by A. J. Downey
“Sounds good.”
“You going to wait here?” she asked and I laughed.
“Hell no, I’m coming with you – watch you do your thing.”
She laughed and said, “It’s going to get really cold!”
“So? I’d bargain I’m dressed better for it than you are,” I said, and she wrinkled her nose in a mix of defiance and capitulation that was cute as hell.
“Touché,” she sighed.
“I’ll keep you in coffee and cocoa,” I said.
“Actually, hot water with lemon and honey will do my voice way better.”
“Oh, yeah?” I asked, standing and getting my coat back on. “Where’d you learn that?”
“Granddad,” she answered. “He taught me everything I ever needed to know about busking.”
“That’s awesome,” I declared as we made our way out the door and up the street to the corner so we could cross.
The tree farmer was happy to have Saylor play and didn’t mind me hanging around to watch and listen. She sang like an angel, voice light and clear, carried on the wind to passersby. Not a lot, but a few came down to listen, dropping change and dollar bills into her open guitar case. A couple going on to buy a fresh wreath or evergreen swag for their apartment or house.
She went for about an hour, caught my eye and gave me a raised set of eyebrows and a nod, and with a salute, I jogged back to the French bakery to get a cup of hot water doctored with lemon and honey.
Josh was at the counter when I came in and I asked for the hot water and some lemon – they had honey at the little counter with the sugar and sweeteners, the half-and-half, and milk.
“This for Saylor?” he asked and I nodded.
“Yeah, she’s a great girl. Could see it the second she stepped inside here.”
“I know exactly what you’re talking about, man. I saw it too. First moment I laid eyes on her.”
He chuckled and said, “You just got to her first, I guess.”
“Nah, man,” I shook my head. “Saylor is a free spirit. She goes where she wants to go and loves who she wants to love. I just happen to be the luckiest son of a bitch alive that right now? I apparently get to be that person.”
He looked at me thoughtfully and handed over the cup of hot water he’d drawn from the tap on the espresso machine and a lid to go with it.
“You know, you’re alright,” he said finally. “No charge for hot water, lemon,” he said sliding a slice he’d retrieved from the back to float on the top of the cup, “is on the house.”
“Thanks, man.” I winked at him and he laughed and waved me off. I went over and added honey and stirred it with one of the wooden stir-sticks, popped the lid back on, and with a wave got it back out to Saylor. She was starting to shiver, just barely finished her song and reached out for the cup gratefully, wrapping her frozen fingers around it and shuddering.
“Ohh, thank you!”
“Okay,” I said laughing, “it’s been swell, but you’re frozen and as such – the swelling’s gone down. Time to get you warmed up and to move on, and I think I got just the place.”
She laughed and sipped from her cup.
“Okay, I’ll bite, where we headed?”
“It’s a surprise. Now what do I need to do here?”
“Um, gather up the money, obviously,” she said chuckling.
“On it.” I gathered it up and stuffed it in my jacket pocket for safekeeping.
“Guitar goes back in the case,” she said, and I helped her unhook the strap and laid it in there for her, closing it up, hooking the hasps and I stood, gripping it by the handle.
“Usually I put the money in my Crown bag, but it’s in my backpack and I’m freezing so we’ll sort that out and check our haul later.”
“Sounds good, and it’s your haul.”
“Street kid code as per my granddad, you assist me, you get half the haul.”
I shook my head. “Not taking your money, baby. I got a main hustle and money aplenty all my own.”
She laughed lightly. “And because I know you’re not on the struggle bus, I’ll let you win this round.”
“Good deal,” I said and with a goodbye to the tree seller, we set off for the bus stop.
Bernard swung by about twenty minutes later on his circuit and I stuck my head in and asked, “What line do we gotta take to get over to the old Indigo Arcade building?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah! That’d be a good spot for Ms. Thang out there, that away. You need to take the ol’ green line. The number six bus. You can’t get it from here, but trek on in about two three blocks and you should be able to get it over on Muller outside that fancy bar y’all cops like to hang out at.”
“Thank you, kindly! I sure appreciate it.”
“Ain’t no thing! Y’all have a nice day now. Hope you make lots o’ money, girl!”
“I hope so too!” Saylor cried, shivering and I backed out of the coach’s door.
“Come on, I know just how to warm you up while we wait to get where we’re going.”
“Sounds good,” she said breathing out and I took her hand and started walking.
We got in by a couple blocks and I oriented myself on the one-way street. I wasn’t used to coming at it on foot, and it took a second to remember which direction the 10-13 was in. I started us that way and Saylor didn’t speak, just tried to keep up. We made it, and I knew the place was closed so I didn’t bother – instead, I went for the door up to Skids’ place and hit the buzzer.
“This better be fuckin’ good, I was gettin’ laid.” His grizzled voice came over the speaker and I could hear Coco’s hysterical fit of giggles in the background.
“Hey, yeah, it’s Poe. Put some pants on Chief, I got Saylor with me and she’s fuckin’ freezing. We’re waiting on the next bus.”
“Bus?” Skids sounded confused and I heard a “What in the hell?” just before the buzzer took over and I yanked open the door, ushering Saylor in ahead of me.
