Table of Contents
Title Page
Book Details
Dedication
No Place Like Somewhere Else
About the Author
Josie has a passion for running away—or, as her girlfriend Marjorie would say, a fear of commitment. She runs away from home, from making decisions, and most recently, from having a serious discussion about her crumbling relationship.
Upon discovering a pair of tennis shoes outside a Chinese restaurant, Josie feels a sense of lightness on her feet, but each time she wears them, she finds herself running into trouble—in the form of a strange man named Jay, who might just be what she needs to break her own bad habits.
No Place Like Somewhere Else
By Caesar J.M. Kauftheil
Published by Less Than Three Press LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Keith Kaczmarek
Cover designed by Natasha Snow
This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition June 2016
Copyright © 2016 by Caesar J.M. Kauftheil
Printed in the United States of America
Digital ISBN 9781620048122
Dedication
To Snookums
"You can't keep running away from your problems, Josie," Marjorie said with that matriarchal attitude that Josie hated. Marjorie the Despot stood with her hands on her hips, looming over Josie as she sat on the bed that they had, at one point in time, enjoyed. Josie folded her arms over her chest and looked away. "Are we going to talk?"
"Sure. I'm hungry. Let's talk about getting dinner. I'm thinking Chinese," Josie said. Who did Marjorie think she was, trying to make her talk about her emotions? What was she, some sort of hippie? An artist? Marjorie gave her an unamused glare.
"Jocelyn," she scolded, the use of Josie's given name yet furthering Marjorie's resemblance to the exasperating mother that Josie thought she was done with when she had moved out.
"Okay, we can get German food, if that's what Gestapo Girlfriend wants."
"Seriously, Josie?" Marjorie brought her hands up into the air. "Fuck it, whatever. You want to keep ignoring this? Fine, congratulations, you win."
"Yippee. Let's celebrate over dinner," Josie said, standing up and grabbing her jacket from a nearby chair. "Lucky Schezuan Garden."
"I'm not hungry," Marjorie said stiffly, and Josie cocked her head to the side and sighed.
"Fine. I'll traverse this perilous city on my own. I'll think of you when I'm running away from some men in ski masks after they try to pull me into a dark alley."
"You're acting petty," Marjorie said, brushing past her to leave the room. She stopped in the doorway, looking over her shoulder to say, "And maybe doing some running wouldn't be such a bad idea."
Josie left the apartment in a huff. Okay, so maybe her favorite jacket was fitting a bit tighter than usual, and she had been stress eating a bit, but that, she decided, was Marjorie's fault. Maybe she should start exercising, though… Not because Marjorie had told her. Because she wanted to do it for herself. She stopped in front of the elevator for a moment before deciding to take the stairs down to the ground floor.
Walking out onto the streets of San Francisco, she started toward the restaurant: a four-block trek, mostly uphill. She considered taking a taxi or a bus, but decided against it. Her decision to walk was for reasons, she told herself, completely aside from Marjorie's snarky little comment. It was a nice evening, anyway, and the dusky atmosphere was good for clearing her head. She took a breath of that nice, fresh San Francisco air and noted how the smog made for such a pretty sunset.
On the way, a paper bag tumbled in front of her, and she kicked it. Josie couldn't remember the last time she kicked something, felt the catharsis of foot-on-object. Maybe a kickboxing class would be a good way to get out some of that pent-up frustration and get a workout. She immediately changed her mind. Classes were such a hassle, what with the expectation to show up all the time and follow schedules, not to mention practice. She had too much of a free spirit for something like that. Or, as Marjorie would put it, too much of a fear of commitment. Josie rolled her eyes—commitment.
I'll show her commitment, Josie thought to herself, committing herself to kicking the next piece of garbage that crossed her path—which happened to be a tall beer can standing next to a trashcan up the block. As she approached, she glanced behind her to make sure no one was looking, and jogged the last few steps to give it a good punt into the street. It wasn't empty.
