by Sara Alva
I stared at the green-glowing clock numbers that night, so anxious I had to keep reminding myself to blink. At around eleven, the sounds of an active household stopped and I was left with the crickets. I'd never appreciated their shrill song as much as I did then, and I listened to it for about an hour before the agony of waiting got to be too much.
Still fully dressed, I rose from my bed and quietly slung my backpack over my shoulder. I kept my shoes off so my footsteps would be softer as I tiptoed across the room. My door slid open with a tiny squeak, and I froze for a moment, counting ten seconds of complete silence before continuing down the hallway. Creeping along the wall, I hid in shadows until I reached the stairs.
Those I took like a tightrope, placing one foot directly in front of the other, straight down the middle. Even though the carpeted steps creaked a lot less than Ms. Loretta's wooden ones, I didn't want to take any chances. Avoiding the more trafficked spots meant only the whisper of my swishing jeans could be heard as I pressed forward.
At the landing, I sat down under the chandelier and pulled on my shoes. I secured the laces several times, determined not to let my footwear fuck up my escape this time. Once I was satisfied I'd be able to make a run for it if I had to, I stood and cautiously made my way toward the front door.
My fingers poised on the handle, I took a deep breath, waiting for any last minute doubts.
None came. This was almost too easy. I could’ve done this at any moment, here or at Ms. Loretta’s, if I’d wanted to.
But I hadn’t.
I hadn't because I'd had Seb. He'd given me a reason to stick around in that strange place. Somehow talking and sharing my secrets with him had made me feel like I wasn’t so lost. But without him, I was just a pathetic little foster child, letting a system boss me around. No friends, no family. Alone, I was a victim.
I pushed back the deadbolt in a sudden rush and flung open the door. A gust of floral-scented wind hit my face, and the unfamiliar smell filled my nostrils, reminding me of how far I was from home. Not that we didn’t have flowers in Watts, but there weren’t as many, and there were other, less appealing smells that could sometimes overpower them.
But it didn’t matter, because home was home. And the breeze along my skin meant I’d left my fancy prison behind, hoping for the chance things could return to normal—my normal—once again.
A twelve-foot high hedge woven around a fence and the mighty iron gate loomed in front of me, blocking my escape. That meant I was stuck with the hedge. Sure, I’d fuck it up a bit as I went, but it’d be nothing their gardener couldn’t fix.
I shoved my foot in to get to the fence, grabbed some of the leafy clumps, and pulled myself up. The green bristles attacked my face as I jostled them, so I closed my eyes and shut my mouth, heading up through the foliage by feel alone. One branch snapped back and caught me in the cheek, but I didn’t stop to check the wound. Grasping the top of the fence, I threw myself over and then dropped down the rest of the way. I hit the street with a thud and toppled back onto my ass, but I barely felt the impact. I was much too high off my accomplishment.
No more answering to strangers. No more letting Suzie dictate where I went and what I could do and who I could see. No more feeling small and insignificant.
I was my own man now.
After about thirty minutes, I found my way out of the maze of hills that was Bel Air. Lights and noise greeted me on Westwood Boulevard, and another swell of confidence hit me. I’d reached city—maybe not my city, but it meant I was that much closer.
I was right near a college—UCLA from the looks of bumper stickers on passing SUVs—and even though it was one in the morning, the place was alive. Girls in short shorts and tight tank tops traveled together in little packs, their high-pitched laughter filling the air. There were plenty of guys, too, looking casual in jeans and t-shirts, hands in pockets as they overlooked their domain.
Some of my teachers—the smarter ones—had tried to convince us that college was the place to be because it was fun. It sort of looked like they’d been telling the truth. I passed a line of people waiting for ice cream cookie sandwiches, the scent of alcohol floating all around them. A blonde with a bobbing ponytail was blasting a song on her cellphone, swaying drunkenly on the sidewalk to the delight of her friends. A few feet in front of her, a tiny Asian girl was busy sticking her tongue down the throat of a white guy about a foot taller than her. He hunched over awkwardly to meet her mouth, but didn't seem too disturbed.
Partying late into the night while still doing the right thing and going to college? Seemed like a pretty good deal, actually.
Not that I’d ever get the chance. Even if I’d wanted it. I'd already realized that consequence of running away, but I honestly hadn't given it much thought.
No more school. Not unless I got a fake ID and enrolled myself somewhere, and that was about as likely as me ever getting into college in the first place.
So I was a high school dropout. Kind of cliché…but I’d always had a sneaking suspicion that was where I was headed anyway.
The college activity died down as I headed south, the sounds of happy partygoers fading to just the murmur of excitement. Less people were on the streets, and I started to feel out of place walking around by myself. I quickly retreated to the shadows, ducking from one storefront to another, until I arrived at the next major crossroad.
And there, on Wilshire Boulevard, I found my people.
They were at the bus stop, many of them still dressed in their cleaning uniforms. Must’ve been the night shift for some of the huge office buildings I could make out down the street. They crowded around the metro sign, occasionally checking the time, occasionally yawning with spent, weary faces.