“Up the stairs,” I ordered lightly, and she nodded and took them two at a time, determined to keep moving and keep warm.
Saylor paused at the top of the stairs and jumped when Skids’ door opened and leaned out.
“Just what in the fuck are you two doing out in this?” he demanded. “And this fuckin’ early! Get in here!”
Saylor laughed nervously and went in before me.
“It’s a day in the life of Saylor Grace,” I said, leaning her guitar in its case against the wall by the door. Coco was in the kitchen at the electric kettle heating up water, eying Saylor in her mostly denim outfit and looking worried.
“Sit down,” Skids demanded, and he was looking Saylor over too.
“Girl, where are your clothes?” he demanded.
“Ahh, I’m wearing everything I’ve got,” she said shivering.
“Well it ain’t enough!” Skids declared.
“I know,” I said unhappily. “Her car is in impound and they wouldn’t let her take her stuff. I had to pull some shady shit just to get her guitar and the things she’s got on.”
“How long ago was that?” Skids demanded.
“Only a few days, Chief.”
He nodded and said, “Lemme make a call.”
“Look, it isn’t much, but can I at least lend you a pair of fleece-lined leggings for under your jeans until you can get some of your own?” Coco asked.
“Oh, I don’t know, you’ve only just met me!” Saylor cried.
“And?” Coco demanded rolling her eyes. “You’re with Poe. It’s not like I’m not going to see you to get ‘em back, and even if I don’t, I have like a million pairs. I’m a dancer. I have like no body fat, remember?”
Saylor laughed and finally gave in and nodded.
“Okay, now you’re talking.” Coco followed her man back to their bedroom. When she opened the door, he looked up, phone pressed to his ear as he spoke to someone on the line earnestly.
I started to relax. Grateful that my squad had seemingly accept
ed that Saylor and I were a thing. I was so thankful for that. For the fact that the chips had fallen where they had to bring us here. The fates were finally smiling onto my girl, and I was grateful for it. I mean, it was about fucking time for her, wasn’t it?
Coco returned with a pair of sleek black leggings over her shoulder and it wasn’t lost on me that she was wearing a pair of her own in navy with one of Skids’ button-down shirts on over it. She looked casual and comfortable, and Skids was just behind her in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and no shirt, just like he’d answered the door.
His scar right down the middle of his chest from where they’d had to do open heart surgery after his heart attack was mostly faded from an angry red to a muted pink and that was another thing I was grateful for… that he was still with us.
“You guys are coming up on your one-year anniversary, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Actually, just missed it,” Skids said, scratching an itch on his left shoulder.
“The bathroom is the first door on the left, go put these on. I’ll have some hot tea waiting out here,” Coco said, handing the leggings over to Saylor.
“Thank you,” Saylor said, setting down her near-empty cup of hot honey-lemon water down on the kitchen table. She took the offered garment from Coco and went down the hall.
“We can get her stuff from impound, you got a place to store it?” Skids asked.
“Yeah, there’s a chain-link fenced area in the garage under my place I can keep stuff. I don’t have a lot in there, so it should work.”
“You, uh, thinking about maybe moving up your timeline some on getting a real place?” Skids asked.
“It’s been on my mind,” I answered truthfully. It had been one of the things chewing me up silently since our first night as a couple. It was the truth that sex changed everything, and I’d already been turning the idea over in my head even before we’d done it.
There were some problems involved, though. Like location was everything. A commute for me wasn’t anything, but for Saylor? She needed to be in the city to do what she loved and moving to the suburb might be a deal breaker. I knew I really wanted a house, though. Something with a yard. So, I just didn’t know how anything would play out and to be honest? Everything was still so brand new.
I think Skids could read it on my face because he gave a lopsided grin and said, “Don’t rush into anything. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
I gave a nod and Coco smiled over at the counter where she was pouring hot water into mugs. She said to Skids, “And you thought we moved fast.”
Skids chuckled and shook his head but didn’t say anything.
“Tea or cocoa?” she asked me.
“Cocoa,” I answered. “Please.”
“You better not,” Skids raised an eyebrow and winked, and I laughed slightly and shook my head.
“She’s all yours, Chief,” I said.
“Speaking of which,” he declared as the bathroom door opened back up and I smiled and nodded.
Saylor came back out and said, “I have got to find me some of these. I bet they cost an arm and a leg, though.”
“Nope, got them at Walmart. They’re like fifteen bucks for a two-pack.”
“Two pair for fifteen dollars?” Saylor echoed. “You just saved my life.”
“Do I see a trip to the ‘burbs’ in our future?” I asked.
Saylor twisted her lips back and forth. “I could order them online, but I don’t have a credit card or bank card or anything.”
“Have you ever had a bank account?” Coco asked. “I mean, living the life you do is pretty wild, but I’ve never really thought about what it means you know? Like how do you do certain things?”
“Well, I’ve been kind of bouncing around as a street kid since I was fifteen, so no – I actually don’t have a bank account and never have. I mean, it’s not like I’ve really needed one. I’ve always been cash-only.”
“Do you even have your birth certificate? Social security card?” Skids asked, frowning.