"Shit," she muttered as half the yellowish liquid splashed onto her pant leg and spilled over her shoe. She liked these shoes: they were nice and comfortable, perfectly worn-in. Granted, they were getting a bit dilapidated, but she figured she'd get a few more months out of them before they fell apart. And then there was always duct tape.
"Hey!" came a hoarse voice to her side, and she looked over to see a grungy looking man standing in an alley, zipping up his pants, a puddle of used beer behind him. "What the hell did you do that for?" He looked about ready to start a fight.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize…" She reached into her pocket, pulled out a few singles and held them out to the offended vagrant. His attitude changed as he grabbed the green bills with his browned hand.
"Thank you, honey," he said, stowing the money in his pocket without bothering to count it. "Hey, do you have any acid?"
"Nope, sorry!" Josie said, quickly continuing on her way to avoid further conversation. There, she thought, my good deed for the day.
The odor of the beer hung about her, and she thought she might find a store on the way home to pick up a new pair of sneakers. If she came home smelling like alcohol, Marjorie would have something else to snap at her about. Or she could stop in a bar. Might as well have some fun if she was going to get accused of drinking.
As she neared Lucky Schezuan Garden, something caught her eye. Of the objects she had seen on her walk that had begged for a good kicking, it seemed the best had been saved for last. A few yards away from the door to the restaurant, there lay a pink shoe box more deserving than anything of a swift foot punch. After the beer incident, however, she was hesitant to play litter soccer. Curiously, she gave the box a small nudge. Like the aluminum can, it wasn't empty.
She pushed the lid up with her foot, and to her surprise, she found a pair of shoes. Immediately after, she realized that there was no reason to be surprised by finding shoes in a shoe box. This was very likely, however, the first time she had encountered a stray pair of shoes in their container, rather than worn-out and abandoned in the gutter or hanging from a telephone line, treading stray breezes. She crouched down for a closer inspection. They looked clean. Almost new, in fact: white Jaguars with pink stripes along the sides. Nice-looking running shoes. She checked the tongue of one of the shoes—8. Her size.
Placing the lid back on the box, she stood back up and looking around, half expecting someone to pop up and harass her for touching their shoes, but the street was empty. The idea of taking the shoes felt odd, but she was just thinking that she needed a new pair… Settling on a solution, she walked inside. If they were still there after she ate, that meant they were hers. As long as they don't walk off, she thought, and giggled to herself as she walked inside. Because they're shoes!
"Usual table?" the pretty, moony waitress asked, grabbing two menus as Josie walked in. She nodded. "Where's Marjie?"
"'Not hungry', appa
rently," Josie said, taking off her jacket and draping it over her arm.
"I guess I have you all to myself tonight," the waitress said coolly, placing one of the menus back on the podium and walking ahead of Josie toward a table in the corner of the room, as if she needed to be guided.
"You sure do, Kitty," Josie said, privately taking in Kitty's backside. An older man, the owner and Kitty's father, was sitting at a small table near the front of the restaurant, reading a Chinese newspaper. He looked up, smiled, and gave Josie a wave, which she politely returned.
Kitty. She was sure that wasn't her birth name—her parents hardly spoke English and had probably given her some unpronounceable Chinese name with 'x's and 'q's popping up in unexpected places. The name "Kitty" was a choice she must have made herself, as she was completely Americanized; maybe she really likes cats, Josie thought… or pussy. She mentally revisited the old argument of whether or not Kitty was gay—she and Marjorie had many a conversation about her orientation, generally with Josie contending that she was totally a lesbian, and Marjorie insisting that's just what Josie wanted to believe. Kitty was friendly to the point of being flirty, but the girl was hard to read.
"Kung Pao?" Kitty asked, approaching with a glass of water, a simple chrome teapot, and a white ceramic cup. She didn't bother to take out her ticket pad.