Maybe they weren't laughing and dancing in the street and having the time of their lives, but their presence put me more at ease than any college kid ever could. In the sea of brown, I could easily blend in, and chances were whatever buses they were waiting for could take me where I needed to go.
I approached an older woman who was clutching a worn gray purse to her chest.
“Excuse me, how much is the bus here?”
“One feefty,” she replied in a thick accent.
“Can I borrow that? I’m trying to get home.”
She immediately turned away from me and dug her way deeper into the crowd, holding onto her purse for dear life.
Damn. Now why hadn’t I thought to steal the measly bus fare in advance? It certainly wasn’t grand theft, and it would’ve been easier than hitchhiking.
I weighed my options, glancing at the map on the little glass enclosure by the bench. A highlighted route headed straight to South LA caught my eye, and I made my decision. I couldn't let this good an opportunity go by.
After backtracking a few blocks to the ice cream shop, I set my sights on the little Asian girl. She was holding hands with the guy now, resting her head against his arm. I pulled my nervously clenched fists out of my pockets and put on my most innocent expression, walking straight for them.
“Excuse me, but do you maybe have a dollar fifty? I’m trying to get bus fare to go home.”
The girl automatically backed up against her towering boyfriend, like I might try to snatch the money by force. But then she took a second look at me, probably to guess my age, and her expression softened.
“Why’re you out so late?” she asked.
“My friends brought me here for a party, but I didn’t like it and I want to go home.”
I was glad to see my lying abilities were still intact after my fuck ups with Suzie. Maybe I just needed to keep my mind focused—by keeping thoughts of mysterious blond boys out of it.
She looked up at her boyfriend, craning her neck to catch his eye. “You have any cash, Brent?”
Brent gave her a smile, but me a suspicious glare. Still, the wallet appeared and he fished out a couple dollars so he could look honorable in front of his girl.
I’d been counting on that.
Cash in hand, I t
hanked them quickly and dashed away, adrenaline pumping from my victory. I’d only been on the streets for an hour, and so far, things were going exactly my way.
My lucky streak continued as I approached the bus stop and saw the line headed for Huntington Park already there. I easily caught up to it in my new sneakers and found a seat all the way in the back.
Now all I had to do was enjoy the ride, and hope the rest of my night would go as smoothly.
~*~
I got off at Compton and Gage, where the sense of belonging immediately flooded me. A cheerful yellow rooster glowed from above a fried chicken joint, wings spread wide as if in welcome. And even though it was closed, the Pizza Loca I passed smelled of familiar greasy goodness, making my mouth water.
But I had to push those feelings aside, because this was not my home, and it was dangerous to get too comfortable. Even a change of a few blocks could have meant new gangs to deal with, and I was a good six miles away. Since no one here would know me, it was likely they’d consider me an enemy first and ask questions later.
I started heading down Compton Avenue, stopping at each side street to peer into the darkness. All I saw were tiny, rundown houses with windows barred and doors double-bolted, bravely defending their occupants from the crime that surrounded them. By the time I hit Florence, I felt like I’d gone too far, so I turned around and tried going north instead.
Ten blocks later, on 62nd street, I saw someone who I thought might be able to help. She was sitting next to a bush on the side of the road, wearing a mini-skirt, black hose, and ankle-high boots. Large, squishy-looking breasts—the kind that came from being sort of fat—popped out the top of her low-cut t-shirt.
I headed over at a swift pace, keeping a wary eye out for any trouble.
“Isn’t you a little young, sweetheart?” she asked when I came to a stop in front of her. Then she stood and dusted off her ass. “But hell, if you gonna pay, I can still help you out.”
She had a cold sore on her lip, coated with a blob of makeup, and my stomach turned. “I don’t want…I mean, I’m not here to…”
“I don’t take no little boys to the prom,” she said impatiently, her hands on her hips. “What do you want?”
“I’m…I’m looking for Mimi. A friend said she…works around here.”
“Mimi? Boy, you don’t need her. If you got the cash, I’m sure I can—”
“No, no, no.” I shook my head, jerking back as though she’d tried to touch me. “Mimi’s my sister. She’s about…five-five, brown hair, pretty skinny, the last time I saw her…”
The screech of wheels on asphalt had me ducking for cover behind the bushes, and a black car with tinted windows pulled up beside us. Heavy bass pounded out through the speakers, making the ground shake.
A man rolled down the window, a cigarette poised at his lips. “There a problem?”
“Nah. He just wanna know where Mimi at," the girl answered.
“Get moving,” the guy growled at me.
I wanted to tell him to fuck himself, but thank God common sense got a hold of my mouth before I did. His car squealed away again in a cloud of smoke, and I pulled my backpack tighter against my shoulder, preparing to take off.
“Try 71st,” the girl shouted after me.
“71st? I was already by there.”
She shrugged. “Try it again. You maybe gotta look a little harder. There been police around here lately and we been trying to stay out of sight.”
I nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”
It was nearing three a.m., and I was starting to think it’d been dumb not to have headed straight home, and maybe crashed at José’s or Diego’s. But that was probably the first place they’d have looked for me, and I was not going to go through all this trouble just to be sucked back into the system after a single night of freedom.
