by L B Winter
“My name’s Paul,” I finally said. That sandwich smelled incredible. As soon as I touched it, I was devouring it. Lynn smiled a little bit and started in on her half. She tried over and over to start a conversation with me. Talked about moving to Philadelphia over the summer because her aunt had an apartment to sublet. Talked about college in Ohio. Asked me little, harmless questions that I answered with a shrug or frown. I nodded sometimes, but between swallowing bites of sandwich and gulping down my soda, I really didn’t have any time to answer out loud.
The restaurant was warm, and when I realized that as soon as I finished, I’d have to leave, I slowed down. I didn’t really think she was serious about the shower, and even if she was, she hadn’t said anything else about her offer, so I decided it was probably off the table. I didn’t really want to talk to her anymore, anyway; she seemed weird. Now that her coat was off, I could see that she was wearing what looked like a homemade tunic; in its brightly colored stripes, she looked kind of like a hippie. She even had her long, dirty-blonde hair in braids. I didn’t really want to know this person, friendly or not. She seemed too new age, too free-wheeling. Probably worshiped Mother Earth or something. The kind of girl I’d steer clear of in high school. Wow—high school. That felt like a hundred years ago now.
After a couple minutes, I was so cozy and well-fed that I began to feel sleepy again. I yawned, and when I looked back at Lynn, she seemed suddenly surprised. I frowned at her questioningly.
“You’re a kid,” she said emphatically.
“Uhh…” I looked down. So? So what?
“I knew you were young, but in the dark you looked older. But…God, the way you yawn. You’re like a puppy! You can’t be more than…15? 16 years old?”
“I’m 16,” I confirmed tiredly. “And how am I like a puppy?”
“The way you yawn, like I just said,” she answered, before pausing to add, “You’re homeless and you’re only 16?”
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
Lynn smiled and I realized that’s because this was the most I’d said to her all meal. Her smile quickly faded, though, and she asked, “Where are your parents?”
“None of your fucking business,” I answered with a huff, picking apart my oatmeal raisin cookie. Then I remembered she was being kind to me. She’d bought me dinner. She’d bought me this cookie. Shame flooded me again, but God, I was so tired of trusting people I shouldn’t trust. I didn’t know what to do.
When I looked up again, she seemed just a little bit stung, and I said, “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t…” As soon as the words left my lips, I started to tear up. I’m still such a softie, I thought angrily, as I tried to wipe away the tears before they fell. Homeless for two weeks and I was still this pastor’s kid, this mushy, delicate thing tucked beneath a crumbling shell. I didn’t know how I’d ever survive any of this.
“Come on,” she said softly. “You need that shower. And I have a couch you can crash on.”
She stood up to clear our tray, and when she came back and I still hadn’t stood up, she said, “Come on, Paul. Look, you can trust me. I promise I’m not a murderer. But you’re a kid, and I can’t leave you out all night to freeze.”
I looked up at her face, which, for the first time, had some kind of expression on it. I couldn’t quite place it; I thought it was somewhere between sympathy and stubbornness, but there was something else in it, too. I didn’t know why she wasn’t offering to take me to the police station or something, but maybe she was sharper than she looked. She knew I’d bolt if she said that. She really wanted to help me, and I couldn’t figure out why.
I gave in, too tired to resist, and slid out of the booth, head still hung and feeling wary. “Stop calling me a kid,” I muttered shyly (to my new friend? Was she my friend?) as I stood up. “You can’t be that much older than me.”
“I’m ten years older,” she said matter-of-factly, like that was something to brag about.
We walked in silence to her apartment. It was only a few blocks away, but when I said I wanted to go back for my blanket, she refused.
“I have blankets, and that thing is disgusting. I don’t want it in my apartment.”
No less disgusting than I was at the moment, but I let it go. “It’s all I have,” I started to say, but Lynn stopped me.
“Paul, no matter what you think right now, you deserve better than that blanket. I’m throwing it away in the morning when I open the shop. Or, I’ll have Trent throw it away. That way I won’t have to touch it.”
