I never got up in the night to pee because I didn’t want to see the raccoons. They knew I was scared so they’d attack me first. Animals could tell. One night on the way to our spot we surprised them raiding a trash pile. They looked up at us, chunks of bread in their miniature hands, like they were at a restaurant and we were bothering them. Ash threw a small rock but they just stared at us and then started eating again. I didn’t want them showing up outside my sleeping bag in the middle of the night, picking at me with their tiny nails and pinpoint eyes.
I had a fear of the raccoons that Ash said was a sign I was losing it. He didn’t mean anything by that because he didn’t know about my mom. Still, I got quiet. He might have been right, which is what scared me. How did I know I wasn’t born with something that was going to take over my brain? It was there in my mom, making her someone I didn’t know. There could be grains of it inside me, spreading, waiting to take hold.
I had trouble getting myself to sleep, even before I’d seen the kid die. At night, something was always rustling nearby, or creeping. Leaves crackled. There were coyotes and gophers and the cats that used to live inside until someone dumped them in the park, where they grew wild. They all probably knew about one another, communicated in some weird way, while we were sleeping. How much of the world happened like that? I couldn’t forget about the howling and huffing unless I was wasted. I listened for all of it or waited to feel fog slipping from the air onto me.
We’d given up stringing a tarp because the cops cited us for that too. It meant we were camping. Flop on the ground in a bag and you could still say you were hanging out. Ash got a clock from the Goodwill and set it for 3:55 in the morning, when we would stand up, wrapped in our sleeping bags, and stumble out to the street. The cops came by our end of the park at four and cited anyone who looked asleep. Most mornings we could climb back into our bags for a few hours before the park rangers came though on their bikes, headlamps clamped on their foreheads. They went out of their way to climb up the hill. They weren’t going to give us tickets, but they weren’t going to let us stay.
“There’s granola in the cart,” Hope said, sitting up. “Some guy from Australia bought me a big bag after I showed him Jerry Garcia’s house. I ate all the cookies. Shoot me.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “We had pizza.”
“At least you got Root back.”
“Yeah,” I said. “He was staying in a dog hotel down there. He probably didn’t want to come home.”
Hope motioned around the soggy nest of leaves and mud. “We figured you weren’t making it inside tonight,” she said.
Fleet was still asleep, scrunched up in a blanket, Tiny under one arm.
“Root and Tiny are both here. I think we need to celebrate,” said Hope.
“I got nuggets,” Ash said, “but I dropped the fucking light back on the street.”
He told Hope how ES EF had pushed us around for a few slices. Now he couldn’t go back to get his lighter. They were probably gone for the night, but he wasn’t going to risk it.
Fleet sat up, put Tiny in her lap, and reached for a book of matches at the bottom of her bag.
“Emergency supplies,” she said, tossing it to Ash.
He took out a joint, wet a finger in his mouth and smoothed the paper. There was a sharp smell of sulfur as he lit the match and then a small glow near his face when he drew in his first breath, deep, taking his time. He exhaled slowly and then took another hit.
“Hello?” said Hope, reaching over for her turn.
“Hang on, you’ll get yours,” he said, holding it up, out of her reach.
Hope stood and grabbed the joint. She turned her back to him and he crossed his arms over his chest and smiled the way he did when he was lit. Hope nudged Fleet, who took her turn and handed it to me. I knew it might make me paranoid, but one hit could be enough to fall asleep when a guy was out there looking for me. The fog was settling on the trees, making its way through the sleeping bag around my shoulders. I put on my extra coat and another pair of socks but I was still shivering. In Los Angeles, the fog sealed in the heat and sat on top of your skin. Here it pushed and pulled you in every direction and worked its way inside.
Ash took a kazoo from his pack and started screeching on it. Hope slapped his hand and it flew over the tree branch into the dark.
“Fucker,” said Ash and then he couldn’t stop laughing.
“You should play that thing when you get hassled. It’s scary,” said Hope.