"Kung Pao and a Tsing Tao," Josie rhymed in a singsong voice, "and since Marjie's not here, you can make it spicy."
"How spicy?"
"Real spicy."
"Real spicy, or real spicy?" She indicated the second option with narrowed eyes and a nod of her head.
"Asian-person spicy," Josie said.
"All right. I'd tell you that we won't remake it if it's too hot for you, but I know you're too stubborn to ask, anyway."
"No such thing as too hot for me. And I'm not stubborn!" Josie protested. Kitty blinked a few times in response. "I'm just, you know, generally right, and I don't like to contradict myself."
Kitty occupied herself with the few other customers, and Josie occupied herself with sipping her imported beer and perusing the placemat under the glass tabletop that explained the Chinese zodiac, though she had read the chart more times than she could remember. Her eyes traveled automatically to her sign—the dog, which the placemat claimed was on one hand loyal, on the other moody and dishonest. Yeah, whatever.
Kitty brought out the steaming dish, and though Josie went through a few glasses of water and an extra order of rice, she never complained about the Kung Pao being too hot. When Kitty asked how the food was, Josie told her, "Good," before swishing some ice water around her mouth. At a point when there was a lull in business and Josie was the only patron, Kitty took a seat across from her. She grabbed a cup from a nearby table, poured herself a cup of weak oolong from Josie's teapot, and looked dreamily off into the distance. God, Josie thought, she really is gorgeous.
"Hey Kit, do you know why there's a pair of shoes outside?" Josie asked, and Kitty gave her a discerning look.
"Because there's a pair of feet? I don't know—what is this, a riddle?"
"No, there's a pair of tennis shoes in a box outside the restaurant. They look pretty new. In the box and everything. Wondering if you know anything them."
"Nope. Why, are you thinking about taking them?"
"Well, they're my size… I figure if they're still there, they're not going to be missed."
"You know, in China, they believe if you find a pair of shoes in your path and you put them on, they're supposed to lead you to happiness."
"Really?" Josie asked, her curiosity piqued.
"No." Kitty laughed, and Josie rubbed her hands over her face, chuckling.
"I don't know how you always get me with that superstition thing."
"Ancient Chinese secret," Kitty said with a wink. "Anyway, it's a free pair of shoes. I say go for it. The ones you have on now are getting a little… eh."
"Oh, yeah. I sort of got some beer on them on the way over here. It's a long story," Josie said, pulling out some money and slapping it on the table as she stood up. "Anyway, I should get back home before the dragon lady starts breathing fire."
"All right. Enjoy your new shoes," Kitty said, pocketing the money and starting to bus the dishes. "Don't forget dessert," she said, tossing Josie a fortune cookie in a clear, plastic wrapper.
Josie opened her cookie, took out the slip of paper, and popped the wafer in her mouth. She read the message and snorted. You are on a path toward good fortune. "Dumb," she muttered around the crushed cookie in her mouth, and tossed the scrap on the table for Kitty to clear. She pulled on her jacket, smiling and nodding to the proprietor on her way out.
Outside, she looked down and found the shoebox untouched. She looked around the empty street, opened the lid, and found the shoes still there. She took them out and gave them a once-over. There was a little bit of wear on the soles and a few minor scuffs, but nothing worth throwing them out over. Finders keepers, she thought, dropping them onto the sidewalk, slipping off her old shoes and pushing her feet into the new ones. She walked in a small circle and found they were comfortable enough to walk home in.
As she began walking, carrying the old tennis shoes in one hand, she marveled over how light she felt in the new sneakers. As she approached a trash can, she bid her old kicks adieu and dropped them among the other garbage. In doing so, it felt as though some small burden had been lifted, making her feel airier, even a bit bouncy, her walk becoming a gait, and though she hadn't had the urge to do so in years, she found herself jogging.
