Sleeping in My Jeans

by Connie King Leonard

  I study the kids grouped around the computers. Maybe I could get the PowerPoint done here at the library and email it to my teacher. Could I use them to watch West Side Story for English? Do they let you stream films, or do I need a DVD?

  The girl in the gray hoodie glances up and catches me staring at them. She steps away from her friends, slips into the chair across from me, and leans her arms on the table. “You’re so obvious it’s pitiful.” Her brown eyes judge me from under heavy black eyeliner.

  My mouth drops open, but no words come out.

  “You’ve been sitting here forever, you plugged your phone in where the whole world can see, and you’re obviously babysitting.” The girl nods at Meg curled up asleep on the window seat, “Is she your sister?”

  “Y … yeah, she is,” I say.

  She rolls her eyes. “You might as well wear a sign around your neck flashing HOMELESS in hot-pink neon.”

  I glance at the main desk and then over to the smaller information booth. Did a librarian notice us? Are they stomping over here right now, ready to throw Meg and me onto the street?

  “Don’t worry.” The girl gives me a twisted grin. “They’re not on to you.” She hesitates, glancing over at the woman behind the information desk. “Not yet, anyway. But move every couple of hours or somebody will spot you.”

  “Will the librarians kick us out?” The thought of standing in the dark in front of the building shoots shivers down my spine.

  “They don’t care what happens to you. You’re a teenager.” She nods again at Meg. “But they’ll want to know what’s going on with your little sister.”

  “Would they call the police?” My stomach cramps. “Report us?”

  The girl shrugs her shoulders. “Like I said, they don’t care about you.” She tips her head to the side and twists up her mouth. “But you’re black and your little sister is white, so people will wonder what’s going on.”

  Heat rises up my neck and flushes my face. “That’s not fair.” My jaw clenches and my teeth grind together. “Meg’s my sister. What does it matter if my skin is browner than hers?”

  The girl leans closer. “I’m just saying it raises questions, but that’s enough, see?”

  Acid swirls in the pit of my gut. Could Mom lose custody of us for being homeless? Officer Rodriguez hinted as much this morning. Meg and I would end up in foster care, or at least Meg would. The peanut butter sandwich in my gut threatens to explode.

  “Thanks.” I manage a smile even though I can hardly breathe. “I’m Mattie, and my sister is Meg.”

  The girl doesn’t smile back, just studies me with sad eyes. “Ebony.”

  “Ebony?” My voice flips up at the end. “Is that your real name?”

  Ebony scowls. “Don’t ask dumb questions.”

  This girl looks younger than me, but she’s got street smarts that make me feel like an ignorant little kid.

  I ignore the pain in my stomach and look at the computers. “How do you get to use the computers?”

  Ebony points to the librarian at the information desk. “You show them your student ID and library card to set up an account.” She glances back at me. “And don’t worry. They don’t ask for an address.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “Thanks a lot.”

  She stands up and flicks me a hint of a smile. “Good luck.”

  Ebony wanders back to her friends at the computer. I look at the clock on the wall behind the information desk. Eight thirty. A half hour before Mom picks us up. I gather my homework, stuff it in my backpack, and wake up Meg. We go to the bathroom, get a drink, and wander through the library. I hunt for spots Meg and I can hang out and not be noticed, just in case we’re homeless for another night.

  Mom hurries into the library at five minutes to nine. She drives us through a couple of neighborhoods, looking for a spot where we’ll be safe, but not obvious. The houses are smaller, more run-down, and much less expensive than the neighborhood where we spent our first three nights. Residential areas feel safer than busy streets, but we have no way of knowing if that's true.

  The night is dark, cold, and drizzly. My shoulders droop, and my eyes threaten to close from exhaustion. Mom is tired too. I can tell by the way she hunches over the wheel, like she doesn’t have enough energy to hold herself upright.

  The neighborhood dwindles to nothing, and we end up in an industrial zone with storage units and businesses of all sorts. The area is quiet and deserted, but is it safe? Are we better off away from other people, or are we more vulnerable?

  Mom pulls off the road next to a clump of trees. She kills the motor, and we sit in the dark, listening to the quiet. The trees give me a feeling of privacy and maybe even safety.

  Meg whispers in the dark. “Can we make our bed now? Please?”