“Sure do. I keep it all in my journal and on me at all times. Not the safest thing to do, I know, but when you don’t have a permanent place, it’s even less safe to keep your permanent documents somewhere that you’re not.”
“Tea or cocoa?” Coco asked and Saylor smiled.
“Tea, please.”
“Here, have a seat, the both of you.” Skids pulled out a chair for himself and Saylor and I followed suit across from each other.
“Can I see how much we pulled at the Christmas tree stand?” she asked me, and I immediately emptied my pockets for her. She shrugged out of her backpack and got into it for her Crown bag and her journal.
We chatted about her systems to keep things in check while living on the street and it was a fascinating and heartbreaking look into the life of someone poor and down on their luck.
She was an amazingly good sport about it. Didn’t have to share but shared freely anyway as she counted up her money and marked things down in her journal.
“Why keep track so hard?” Coco asked.
“So I can pay my taxes.” Saylor smiled and we all laughed before Skids looked at her and said, “Oh, shit, you’re serious.”
“My granddad didn’t raise a freeloader. It’s hard, but anything over a certain threshold and I owe tax on it. I’m pretty behind on my taxes, but it’s the only debt I have, so I guess there’s that.”
“Wow, you really don’t sugarcoat nothin’ do you?” Skids asked.
“Why?” she shrugged. “I am who I am, not entirely perfect because who is? Live and let live is how I was raised. I mean, I know how lucky I am compared to most. Believe me. But I don’t feel the need to be embarrassed about being poor or about taking care of myself. I’m pretty secure in who I am and how I live. I don’t drink to excess, I don’t do drugs, I’m responsible with my body and have never been pregnant – but that isn’t going to stop people from judging me, and that says more about them than it does about me.” She smiled then and said, “Six bucks and eighty-seven cents. Not exactly raking it in, but not bad for an hour’s work either.”
“You sure do keep it positive,” Skids remarked.
“I like that about you,” Coco chimed in and Saylor smiled.
She’d said she wasn’t perfect, but I wanted to disagree so hard, because right then, I knew she was absolutely perfect for me.
“So, about the rest of her shit in her car,” Skids said, turning to me.
We spent the rest of our time warming up, making arrangements to get her things with the help of Youngblood and his truck to get them over to my place. Saylor sat in stunned silence for several moments and finally settled in to the steady pace of the Indigo Knights taking care of one of their own.
See. Perfect.
Perfect for me.
16
Saylor…
One day bled into the next as the page leafs on the calendar flew off counting up to Christmas. In that time, my belongings had made it out of impound and my car had been signed away to the city for scrap.
I’d been able to go through the boxes, and almost everything was safe and unharmed, held in the storage area below the tiny studio apartment we inhabited. I would be lying if I said things weren’t starting to feel pretty tight up here, though.
My winter clothes alone were starting to make things feel claustrophobic as I was coming back to the tiny studio more and more tired, which just made things worse for me mentally. I constantly worried that at any moment Poe would decide I was taking up too much space and I’d be out. It wasn’t entirely an irrational fear. It’d happened to me once before back in the Pacific Northwest.
On a positive, I was killing it at the Arcade, and outside of Ally and Dawnie’s funky little boutique in the city’s Old Town district. It was only a few blocks away from where the 10-13 resided and I had to say – Indigo City was a lot kinder than I’d expected.
I’d pulled in enough cash to pay ahead on my phone, which I had stocked up on prepaid
cards for, and I had seamlessly made myself responsible for dinners and cooking. Poe had let me, and I was looking forward to the holiday with him and his family now that I knew I could afford some small gifts. He’d come home two nights ago and had told me he’d spoken to his mother and that I was expected at the Christmas dinner table as his new girlfriend.
I was nervous. Even more nervous that I didn’t even know what his family liked. Which led us to this moment, curled up in bed, the blankets piled on as we snuggled as much to be close as for warmth.
The power was out, the lines brought down by heavy ice and snow.
“Okay, okay, but what about your mom?” I asked. We’d just gone over what his dad was into and both of us were at a loss on that one.
“This has got to be the most painfully awkward conversation I’ve ever been in,” he said and I frowned, jerking my head back to look at him.
“What? Why?”
The night was dark, and the only light we had was from the three-wick scented candle burning on one of the nightstands and the flashing orange light of the utility company’s truck outside as they tried to repair the line.
Everything out there was beautiful – encased in a layer of crystalline ice. Beautiful, but dangerous.
“We’re talking about my parents,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“And?” I asked curiously.
“Post-sex, in the nude. I would pretty much rather be talking about anything else.”
I laughed and snuggled closer.
“I am in serious need of help here!” I cried.
“We both are,” he said dryly and chuckled, sighing out in satisfaction.
“Mm, I just really want to make a good impression,” I told him. We’d already agreed that we would tell his family the truth about us. He couldn’t bear to lie to them, and even though I had a nagging bad feeling about it, I had agreed. I mean, I didn’t want to say anything out loud – but I knew how even kind people could be judgmental about street kids like me. Even though I wasn’t a kid anymore, I certainly didn’t feel like the adultiest adult. You know what I mean?