“It’s mine!”
“It’s garbage. It is literal garbage. I’m throwing it away, and I’ll give you a new one.”
I looked at her slack-jawed, shocked at how she was talking to me, and I wanted to feel resentful, but I couldn’t. Because I realized suddenly what that look she’d been giving me was. It was motherly. She was acting like my mother. As soon as she figured out I was sixteen, everything changed. And maybe it was obnoxious, and maybe she was being bossy and even a bit rude, but…I liked it. I liked being mothered. It helped me not to miss my own mom so much. So I let it go.
“Who’s Trent?”
“Trent,” she began with a smile, clearly happy to have won that little argument, “is my best friend, roommate, and business partner that you are about to meet.”
She unlocked the building door and we took the elevator to the fourth floor. She let me inside her apartment ahead of her, and I couldn’t believe how trusting she was. I could have fucking robbed her blind. Or worse. But, she was new to the city; maybe she didn’t know to be careful. I sure as hell learned a lot of things in the past two weeks in Philly that I’d never known before.
A big, muscled guy with reddish-brown hair was sitting on the couch watching a movie, and he stood up when he saw me, a confused expression on his face.
“Hey,” Lynn called casually as she stepped inside and started taking off her boots. Her apartment was very neat and comfortable. The entryway led right into a living room with a little Christmas tree, two loveseats, and a small television. The kitchen next to it was small but clean. There was a breakfast table and a hallway beyond it that I figured must lead to the bedrooms. Lynn put her hand on my shoulder, which surprised me, and said, “Trent, this is Paul. So…he’s a friend of mine, and he’s going to crash here for the night.”
Trent’s mouth hung open and before he could say anything else, Lynn added, “I’ll tell you about it in a sec. Paul, let me show you the bathroom.”
I tried not to look at Trent’s imposing frame as I walked by. I could see that he was dressed really well for somebody so macho, and it was hard to reconcile the man with the clothes. His slacks looked crisp and ironed, and his jewel green sweater against the red hair seemed apropos for the holidays. But the serious look on his broad face erased that image from my mind as soon as it surfaced. I started to understand, though, why Lynn wasn’t afraid to bring a stranger home. I wouldn’t be, either, with a built guy like that as my roommate.
Lynn showed me the towels, said I could use her shampoo and bathrobe, and then promised to find something clean for me to wear when I finished. “Take your time,” she said kindly as she left, and as soon as the door closed, I heard her and Trent speaking in hushed voices. I didn’t want to know what they were saying; I was pretty sure as soon as I came out, Trent would make me leave, so I just stood under the hot water for a long time. God, it felt good. It was so nice to finally wash my hair. It had gotten matted and was so greasy that it almost looked black instead of brown.
I decided I was a jerk to hate Lynn so much, when she was being so nice to me. I was so tired and scared, and suddenly I felt utterly miserable. How did my life get like this? Then I remembered the last time someone had been nice to me. How I came straight to the shelter from the soup kitchen, only having been in Philly a couple days. How the white-haired woman I’d always thought was friendly had told me that there wasn’t any room tonight. How the guy I passed on the way out introduced him
self as “Mac” and said he’d lived here for three months and had a permanent bed. Part of the drug and alcohol rehab program. How I’d told him why I couldn’t go home because he was the first person to be kind to me in days, and then how he turned on me. How he said if I wanted somewhere warm to sleep, I’d have to suck his cock. How it smelled, oh God, how it smelled.
I felt so sick I started to gag, and I had to hold my head against the shower door, eyes closed, until I felt better. I tried to think of something, anything else. Taylor. School. Running. Church. I didn’t want to throw up the best dinner I’d had in weeks. I just…I couldn’t help but wonder, what did they want from me in exchange for letting me stay here? Because I had no idea if I could trust Lynn at all, but I felt like I had no choice. My gut clenched painfully and I sank to the shower floor, letting the water rinse the soap out of my hair, and I cried.
