Theories of Relativity

by Barbara Haworth-Attard

  “Thanks for the coffee, Ainsley,” she says, and wanders over to Lurch.

  “Did I interrupt something?” I ask.

  “Coffee,” Ainsley says disgustedly. “She should be drinking milk.” She smiles at me wearily. “I was trying to convince her to see the street nurse. She’s not had any prenatal care at all. And look at her!” She gestures toward Amber. “Skin and bones.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “She looks pretty big to me.”

  “That’s just baby,” Ainsley explains. “She’s malnourished, which means the baby isn’t getting the proper nutrition, either.”

  “Vulture cut her loose. She’s got no money for food.”

  “Who’s Vulture?” Ainsley asks.

  “Oh, that’s my name for Brendan,” I say sheepishly.

  “Vulture.” Ainsley smiles into her coffee cup. “Can I get you something to drink, Dylan?”

  “I’m good.” I am thirsty, but I don’t want to be obligated.

  “How did your trip go?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Are you playing social worker?” I ask. “First with Amber and now me?”

  “Don’t be a jerk,” she says, but there’s no anger in her voice. “Glen told me that you were going to see your grandfather.”

  I don’t like Glen spreading my business around. What else has he told her?

  I slide into the booth. “My grandfather’s dying from lung cancer, my father’s an asshole, the farm’s trashed, Murdock’s waist-deep in snow. You know how it is.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ainsley says.

  I shrug.

  “What happened to your face?”

  “Christmas gift from my father.”

  “Oh. So what are you going to do next?” she asks.

  My mouth drops open in astonishment. It’s not like I have a ton of options!

  “I know,” Ainsley continues. “Life just dumped on you again. You can wallow around in that some, but you can’t change it. It’s history. So, it’s time to look ahead. What are you going to do now?”

  “What can I do?” I don’t believe her.

  “Start with something small, like tonight. You need a place to sleep. I can arrange something for you at a shelter, and then you can—”

  I don’t want to hear this. “Where’s . . .” I want to say Jenna, but instead ask, “Where’s Twitch?”

  Ainsley stirs her coffee. “In the hospital. He’s sick with pneumonia and hepatitis. They’re not sure if he’s going to pull through.”

  She lets me digest that, then goes on. “If he does pull through, he’ll be a long time getting better. Then he’ll go into rehab. And then he’ll be right back out here on the streets, starting all over again. He doesn’t have a hope in hell. He’s illiterate. He’ll start dealing again. Using. It’s a vicious circle. He’ll never break free of it.”

  “But you did,” I say.

  “With help,” she says. “There’s still a chance for you, Dylan, but you don’t have to do it yourself. That’s what I’m trying to offer you here, help. I’m not telling you what to do. You have to decide that yourself. But I can suggest routes to take to make it a bit easier.”

  Before she can say more, a car sweeps into the parking lot and screeches to a stop in front of the window. The passenger door opens and Jenna gets out. She strolls over to the driver’s side, leans in the window a moment, then steps back as the car takes off with a squeal of wheels.

  I grab my pack. “See you around,” I say to Ainsley, but my eyes never leave Jenna.

  “Dylan . . .” Ainsley reaches out to stop me, but I’m halfway to the door.

  Jenna walks across the parking lot and stands beneath a light standard, head bent, looking at something in her hands.

  Anger surges through me as I push the door open and stride over to her. “Hey,” I yell.

  Startled, she turns, her hands going behind her back.

  “What do you have there?” I ask.

  I grab her arm and wrench it in front and pry her fingers open to find a folded wad of bills.

  “Turning tricks. You’re turning tricks!”

  “It’s none of your business what I do,” she says.

  “You said you were going to meet me at the bus station. I waited. You didn’t show.”

  “Something came up.”

  She begins to go around me, but I grab her arm and force her back to face me.

  “I told you he’d have you on the streets, didn’t I? Your precious Brendan.”

  She pulls her arm free. “I have food in my stomach and a bed. It’s a job.”

  “You’re a whore,” I tell her. “Look at you. Skirt up to your ass. You’re a whore.”