Two blocks into her run, her chest was beginning to tighten, but her calves gave no protest. She had forgotten how pretty the city was at night, and she took a few deep breaths. The air really did feel pleasant: crisp and refreshing, like a Tsing Tao, and she stopped to take off her jacket and tie her long, sleek auburn hair back to feel the brisk breeze against her arms and neck. She lifted her chin, and the darkening navy-blue sky filled her eyes as she began running again, losing sense of her surroundings, to the point that she almost ran into someone.
"Sorry!" she said, blushing as the figure maneuvered out of her way and her eyes descended from the heavens to the pedestrian.
"No worries," he said, smiling. In the brief moment before he stepped around her, she took in a few details: thin, a bit taller than average, black hair that fell past his shoulders, and a beard-mustache combination. If she were drunk, she'd probably tell him he looked like Jesus. A handsome Jesus.
After they passed, she took a quick glance back and found he was doing the same, sharing a smile before they both looked away. She remembered something that Marjorie had said one night when her viciously-jealous side came out: You can't even commit to a sexual orientation. Though she never said it straight out, Josie knew that for Marjorie, "bisexual" was synonymous with "slut." She sneered at the thought, but she found her mood had improved by the time she ran to the apartment building.
Josie took the stairs up to their flat and found Marjorie sitting on the couch, watching television with her arms and legs crossed. As Josie settled into the apartment, they didn't make eye contact for a while, but eventually Marjorie looked at her, and asked, "Where did you go? Why are you sweaty?" Josie knew she wasn't imagining the accusation in her tone.
"Went for a run."
"You never run."
"New shoes," Josie said with a shrug, tugging at the neckline of her shirt to stir airflow under her top.
"Oh. You finally bought new shoes."
"Well, more like found them."
"What do you mean you found them?" Marjorie was glaring at her now.
"They were in a box outside the Chinese restaurant. Hardly worn. Just my size. Neat, huh?" Josie said, stretching a leg out to admire her new footwear.
"I can't believe you. You're like a fucking child, stealing shoes."
"I didn't steal them. Somebody left them there."
"Whatever," Marjorie said, returning her attention to the screen. "Just make sure yo
u shower before you go to work."
*~*~*
When Josie stepped out of the 24-hour pharmacy, the sun had risen well into the sky, and the city was coming alive with trolleys mixing in with the congested motor traffic. She was still wearing her khakis and had thrown an unzipped, brown jacket over the navy-blue polo with the company's logo, her nametag clipped over her chest with a sticker proclaiming that she was a manager. The only part of the uniform she had changed was the shoes, leaving her professional beetle-black ones in the office that she shared with the dayshift manager to put on her new, favorite, white-and-pink pair.
She had gotten to work early, as usual, to get on the bus before it stopped for the night, and though she normally took the bus home in the morning, beat from a nine-hour shift, her body was insistent on walking. She let her feet guide her, taking a route which she didn't realize until she turned a corner wasn't her normal one. It would still get her home, but it was a little out of the way. Oh, well, she thought. If I take long enough, maybe Marjorie will be gone by the time I get home.
She considered a jog around Golden Gate Park before bed, but that would require going home and changing, and by that point, she'd probably be too lazy to go back out. She stuck her tongue out. She looked down at her feet, but her breasts obscured the view. She poked one through her polo. She also needed to buy a sports bra before she tried running again. Stupid boobs.
As Josie walked, she found herself gravitating at one point toward a bus stop, unsure of why. She felt fine walking, and the bus didn't even go near her apartment. As she approached, she noticed him sitting on the bench. Her heart skipped a beat. She wasn't sure why she was headed toward him, and she had no clue what she would say to him, though, I found Jesus again, crossed her mind.
She was saved from a stammering attempt at conversation, or more likely silence and sidelong glances, as the bus pulled up before she reached him, and he stood up to board without looking in her direction. She had a sick feeling of relief, but found herself walking up the steps after him, pulling out her Muni pass and looking for a seat on a bus headed for a part of the city that definitely wasn't anywhere near home.
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