I didn’t put much faith in the girl’s word, but all the same I turned right when I reached 71st and headed down the street, my eyes darting about for any signs of life. After this, I’d have no other choice but to walk the forty blocks down to Watts, and that thought had my feet already dragging in protest.
I saw nothing. Just more little homes, many of them converted into apartments so they could squeeze in as many people as possible. All the lights were off. The place was dead to anyone but the roaches scuttling through the garbage on the street, or the rats that were clever enough to remain hidden.
“Alejandro?”
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and I turned slowly to face the oncoming footsteps.
“Alex? What the hell are you doing out here?”
Then I ran. I ran straight for her, keeping the tears from my eyes by laughing like a lunatic instead. “Mimi!” I buried my head in her shoulder.
Mimi was still for a few seconds before she brought her hand up to stroke my hair. “Alex, what the hell?”
“I came to find you.”
“But…why?”
My breath started to catch in my throat. If I wasn’t careful, tears would soon follow. “They took me away from Mom.”
“Who did?”
“The cops and social services.”
“Shit. For real?”
I stepped back to avoid the temptation to cry in her arms. She was even thinner than I remembered, her hair in greasy curls and her eyebrows penciled in with dark makeup. She wore a spaghetti-string tank top that hung off her bony shoulders, and a skirt I could barely make out below it.
“So what’re you doing here in the middle of the night?” she pressed.
“I ran away.”
“Jesus, Alex.” She shook her head. “Why?”
“It’s a long story.” The day with all its insanity was finally catching up to me, and my eyelids were the first to signal defeat. They drooped down halfway and refused to reopen fully. “Can’t we go to your place to talk?”
Her gaze drifted left, then right. “I’m working, Alex. I can’t go.”
“But I’m tired.”
She tousled my hair. “Same old whiny Alex.”
I was too weak to protest.
Mimi dug into her bra and produced a key. I tried not to think about it resting against her breast while she worked as she handed it over.
“6724 Makee Avenue, number two. It’s the unit on the right. Go get some sleep and we can talk in the morning.”
I smiled. A home. A bed. I had family again.
“And don’t scare Star when you go in.”
“Star?” I crinkled my nose.
She sighed. “I know. Angel didn’t like Estrella. Said it sounded too ethnic or whatever.”
I shook my head, closing my hand around the key and squeezing it tightly enough to leave an imprint. “Okay, then. See you in the morning.”
I’d already turned away when I heard her respond softly, “See you in the morning, hermanito.”
~*~
6724 Makee Avenue was worlds away from the mansions of Bel Air. But it was a hundred times more familiar, and I kept grinning like a fool as I approached the door, floating on the cloud of everything-is-working-out happiness.
Reality sank in after I took a step inside and turned on the lights.
The place was a dump. Even worse than my house had ever been. There was trash on the floor, and no one had taken the garbage out in a while because it stunk, with fruit flies dancing above it. The cabinets were old and broken, and the sink was piled with dishes.
I tripped over a stuffed animal in the hallway. My ankle connected with a stained couch, and I hopped around clumsily as I tried to muffle the cries of pain.
But I wasn’t quiet enough. The hall light flicked on, and a pint-sized girl in a long-sleeve pink shirt and Barbie underwear appeared in front of me. “Who are you?” she asked.
Crouching down to her level, I smiled and tried to appear non-threatening. It must’ve been scary to wake up and find a strange guy in her place, especially since she was home alone. “I’m Alex. I’m your tío. Your mommy is my sister.”
“Really? I didn’t know you were my tío.”
“I am,” I responded, hoping I sounded authoritative and not creepy. “Your name is Star, and I haven’t seen you since you were like two years old.”
“I don’t remember stuff from when I was a baby.” She rolled her eyes at me. “No one does. Don’t you know that?”
She was Mimi’s kid, all right.
“Yeah, I know.” I laughed. “But you can get to know me now. Your mom’s… working…so she said I could stay here to sleep for a little while.”
“Do you have any snacks?”
I shook my head. “It’s the middle of the night. You’re not supposed to have snacks in the middle of the night.”
She sighed. “Okay. Let’s go to bed.”
Without hesitation, she grabbed my hand and began pulling me down the hall. I tried not to think about why a five-year-old would be this undisturbed by a stranger breaking into her home that she actually invited him to her bedroom.
As it turned out, there was no bed in the closet-sized room, just a mattress on the floor, covered with a mess of blankets.
“You can sleep with me,” she announced. “Tuck us in?”
She threw her body onto the mattress while I hung back. I didn’t really want to sleep with her, but the couch outside looked disgusting, covered with ash and cigarette-burned fabric, and I was sure the other room was the one Mimi shared with Angel.
Whoever that fucker was.
“Okay. But you go right to sleep, all right? I’m really tired.”
She nodded solemnly.
There was only one beat-up pillow, so I let her settle on it first before I kicked off my shoes and took a tiny corner for myself. Then I pulled the blankets over her, happy that though old, they at least seemed clean.
She yawned as she burrowed in against me, her miniature mouth stretching into a perfect circle. “I always wanted a tío.”
“That’s good, kid.” I patted her head awkwardly, and silky soft curls shifted under my fingertips.