She and Fleet lay down and looked up through the fog at what fuzzed patches of stars they could see. Root was digging in the dirt furiously. I leaned against the tree, staring out to see if someone was out there, about to make a move on me. The light from the joint went around in a triangle from Ash to Fleet and Hope. Who knows why we all found one another. It happened, one of those things that you don’t expect or maybe even deserve.
“Hey, the moon is half full,” said Hope.
“I think it’s half empty,” said Ash.
“That’s because you’re a fucking pessimist,” said Hope.
“I am an optimistic pessimist,” said Ash.
“Proving that you are an idiot, even with all your college classes.”
“I’m bypassing you next time,” said Ash.
Hope laughed and grabbed the joint in the bossy way she had. Root let out one high-pitched bark.
“Root, kick it down,” I said. He sneezed and shook his entire body, ready to play. “Hey, settle,” I said, and scratched behind his ear. He had been cooped up in that dog hotel room, no exercise, and so he was all wound up. But I had no intention of letting him go off in the dark. He wouldn’t know what to do if he saw a coyote. I put my arms around his neck. Just thinking about leaving the ring of trees made me shiver more. I tried to change the subject in my brain by looking up at Ash, but it was too late; my mind was racing, fueled by the weed and the long day. I squiggled into my bag, pulled it up to my neck, and hauled Root down next to me. The wind rattled the bottles and leaves above me. Beats in the distance sounded like soft footsteps. Or maybe it was fog condensing on the trees and dripping on the ground nearby. Root relaxed against my side. He would let me know if someone came near us.
Ash’s clock went off at 3:55 like a school bell. All I wanted was to stay in the warm pocket I’d made in my bag, but Ash grabbed the end and practically poured me on the ground. I knew he was trying to help, especially after the day before. Neither of us wanted to go back to the cop station. I shook Fleet and Hope and soon we walked across the street while the cops went by, poking into the bushes with their batons, shouting, “Good morning. No camping.”
We sat at the bus stop where the plastic seats tipped if you moved so no one would try to sleep there. Ash leaned back on his and slipped off, landing on the pavement, and then kept doing it like he was on a ride. Hope told him not to ask her for help when he broke his neck. As soon as the McDonald’s across the street opened we begged a breakfast sausage sandwich from the morning counter girl, who always gave Ash anything he asked for, for free, including the code that unlocked the bathroom door. I could see why. He looked right into her, which made me want to push him away from the counter. But when he got the sandwich, he broke it into fours and handed the pieces to us.
It held us for a few hours, until we could get breakfast at the shelter. One guy was always first, standing at the door, silent, looking down. He must’ve stayed nearby, but I never saw him at night. We hung behind him and I draped my arm around Fleet, who had Tiny on her arm. We could smell eggs and overcooked toast.
“I may shower,” I said.
“Yeah, do us all a service,” she said.
“Eff you,” I said. “You and Tiny are an atomic smell bomb.”
She tightened her grip on my arm. “No problem,” she said.
I tied up Root to one of the long tables in the dining room. I told him to lie down and be quiet, he was lucky not to be outside, alone. “You better be here when I get back,” I sa
id as he flopped on the floor. The worn linoleum floor held the smells of everything we ate in there. I knew how the mop crew pushed around the food film.
When we got to the front of the line, a small thin woman plopped a spoonful of scrambled eggs on my plate.
“Toast?” she said.
“What?”
“Do you want toast, dear?” she said softly. She lived in the neighborhood and I’d seen her before, serving meals at the shelter. Maybe I’d do the same thing if I lived in a house here, and then I’d go home thinking about the people who drank until they caved over, the kids and drifters who passed through outside.
I was far away. “Uh, yes,” I said. No one had called me dear, not like that, for years, not since the child welfare lady showed up at my mom’s house. I grabbed a banana and sat down next to Ash, whose plate was piled with eggs. He always managed to get doubles and triples of everything.