  “Don’t do this, Dylan. Please.” She puts a hand out to push me away, but I grab it and pin her to my body.

  “Why don’t you do me, whore? You’re doing everyone else. Why not me?”

  “Let go,” she screams. She places both hands on my chest and shoves. I stagger back and my arms fall away.

  She begins to cry. “Why did you do that?”

  “Because you’re out there fucking men for money.” I hate that men touch her: her hair, her lips, her breasts.

  She dashes away the tears. “It’s not like I’ve never done this before,” she says. “And there was no money involved then. He said it was for love. Love.”

  Tears stream down her face.

  “Who said? Brendan? Who?” I don’t get it.

  Her eyes suddenly widen with alarm. She puts her face next to mine and whispers urgently in my ear, “Lurch is coming over. Get out of here. Brendan knows that you asked me to go away with you. He’s out to get you.”

  “How would he know that?” I ask. Though there’s really only one answer.

  “I had to tell him. You don’t understand. Just leave, before you get hurt.”

  She steps away, pushes at me again with both hands, and laughs loudly. “Come back when you’re a grown man.” She gaily waves the bills at Lurch, takes his arm, and pulls him back toward the donut shop, but his eyes lock with mine as he lets himself be led away.

  Leave, she told me, but where is there to go? There is the abandoned factory, with the psychos in the shadows, or the men’s shelter, where the weirdos are out in plain view.

  It’s going to be a long night. I dig Granddad’s hat out of my pack and put it on my head and begin to walk. A cop car slows beside me, a window rolls down, and a head sticks out. Then abruptly the window closes, the lights flash on top, and the siren wails as the car speeds away. Obviously more important events needing his attention than a street kid. Shit. I don’t even matter to the cops!

  I have an unformed hope that Holy Rosary might be open. A sanctuary. I could camp out on a hard wooden pew. But I arrive to find a padlock securing the gate. I turn away, and there they are. Surrounding me, Lurch and the four Bandana Kids. I never even heard them come up.

  Without a word, Lurch steps forward and hits me in the stomach with a fist. Pain rips through my abdomen. My breath whooshes out as I double over. Another blow catches me on the back of the neck and agony explodes in my head as I go down. Hard cement grazes my cheek, but that is the least of the pain. Boots catch me in the ribs. I hear a distinct crack. Fists plow into my kidneys, nose, and split my lips. Non-stop blows and kicks. I feel a tug at my arms and I realize they are after my backpack. I begin to fight back with my fists, feet, arms, teeth, but there are too many of them. Voices shout, fade, and my pack is gone. There’s no point in fighting any more. I let myself sink into blackness. They’ve taken my entire life. They’ve taken—me.

  Chapter 23

  Hands claw at my arms. Pulling, tugging, all to the accompaniment of a steady string of profanity.

  “Leave me alone,” I mumble. I hurt. Everywhere. Badly. I want back into that cocoon of darkness where no pain exists.

  But the fingers continue running up and down my arms, my legs, prodding my ribs. I force open swollen eyes to see the Swear Lady bending over me. Breath foul, she curses non-stop
, and I realize, in between obscenities, she’s asking me, am I okay? Can I move my legs?

  “Oh God! Dylan!” Jenna kneels down beside me. Silver hair gleams like a halo. Guess I’m dead, but I don’t mind if there are angels like Jenna.

  From behind her, Amber’s face swims into view. “Oh, fuck,” she says. No angel. I’m not dead.

  The Swear Lady talks in her weird mixture of the obscene and normal, and Amber turns to me. “Gladdy thinks your ribs are broken.”

  “Gladdy?” I croak.

  Amber nods toward the Swear Lady. “Her. Gladdy.”

  The Swear Lady has a name?

  “She used to be a nurse, before . . .” Amber stops, at a loss for words.

  Before her brain got hot-wired.

  “You need to go to the hospital,” Amber continues.

  “No,” I reply thickly.

  Tears stream down Jenna’s face. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry, Dylan.” She looks wildly up and down the street. “What should we do? What if they come back?”

  “Factory,” I whisper.

  “What?” Jenna says.

