At the Edge of the Haight

by Katherine Seligman

  “They don’t know shit,” said Ash. “And even if they did, why would they talk about it?” He walked off and sat on a far corner near the street while I talked to two girls who were throwing breadcrumbs into the lake. They said they worked at a used clothing store on the street and it was their personal goal to revive the fish. Neither one had ever seen Shane, but they said good luck. I told them good luck with the fish, which were probably already extinct. Then I went after every other person on the lawn. No one could remember seeing Shane.

  That night I couldn’t sleep, partly because I kept thinking about whether Ash was right, and also I itched so badly I wanted to rip open my skin and scratch underneath. Ash was next to me, completely out. I turned over and back again. My thighs started to tingle.

  The next day I told Ash he didn’t have to help me. I could do fine on my own. He trailed after me toward the shelter, not saying much. After breakfast, I went into the free clinic around the corner. I had been there once before, when I stepped on a thorn and it swelled so much I couldn’t walk. I went to the window and signed my name on a waiting list. The lady at the desk said the doctor was running late so it would be a while unless I had an emergency. There were only a few other people in the room, but I wasn’t going to tell her what was going on. She handed me a bottle of water and asked if I wanted to sign a petition.

  “We’ll have to close unless we get more support,” she said. “It’s not like it was fifty years ago. We get fewer people, but some of them need serious help.”

  I added my name, no address, and she smiled and said to let her know if I wanted a muffin. I sat down and looked at the faces that floated on a mural across the room. Pleading eyes, a hand holding a peace sign, a naked lady with her hair flowing out around her.

  When it was my turn, the doctor, in jeans and a white coat, came out and invited me into the exam room. He reached over to shake my hand and asked me why I was there. I had a hard time saying it out loud, even though he must have seen it all before, every drug and disease a person could get. Nothing was going to surprise him. I told him in a matter of fact voice that I was going to die from some itch inside me.

  “We won’t let that happen,” he said, writing in his record book, and I wondered if that’s what he wrote: “girl says she is dying of an itch.”

  He handed me a paper blanket and called a lady nurse to come stand next to me while he looked around my crotch.

  “I think I know what’s going on, but I’ll take a scraping here,” he said, and rubbed something way up along my inner thigh, where I’d scratched until it bled. Then he went to a steel cupboard and pulled out a tube of lotion.

  “Pubic lice,” he said. I tried to find somewhere else to look besides his face. A small window faced the street where a kid was sitting, his dog’s leash tied around his leg while he rearranged contents of a big duffle bag. “Crabs,” said the doctor. “But the good news is that it’s easily cured. Just make sure you tell your partners because they will need to be treated as well or we will have a circular situation.”

  I must have looked like I didn’t understand. “Infection, treatment, and re-infection,” he said. The nurse stood there, no expression.

  I thought about the crabs I used to dig up at the beach, how they swam up in holes I hollowed out of the sand. Now there were millions of them, shrunk down in size, creeping on me. I left with a page of instructions, a bottle of vitamins for women, and a handful of purple condoms.

  Ash popped two of the vitamins to see what happened. Maybe he’d wake up and be a woman. I blamed him for the infection, but he said he didn’t itch and that I must have picked them up somewhere else. Whatever, I said, and took back the vitamins. I said I wasn’t going to get with him again until he went in for his own lotion, even though I held tight to him that night. He turned away and let me hug him from behind, probably worried the bugs were going to crawl over on him.

  The next day I went to the bookstore to look at one of their big maps of Golden Gate Park. The owner watched while I unfolded and studied it, then tried to put it back the right way.

  “Just take it,” he said. I told him I’d bring it back.

  “No one borrows a map,” he said.

  Outside the store, I marked the park into sections, twenty even squares. It would take almost a month if I did one every day. But if I was going to find anyone who knew Shane I’d have to go everywhere. It was the same as one of my mom’s chore lists. They’d kept us going, even though most of the chores were pointless.