After breakfast, Fleet went with Root out front so I took my time in the shower. A volunteer handed me a hygiene bag with mini bottles of donated shampoo, soap, and a toothbrush so small it would have suited Tiny. I squeezed all the shampoo into my hand and then slapped it on my hair. It smelled like cucumbers and lemon. The soap was strawberry shortcake. I wanted to stay in the shower forever, covered with fruit smells, and live in the warm spray, where nothing could get me. I watched the water drip off my arms until it turned cold. It’s what they did to get us out of there. Otherwise, who wouldn’t stay in there all day?
I stepped out, towel around my body, and looked in the steamed-up mirror and squeaked off a corner so I could get a look at what the rest of the world was seeing. The reflection wasn’t as bad as I expected. My hair was snarled up on the sides, but my skin was clear. I could see why people said I had a heart shaped face. Despite the bad sleep and the nerves that made me feel like I had the chills half the time, I still looked like me. I was pale, but I was always pale. I was still in there, somewhere.
“Nice daggers,” said a woman behind me, pointing at my toenails, which were clean but did look like weapons. She was covered by the same square of too-small towel. “You should do something about them. Ingrown toenails are the worst, and that’s what you’ll get and then you’ll end up at the General Hospital. I know what I’m talking about. If you don’t start out with an infection, you’ll get one there.”
Don’t pay any attention, I told myself. You never knew when someone might go off on you. I combed my fingers through my hair, brushed my teeth with the tiny toothbrush, rubbed my gums to get the blood circulating.
Ash was waiting outside the bathroom. Usually he’d make some comment about how clean I was, a new woman ready to get dirty. But instead he grabbed my arm and pulled me into a corner.
“That kid’s dad,” Ash said. “He’s here. The one in the park. They made an announcement while you were gone. He wants to know if any of us knew his kid.”
Ash pointed at a man, who stood with his back to the door. His shoulders rounded forward, a baseball cap in one hand. He wore perfectly creased jeans and a plaid wool button-down over a T-shirt that said shane in big letters. Underneath the lettering was a picture of the face I’d last seen lying in the dirt, except he looked tan and hopeful on the T-shirt. I could not take a normal breath.
“I don’t see how I have anything to tell him,” I said. “I didn’t know his kid.”
“Maybe he can help set you up,” said Ash. “He looks like he can afford it.”
I wanted to kick Ash as he pushed me toward the man, who looked serious and so unhappy I couldn’t turn away. What was I supposed to do?
“Dave Golden,” he said, and held out his hand. “Shane’s father. Your friend said you were there in the park with him. That day.”
I let him take my hand and he held onto it tightly. I tried to pull it back, but he wasn’t going to give up. Ash had talked to him, told him I was here? I wondered if he’d offered Ash anything for finding me. He was tall and fleshy. But his eyes were a blue so light they looked transparent. Did the kid in the park have eyes like that? I couldn’t remember.
“I wasn’t exactly with him,” I said. “But I did see him, at the end. Ash told you that?”
“Can we go someplace and talk?” he said. “My car is outside.”
I must have looked scared because he added, “Your friend can come with you. I just want to talk. Someplace outside the neighborhood, if you don’t mind. I’ll take you back here whenever you say.”
“I’d have to bring him,” I said pointing to Root, who was in the doorway with Fleet.
Dave looked at Root and I could tell he was thinking it over. Root pushed his front into a downward dog position, yawned and wagged his tail. I wanted to yell at him. He was supposed to be taking my side, looking out for me.
When we got outside, Dave stuck out his hand slowly, like he thought Root might bite it. “I don’t really know what to do with dogs,” he said. “But okay. He’s got a leash?”
I snapped it on like Dave was my dad, but I was burning inside. I was the one who should be worried. I didn’t know this guy. Someone had almost killed me for being in the wrong place, for happening to see his son, who I didn’t know. Dave guided us to his car, a blue sedan parked at a meter around the corner. I stood back when he opened the passenger door, but Ash jumped in. I climbed in back with Root because there was no way I was going to sit next to the guy and talk to him. Maybe he would stay quiet. I kept my fingers on the door handle while we drove down Haight Street and headed across town.