  “There’s an abandoned factory some of us are staying at, but he’ll never walk that far,” Amber tells her.

  I try to climb to my feet, but fall back and whimper.

  “Would you stop being a fucking hero?” Amber puts my arm around her shoulder and tries to heave me up. “You need a hospital.”

  “No.”

  “Fucking idiot,” Amber says. “Would you help here?” she yells at Jenna.

  Jenna takes my other arm, and between the two of them, they pull me to my feet. I grab the shopping cart to steady myself, and the Swear Lady starts to scream and hit at my hands. I understand why. Her life is in there. My life was in my backpack.

  “Gladdy,” Amber explains patiently, “he only needs to use it to hold himself up. Like a walker, like old people use? He won’t take it.”

  Gladdy doesn’t look convinced, but the wailing subsides. Grudgingly, she lets me hold onto the cart, though she hangs on to the handle as we start off.

  It’s a nightmare journey with nightmare characters. Me staggering behind a shopping cart, Gladdy bundled in her clothes, swearing under her breath, Amber heavy with her baby, Jenna crying.

  I’m not sure how I crawl through the fence at the factory or get up the iron stairs. But somehow I do. A fire is lit, but the people around it melt away when they see my broken body.

  I shake uncontrollably, which causes excruciating pain in my chest. “Sleeping bag,” I say between shudders.

  “It’s gone,” Jenna says, and she begins to cry again.

  “Stop that fucking noise,” Amber says to her. “Do something useful. Find some more wood for the fire.”

  “Fire’s dangerous,” I whisper.

  “You need to be warm,” Amber says.

  Jenna hurries away and brings back an armful of wooden slats. Amber heaps them onto the fire and it flares brightly. She finds an old blanket and begins to lay me down, but I scream from the pain, feel the room spin, myself leaving my body.

  “Shit! No. No.” Gladdy sits me up again and tells Amber to find something for me to lean against.

  The girl disappears into the shadows and comes back lugging a lopsided ottoman. Gladdy gently leans me against it. I still hurt, but I can at least breathe now.

  Gladdy explains to Amber about broken ribs, how a person can’t lie flat. Through my pain, I marvel at the part of her brain that remembers being a nurse. Then, abruptly, Gladdy breaks off talking and sniffs the air. Storm brewing, Annie. Gladdy takes her cart and shuffles off into the dark.

  A moment later, Vulture steps into the circle of firelight, two of the Bandana Kids behind him. “So what happened here?” he asks.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Amber says.

  “Better watch your mouth, bitch,” Vulture tells her. “I heard there was a fight. I came to find out how the boy is doing.”

  Amber gets to her feet. “Yeah, you’re a real fucking sweetheart.”

  Vulture crouches down beside me. “Nice place. I can see why you’d rather live here than work for me.” He tilts his head to one side and studies me. “Hurting, are you?”

  “Fuck off,” I say.

  Vulture laughs, gets to his feet, and grabs Jenna’s arm. “What the hell are you doing here?” He gives her a shake.

  “I’m just . . .” she stutters. “I was leaving soon.”

  He pushes her away, and she falls to her knees. “You better be leaving real soon.” He walks out of the firelight, and footsteps ring on the iron staircase.

  Jenna picks herself up. Tears stream down her face.

  “Go home,” I tell her.

  She shakes her head, plunges a hand into her coat pocket, and brings out two white pills.

  “Take these. They’ll help the pain.”

  She pushes the tablets into my mouth, and I choke them down.

  “See you later,” she says, and hurries away.

  Then it’s just Amber and me and the people in the shadows.

  “He is such a fucking asshole,” Amber says. She tugs at the hat on my head. “You’ll be more comfortable with this off.”

  “No. Leave it.” The words burst from me, surprising her. Surprising me.

  “Okay, okay.” Amber puts the hat back on my head. “Dylan, I have to go and get some things. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  I grab her hand and hold tight, terrified of being left alone, but she gently pries my fingers off. “I promise I’ll come back.”

  After a while, the pills take effect and the pain loosens its clutch on me. A figure detaches itself from the shadows, throws a couple pieces of wood on the dying fire, and disappears so quickly I can’t tell who it is. But I think I hear the swishing of garbage bags.