I stayed in the shower for almost an hour. The water started to get cooler, lukewarm, cold, ice cold, and then I knew I had to come out. When I turned off the water, I could hear quiet voices, but I realized it was a movie. Trent had gone back to watching his movie. I missed watching movies. I wondered what would happen when I came out. I wondered how soon he’d kick me to the curb. That was the best I could expect from him. If he wanted me to suck him off, I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t do that again. I wouldn’t be that person. But then I thought of Lynn, of her motherly face. No, that wouldn’t happen. I could trust her.
I finally came out, dressed in Lynn’s thick, baby blue bathrobe, and I found the pair of them sitting together on the couch facing the TV, Lynn’s ankles on Trent’s lap.
“Hey,” she said, smiling gently and standing up, yawning and stretching like a cat. Trent stopped the movie and watched me, and I returned his stare with trepidation. He was kind of scary looking, with thick eyebrows and an expression that looked like if he wasn’t already angry, he could get there pretty fast. But Lynn was so sweet, I couldn’t imagine why she’d be best friends with somebody like that. And then I remembered that I didn’t know her, really. I felt cheap and embarrassed and small as Lynn walked to the table and handed me a small stack of clothes that had been folded and placed on a chair. Gray sweatpants. White briefs. A t-shirt with a restaurant logo.
“These are Trent’s, but they’re a little bit small on him, so you can keep them,” she said with a smile.
“Thanks,” I answered, not quite meeting her eyes, before padding back down the hall.
“Hold on,” she said, reaching for my shoulder. “We have extra toothbrushes in the drawer to the left of the sink, and you can just use my toothpaste. It’s in the white tube. And washcloths are in the same closet where I showed you the towels, if you need one.” She paused and pressed her palms together before adding, “Am I forgetting anything?”
I shook my head and walked back down the hall. She really was treating me like a friend, like a houseguest. I felt very strange, like I was ensconced in a realistic but completely unexpected dream. I missed my mom so much. I just wanted to be back at my house again.
Before I closed the bathroom door, I could hear Trent say, “He looks like he’s scared shitless.”
“I know,” Lynn sighed. “I had to do something. I couldn’t let him sleep out in the cold, Trent.”
“I know you couldn’t.” Trent seemed like he’d already gotten over his frustration, like he wasn’t at all surprised that Lynn brought me here. Like she’s always doing things like this, I thought fleetingly. I closed the door with a soft click and turned on the faucet so I wouldn’t hear anything else they said.
When I walked back to the living room, dressed and feeling fresher than I had since before therapy, I saw that the TV was off, the longer couch had been made up like a bed with sheets and blankets, and Trent was waiting for me at the table.
“Lynn went to sleep. She has to get up early to open the store,” he said calmly.
I was so afraid of him that I couldn’t say anything back, but Trent said, “Look, I don’t know what you’re going through, but…you’re safe here. Okay? You’re safe here, and Lynn’s going to do anything she can to help. And don’t try to argue your way out of it; she loves doing that kind of thing. Always adopting strays,” he explained.
I was too tired to think much about how I felt being called a stray. I just wanted to fall onto the couch and sleep. But Trent looked at me steadily. He was waiting for me to say something.
“Uh…okay. Thanks,” I finally choked out, praying that Trent was as benign, as kind, as Lynn.
Trent nodded, satisfied, and told me to knock on his bedroom door if I needed anything. I tried my best to smile in return, then watched him walk to the room at the end of the hall and disappear inside. I collapsed onto the couch, honestly unsure if it was a good bed or not; it wasn’t a bush or the sidewalk, and that was such a welcome change that I melted into it and forgot everything else, where I was, what I would do in the morning, and just tumbled into sleep. Sleep and warmth and softness and being mothered and having brushed teeth and clean hair. Sleep.
***
When I woke up, I felt so nervous I was almost sick. I didn’t have any of that pleasant forgetfulness of where I was that I used to get in hotels; I remembered it as soon as I opened my eyes, just like always. I was homeless, my parents probably no longer wanted me because I was gay, and now some hippie stranger and her beefy bodyguard of a roommate wanted me to sleep on their couch. I was too nauseated to move. I needed to just make a run for it. Just run out the door. Hope they really wouldn’t mind that I kept the clothes.