“I’m taking us to a coffee house in North Beach where Shane and I met the one time I was out here,” he said. “I hope that’s okay. Unless there’s somewhere else you’d rather go. I don’t know many places.”
“Yeah,” said Ash. “I haven’t been over to North Beach in a long time.”
I stayed silent in the back, one arm around Root, looking out the window as we threaded our way through traffic, then down a steep winding brick street. Someone had planted purple flowers in perfect rows along the road.
“Lombard Street,” said Ash. “Windiest street in the world.”
I kicked the back of his seat and he looked back at me. “What?” he said. “It isn’t the windiest?”
“I read that a film crew once sent someone riding down here on a piano,” said Dave. “I read a lot about your city. Or I did, when Shane first came here.”
He pulled part of the way into a parking space and Ash got out to direct him. Ash motioned him forward and back and then flashed a thumbs-up. Dave got out and opened my car door so there was nothing I could do but join them. I left my window open for Root and followed behind as they walked down the street and into a cafe that had a giant neon coffee cup in the window.
Dave went to the counter and came back with a sandwich held together by toothpicks. Ash picked it up and started wolfing. I sat with hands in my lap, looking down. Dave had a cup of coffee, black with no sugar, and watched Ash, like he’d never seen anyone eat that fast.
“So,” he said, putting his baseball cap on the table. When he leaned forward I could see the kid’s eyes on his shirt. What would he think, if he knew I was eating with his dad? He might have hated the guy. Something drove that kid out here from wherever he lived.
We stared awkwardly at each other, waiting to see who would speak first. “So,” Dave said again.
“You said your friend was with Shane right at the end.” His voice cracked. “Sorry. Sometimes when I say his name out loud . . .” He took a few breaths and then his shoulders shook.
“Maddy, tell him,” said Ash.
I gave Ash a mean look. This was easy for him. Free food. He didn’t have to go over it all in his head again, see the kid lying there, worry about some maniac coming after him.
“Anything you know would help me,” said Dave. “I am still, both my wife and I are, in shock. You can imagine.”
“I didn’t know him,” I said. “My dog ran into the bushes. I thought he’d found food. He smells something a mile aw
ay and takes off.”
I stopped myself. I knew he wasn’t there to hear about Root eating and getting into everyone else’s business. But what did he want me to do?
“A lot of you kids have dogs, don’t you?” said Dave. “But I don’t think Shane did. At least the police didn’t think so. He might have had a chance against the guy who attacked him if he’d had some protection from a dog.”
“Root is scared of most things, including other dogs,” I said. “But he looks like he is going to jump on your throat. I swear he makes himself look bigger when he needs to.”
I was doing it again, going on about Root. But if it hadn’t been for him I’d never have gone into those bushes. I was not looking for Shane. That is what I was trying to say.
“Did you see Shane before he, before it happened?” said Dave. “I’m not going to repeat anything to the police. I just need to know.”
“No.” I had nothing else to say. He rubbed his eyes again and started talking about how Shane had disappeared from home, a town I’d never heard of, all the way up north of New York. He had left before, to stay with friends or his older brother, but he’d always come back. In high school Shane got in trouble, but he wasn’t a bad kid. Not in his heart. He got sent to the principal’s office so many times they kept what they called the Shane Chair, so he could sit and wait there for his parents to pick him up. One time he’d been suspended for riding his skateboard down the front stairs, something that wouldn’t even have meant detention at my school.
“It was always something small. Or it seemed small,” said Dave. “But I ran a hardware store in town. I was head of the volunteer fire department. I brought Shane in there from the time he was born. They all knew him.”
I looked down and didn’t say anything. I should have ordered a sandwich, at least to take back for Root.
Dave said he used to think Shane was smarter than most other kids so maybe he was bored in school. Shane floated through, didn’t pay attention. By the time he was in middle school, he had a pack of scruffy friends and smoked a lot of pot. Dave couldn’t figure out why someone like Shane, with brains to spare, would waste his time with what looked to the outside world like kids headed for jail. They didn’t bring him up like that.
At the Edge of the Haight Page 5