  Mesmerized, I watch flames leap and coil, taking on fantastic shapes of animals and birds, distorted stone gargoyles with lips stretched unimaginably large, leering at me. Hideous, they grow up into the dark reaches of the factory ceiling and I cower from them. Eventually, this, too, passes, and my eyes close.

  I wake to pain and cold. Amber is beside me, holding a cup to my lips. Hot coffee. I try to sip, but it stings my torn lips and I jerk my head away. That brings on the pain in my chest and, well, everywhere else. I gasp and cry, hear myself and feel ashamed, but I can’t stop. I’ve never hurt so much in my life. Not even after Pete got through with me.

  “Pills. Jenna,” I croak.

  Amber hesitates, then reaches into her pocket and pulls out two of the white pills. “She left these for you.” Eagerly, I swallow them.

  Amber opens a box of baby wipes and gently cleans my face.

  “You really do need a fucking doctor or something,” she says, biting back tears. Amber crying scares me. She’s tough, so I must be really bad.

  The pills take effect, and I relax slightly. I move a hand and discover it’s under a blanket. I gesture toward the coffee cup and Amber holds it to my lips again. This time I’m able to drink a bit of the liquid, feel it burn down my throat. Then I have to pee. Something fierce.

  I struggle to get to my feet.

  “What are you doing?” Amber asks, alarmed.

  “Toilet.”

  She hauls me to my feet and into a corner, and turns her back while I do my business. Finished, I wrap an arm around her shoulder and stagger back to the ottoman. She lowers me down, then collapses beside me. “You’re fucking heavy,” she says. She tucks the blanket around both of us.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I tell her.

  “I look like shit,” Amber says. “That’s just the pills talking. Besides, it’s Jenna you like, remember?”

  Jenna. But it’s Amber who is here, taking care of me.

  For days, I drift in a drugged fog. The fire is lit at night. Someone helps me up to the john in the corner when I need it. My ribs get poked and my shirt comes off and a cloth is wrapped tightly around my chest, accompanied by the most profane language I’ve ever hear
d. Jenna comes and pushes pills into my mouth. I hear her argue with Amber.

  “Those aren’t going to help,” Amber shouts. “Do you think I’m a fucking idiot? I know who’s behind this.”

  “They make him feel better,” Jenna says, and disappears into the shadows.

  “Stupid bitch!” Amber yells after her.

  I open my eyes and Ainsley is crouched beside me. “You can press charges if you want, but you’ll have to go to a doctor and the police.” She tells me this half-heartedly, knowing I won’t report the beating. Her head looms monstrous in front of mine. I cringe back.

  “What is he on?” she asks Amber.

  “I don’t know. Jenna keeps bringing him pills.”

  “Shit,” Ainsley says. “He’s so high. Look, Dylan. You need food and warmth and proper care. Otherwise, you’ll be in the hospital with Twitch.”

  Twitch. Obviously still alive or she would have said “in the ground with Twitch.” In the cold, cold grave with Twitch. I giggle.

  “Jenna says your ribs are broken.” Ainsley unbuttons my coat, pulls up my shirt, and gently touches the bandage.

  “Who did this?” she asks. “It looks pretty good.”

  “Gladdy,” Amber says.

  Ainsley pulls the shirt down and tucks the blanket around me. “You can’t keep taking those pills, Dylan,” she says.

  Yes, I can, because they stop the pain, in my body and in my mind.

  Ainsley drifts away.

  The reality is, the pills do stop the pain, but only for a while, and that while is becoming shorter and shorter before the hurting comes back, along with a black despair that only Jenna and her magic tablets can take away.

  One night, I wake and Amber gives me a sip of water, then settles beside me under the blanket. “I want a smoke so fucking bad,” she says. “But I’m trying to cut back for the baby. Gladdy says I should.”

  “How do you know her name?”

  “She told me. I didn’t ask her,” she adds hastily.

  “The Garbage Man?”

  “The garbage man . . .” Amber shakes her head, puzzled, then her face clears. “Oh, you mean Paul.”