  I studied the names and places I had never been. The Rhododendron Dell, Stow Lake, Speedway Meadow. There was a boathouse, a rose garden, waterfalls and lakes, but no one had marked where we stayed. The park was so big you couldn’t know everything that happened there. Ash and I once went all the way to the ocean, which was colder and rougher than it was in Los Angeles. The waves riffled out in front of us, frosted with white foam. We acted like we were going to jump in but we only took off our shoes and waded up to our knees. Hardly anyone swam there because there were signs, WARNING, with a stick figure person being swallowed by a wall of water.

  I knew the Children’s Playground because it was down the back corner from 40 Hill. At night, the horses on the carousel stood quiet, their prancing feet in the air. No one was in the sandboxes or swings, arranged in a line with seats for babies, then bigger and bigger kids, so you could move them down the line as they grew. When the park was closed, we would climb up the big spiderweb made of wood and rope and jump off. If you were whacked out enough it was easy to think there was a spider with killer poison waiting on top.

  By the second or third day with the map I had a regular plan. I ate breakfast at the shelter and then went off with Root, the map, a notebook I’d taken from the crafts store, and my poster of Shane. It was torn and curled at the edges, but you could still see him smiling, looking straight into the camera. The picture was black-and-white so it didn’t show the transparent blue color of his eyes. But anyone who had seen him would know that.

  The first section was at a fenced-in lawn behind the playground. The rest of the park was full of wild gardens, flowers, trees, and creeping weeds, but that lawn looked like it was clipped every day. Six old men in white pants and hats stood at either end tossing a small black ball back and forth. I walked up to one of them and held the poster out in front of me.

  “Interference on the green!” said one of the men, way in back. He was the tallest, a long white straw, and his pants were neatly creased. A broad canvas hat shaded his brown wrinkled skin.

  “I’m not trying to interfere,” I said. “I just wanted to ask a question.”

  “No dogs on the green,” said the tall man and of course Root lifted his leg and peed. “No dogs!” The guy was yelling.

  The nearest one waved me closer. He told the tall man to hang on a minute, see what the girl wants. I thanked him and showed him Shane’s picture. He put his hand in his pocket like he was going to give us a handout and you couldn’t blame him; he was probably thinking that if he gave us money, we’d go away. Root growled.

  “I just want to know if you’ve ever seen this kid,” I said.

  The man took off his dark glasses and slipped on another pair so he could take a closer look. He examined it so long that I thought he recognized Shane.

  “I’ve never seen the fellow,” said the man. I explained how Shane had been killed close by and so I wanted to know if there was anyone who saw him around there. He shook his head and said he didn’t know what happened in the park at night. It’s why they bowled in the middle of the day although he didn’t know if it was safe then either.

  That night Ash said I should have shaken the guy for money. It was a waste of time if I came away with no information and no cash. What was that going to get me? I told him he could stay on the street with a sign if he wanted money. He said he could go live with his mother if I wanted to freak out on him all the time. She was on him and then I was on him. It was one thing he couldn’t stand, he sa
id.

  “Shane is Dave’s trip,” he said, lying next to me between our sleeping bags. “This is eating up your brain.”

  “Whatever Shane was messed up with, it didn’t mean he should end up dead,” I said. I kicked him in the side of his knee to make the point.

  “You’re lucky I don’t get up and leave your ass right now,” he said. He sat up and crossed his legs.

  I wanted to tell him that I didn’t give up on things, unlike some people. But I didn’t say anything. I was white-hot mad inside, the anger building up even though my face was stuck in a distant stare. I learned that back at Karen and Chip’s house, when I let loose. Chip thought the best way to make me learn self-control was to wash my mouth out with Irish Spring soap, which had a burning stink more than a taste. The smell of it on someone still made me gag. I would try to throw up during the scrubbing to make him feel bad. Karen just shut me in the bedroom. She put a lock on the outside of the door so I couldn’t get out until she said it was time. I usually turned the dresser upside down and scratched into it with a pen. I thought about what I would do to Karen later. Put nail polish in her coffee and bleach in her shampoo. When she unlocked the door, though, I was usually worn out from all the planning so I let it be. I’d act like everything was the same.