As I worked up my nerve, lying cold-blooded on the couch, I heard a deep voice say, “Morning.”
I turned my head, and Trent was sitting at the table, laptop open, with a bottle of water next to him.
I rubbed my eyes, feeling more out of place than ever, and tried not to throw up. He must hate me being here. He must think I’m so disgusting. Must think I deserve it. Everyone thought that, but it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want any of this to happen. Suddenly I was crying again, my defenses now shredded to nothing, and even though I knew it was ridiculous, that I looked like an idiot, I didn’t try to stop. I shook and rolled from my back to my stomach so I could bury my face in the couch cushion. It was scratchy and I missed home so much, and I was so sorry, so deeply sorry, down to the core of my bones, for whatever I’d done to deserve this. I just wanted to go home.
I heard Trent moving around, and then his voice came, much closer, “Do you want some breakfast?”
I peered my head up from my tear-soaked arms, and Trent was sitting on the coffee table with a box of strawberry breakfast pastries in his hands. The kind with sprinkles and frosting.
“These are Lynn’s, but she said you could help yourself to anything of hers that you want. She already left for work,” he added. He acted like nothing out of the ordinary was happening, and even though it was really bizarre, I was grateful. It helped me pull my shit together.
I sat up quickly, wanting to erase the past five minutes from existence. I couldn’t afford to be a kid now; I couldn’t afford to cry.
“Thanks,” I tried to croak as I reached for the box. I was still so hungry.
Trent gave me a short nod and an almost-smile, then rose and returned to his seat at the table. He kicked out the other chair and said, “Come sit here so you don’t get crumbs on the couch.”
I felt it again, that anger at people who care about crumbs on couches when I’d spent the past month sleeping in a bush by the river. But I could tell Trent wanted to talk to me. He’d closed his computer and was rolling the water bottle from one hand to the other.
“So, Paul. I suppose we haven’t really officially met yet, so…I’m Trent.” He reached out his right hand and I shook it tiredly. I really didn’t want any introductions. I just wanted to eat my stupid breakfast and get the hell out of here. Out of here and back into the cold. I shivered. Maybe a couple more minutes here wouldn’t hurt.
“Lynn says you’re…well,
she says you’ve got nowhere to go? Is that right?”
I frowned. Yes. I had nowhere to go. Rub it in. “My…um…my parents live an hour away, in New Tower. I’m from New Tower. But…I don’t know.”
I stared at the table and Trent said, “Lynn was wondering where you were from. Listen, I don’t have to go in to work today; Lynn’s basically got it covered, since it’s a Sunday and we don’t have any new orders. I wouldn’t mind driving you out there.”
I finally looked up at him. “What?”
Trent met my gaze steadily. “Lynn told me you’re only 16. You really shouldn’t be here in the city by yourself. You need to go home again, even if you don’t want to—”
“It isn’t—” I was so embarrassed, I couldn’t complete my sentence, and I had to swallow hard and think about what I want to say. “It isn’t about what I want. I don’t think my parents will…want me to come back. We had this really big fight, and nothing’s changed since then, and I don’t think it ever will, because I’m…I’m…”
My eyes burned with tears again, but thank God, Trent seemed to see where this was going, and he stopped me with a quick rap of his knuckles against the table.
“Never mind. Never mind that.” We both sat quietly for a few more minutes, but while I looked at the carpet, at the TV, at my hands, at my empty pastry wrapper, Trent looked nowhere but at me. Finally, he said, “Look, I promised Lynn I wouldn’t let you go back out in the cold by yourself.”
Then he smiled a little and added, “Lynn’s not the kind of person to abandon someone who needs her.”
“I don’t need—” I started to say, but Trent raised his hand to stop me.
“I know, I know. But try telling that to Lynn.” And then, after a pause, he added, “And you do need something. Nothing wrong with admitting it. And I understand that it isn’t your fault you aren’t getting it.”
