoned across the bottom.
Her body stiffened and her eyes darted in every direction. Every person on the street could see her. Someone would turn her in.
But people passed by without paying any attention. No one noticed. No one cared.
Amber took her hand and pulled her away from the store, then jay-walked across the street.
“Okay, you can breathe now.” Amber smirked. “God, it’s not like they could see you through the window or anything. But nice to know they’re looking for you, right?”
“I guess.” A yearning for the smell of pigs and her parents’ embrace snuck up on her. They loved her enough to look for her, that wasn’t a surprise. How would they feel if they knew what she’d done the day before?
“Nice dorky threads by the way. Was it hick day at school?”
August’s face warmed and she stared at her feet. “It’s always hick day at my school.” She looked at Amber. “Didn’t anyone search for you? Or for Reese?”
“Nah.” Amber pulled out the pack of cigarettes and opened them. “No one misses you when you’re invisible.”
They walked the rest of the way in complete silence.
*****
Guy and August helped Reese to sit up, then Guy patted his friend’s cheeks until he was aware enough to take a bite of pizza. Guy held a straw to Reese’s lips. He drained a box of juice in just a few gulps then fell back to the blanket and passed out again.