  I’d never seen Ash go off on any of us before, but he got up and started yelling that everything I was doing was bullshit and I was going to keep obsessing on bullshit until the end of time. He grabbed a wad of my clothes tucked in the tree overhead and threw them on the ground. Then he stuffed his own clothes into his backpack and walked off. Root climbed into my lap.

  I looked over at Fleet and Hope, hard in sleep. Ash had taken his clock and it was only a few hours before the police would come by to rouse us. I would not be going back to sleep. I pulled out my notebook, but realized I’d need a light to look at the map of where I was going to search for Shane the next day. I thought how Ash would be sorry if I got knifed after he left, but that only made me feel shaky.

  I covered myself and Root with the sleeping bags. Instead of writing a list I called up a movie in my head, the way I did when I was at Karen and Chip’s. I could tune in, like I was watching a channel on TV. I chose a time my mom and I went to the beach. She had brought home two little flowered bags, each with a bathing suit inside because the store near Safeway had a two-for-one special.

  “I had to buy these,” she’d said. “Even though yours is a bit loud.”

  Hers was a light pink bikini outlined in hot pink, which looked good, for a mom. It tied behind her neck and had little crossed bands on her hips. When she turned around it looked as if her butt was hanging inside a hammock. Mine was one piece, bright pink with little black anchors. My mom smeared on scarlet lipstick and we headed out to the beach in Santa Monica. We sat on a towel and my mom unhooked the top of her bikini so she wouldn’t get tan lines. People looked at her when they walked by, but she didn’t care. She told me how the women in other countries walked around topless and no one cared. I should have asked her how she knew that, but of course I didn’t think of that. It bothered me now, and it interrupted my memory watching. Even though it was cold in the park, I was getting hot under the sleeping bags, partly from the heat that Root was giving off next to me, along with his dog smell.

  I forced myself back to the beach, where my mom was propped up on her elbows, watching me play in the water. Little birds scrambled down to the water next to me and took off before it could wash over their feet. I pretended I was one of them, running down to the edge of the ripples and then flapping my arms and running away. When I got back to my towel, my mom told me that she used to play sandpiper too when she was my age. We had a picnic of hotdogs and French fries that day. Usually she brought home packages of almost-expired fruit, peanut butter, and wheat bread from the Safeway. She said no daughter of hers was going to eat the junk she saw coming down the aisles at work.

  I parceled out the memory, trying to make it last, at least until it was light enough to get up. My mind took turns, went down small alleys. How could my mother have been related to Karen and Chip, the most practical people in the world? They never thought about where food came from, or at least they never mentioned it. Dinner showed up on the table every night at the same time. Monday was spaghetti and meat sauce, Tuesday chicken legs, and on down the week. I could tell what day it was by what they served. Karen marked the cookie package so we didn’t steal any between meals. If cookies went missing, no one got any that day. After dinner, we each got two and no more, unless it was a birthday. Then we got seconds.

  It was full-on morning when I threw off the top sleeping bag to gulp some cool air. Sweat was running down my face. I could feel it trickle past the small of my back into my pants. Root was lying on the dirt by my feet, head on his paws, watching me.

  “Why did you let me sleep so long?” I said, putting my hand on his head. Fleet and Hope were gone and the cops, for some reason, hadn’t bugged us.

  Even my spare clothes were damp, lying on the ground where Ash had tossed them. I walked to the shelter, T-shirt stuck to my back, pants feeling like I’d taken a leak in them. I went straight in, even though breakfast was almost finished, and picked through the free box for a dry shirt and pants. Fleet took a look at me and gave me her place in line for a shower. I turned my face to the water, letting it rinse off the sweat.

  At the breakfast table Fleet had saved me a plate of runny eggs, with a handful of Cheerios on the side. Grease from the eggs oozed toward the small discs of cereal. I ate half and took the rest outside for Root, who slurped it and then started eating the paper plate. He growled when I wrestled it out of his mouth. I gave him a look that said he was never getting anything more out of me. “Maybe tomorrow you won’t get breakfast,” I said.

  I left, without looking for Ash. I thought about sleeping alone at night in the circle of trees without him and my throat closed up and my head pounded. Forget him, I told myself, which made my head throb more. It was clear but cold and the pavement was still wet even though it hadn’t rained in a few days. I pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt and zipped my jacket. The chill seemed to give Root more energy. He pulled on the leash, nose to the ground, tail in the air, taking in the scent of whatever had gone before us.

  The Rhododendron Dell was across a street from 40 Hill and past a patch of hillside covered with bushes and spiky weeds. Inside the dell each plant looked like it had a fresh haircut, stems and branches chopped in a neat line. There wasn’t much to see, no flowers or visitors. But it was a spot on the map and I had to walk it end to end, to mark it off even if I didn’t find anyone to look at Shane’s picture. It was the schedule and I had to keep to it. At the end of the last row I drew my marker in a satisfying streak through the dell.

  Root pulled me back across the street, but once he was on the other side he turned the opposite way, lunging forward and stopping next to three people snugged up against a stubby tree near the lake. He sniffed at a pile of wrappers and empty weed bags. Two guys nodded a what’s up and the girl stayed bent over a red and blue thread bracelet, weaving and tying little knots. She had a mound of others that she’d finished and set on a dirty square of fabric next to her. Artsy girls could be the worst, spaced out and hopeful, thinking they had something all superior to the rest of us with only our handmade signs.

  “You want to make some?” she said, not looking up. She was a swirl of color, red and green felt hat, sun-yellow sweater, a skirt with all of them melted together. I didn’t answer because I was not going to weave bracelets.

  “What happened to your man?” she said.

  How did she know anything about Ash? “What a pig douche,” Hope had said, when I told her that he’d walked off because I was talking to people about Shane. Now this girl was trying to figure how she could work me. She probably had seen me before, even if I didn’t recognize her. Root was not looking fierce right then. He pushed his nose into the top of her backpack so he could get a full idea of what was
inside. She could be crazy or just crazy high. I held him back and she laughed.

  “Kid on his way to school gave me his lunch,” she said. “He wanted a bracelet for his girlfriend but he didn’t have money so he dropped a smelly tuna sandwich in there that his mother probably made him. I love private school kids. They are so guilty and you kind of have to go with it.”

  She took the sandwich out of her pack, unwrapped it, and threw it on the grass for Root. I started breathing again and remembered why we were there. I took out the poster of Shane, sat down next to her and asked her if she’d ever seen him. That started her off. She’d been here last spring, but things had changed since then. Now the cops were all over. She had two warrants from up in Eureka, but why would anyone check on them? They were only for disturbing the peace. Who goes to jail for that? What kind of a place would send you to jail for making art all day and singing all night anyway? Were the cops here like that now? I told her she’d get roused at a shithole hour if she stayed in the park. I asked her to look at the poster. She put down the bracelet and reached for it.

  “Merlin,” she said, turning to one of the guys next to her. “You seen this dude?”

  “This is the first time I’ve been here,” he said, looking at me.

  Merlin reached in the backpack, took out another sandwich and threw it to Root, who ate it quickly.

  “Asshole, that was your lunch,” said the girl, but she laughed. Root walked over to Merlin and sat next to him.

  “So have you ever seen this guy?” I said, pointing to the poster.

  “He got attacked near here?” the girl said. “I think I saw that poster on the street. What I heard was that it was over some girl. It always is, right?”

  “What?” I said. How could it be over some girl? Jeremiah was old. Shane was a kid. No way would they be hooking up with the same girl.