  Mom and I get out of Ruby and open up her rear door. I help Meg flip down the seat while Mom shoves plastic garbage bags aside. Meg kneels in the back and spreads out the quilts.

  A car comes around the corner and drives right up behind us, flooding Ruby with light. Mom slams the back down and yells, “Get in the car, Mattie!”

  We jump into Ruby and shut her doors. Mom hits the lock button, and the three of us swivel around, trying to see into the light. I expect the headlights to flick off, but they don’t. A door slams and the dark shape of a person, outlined by the glare of white light, stalks up to Ruby’s side.

  “Get out!” The man pounds both fists on Ruby’s roof. “My spot. This is my spot.”

  A gaunt face leans close and stares into the window by Mom’s head. Mom and I gasp, too afraid to scream. The guy’s eyes are big and wild, his cheeks sunken. The glare of the headlights turns his skin a sickly shade of blue. Raggedy clothes hang on his thin frame, making him look ancient, like a ghost out of a horror movie.

  “Move!” he says. Some of his teeth are gone. Others are black and broken. “Move. Now. Move.”

  Meg whimpers and scoots across Ruby, getting as far away from the man as she can. Mom grabs her backpack and fumbles through it, looking for her keys. She finds them and jams the key in the ignition. Ruby spits and sputters but finally starts up. We drive to one of the neighborhoods we passed and park along the street.

  My body trembles. The guy looked and acted like he was crazy, but he didn’t hurt us. Was he harmless and just angry because we’d taken his place? Do street people stake out territory like a land claim? This is my bench, my corner to panhandle, my campsite under the bridge.

  I understand his need for a space to call his own. If Mom finds us a safe spot to park, I want to go there every night. There will be a comfort to that, like walking in the door of our apartment. I can relax and go to sleep, knowing I’ll wake up to a new day and a new chance to make life better.

  We finish making our beds in silence, too frightened to talk. I crawl under the quilts and hold Meg until she finally drifts off to sleep. Only then do I give in to tears, letting them leak out the corners of my eyes and soak silently into my pillow.

  Chapter Ten

  Click.

  My eyes fly open.

  Click.

  My every sense leaps into high alert.

  Click. Click. Click.

  I sit up slowly, my eyes flicking from window to window to window. I expect to see some low-life scumbag peering at me, tapping on the glass, grinning all wild and wicked. Nobody is there. I twist around and there’s Mom, crouched in the driver’s seat with one hand on the ignition and the other gripping the top of the steering wheel. Her ragged breaths make cloudy little puffs in the cold, damp air.

  “Mom?” I whisper. The fuzzy gray of a new day presses tight against Ruby’s windows. I scoot up and lean over the front seat. “Are you okay, Mom?”

  “Yeah, sweetie.” Her words are chopped off, like she has to think about each one before she says it.

  “What’s wrong?”r />
  She takes her time. “Ruby won’t start, baby.”

  Ruby? Dead? Reality hits me with a thud right in the middle of my chest, crushing me with worry until the very tips of my toes and fingers turn numb and useless. Repairing Ruby costs money, too much money to spare, and what if she can’t be fixed? What do we do then?

  I shove those fears and worries aside only to have others rush in and take their place. School. Can we walk? Meg will be worn out before we get halfway there. And what about Mom’s job? Her classes? Questions spin out of control. I force myself to keep my mind blank, to stop thinking, to concentrate on the little rivers of water sliding down the inside of Ruby’s windows.

  Mom unlocks Ruby’s door, pulls her thin jacket tighter, and steps into the street. She raises the hood of the car. I scramble over the front seat and follow her. Together we peer at the greasy mass of the engine. Cables and hoses snake their way over masses of steel. Nothing in the jumble of parts looks broken, but then none of it makes any sense to me anyway. Riding in cars for sixteen years doesn’t give me the tiniest hint of how they work.

  “I think it’s the battery.” Mom wiggles the connections to a dirty black block. “At least I hope that’s it.” She slides back into the front seat and tries the ignition. Nothing. By now, Meg is awake and asking Mom the same questions I did.

  Mom comes back with the kitchen knife we use to spread peanut butter and a pair of pliers from the glove box. She struggles with the pliers and finally pulls off the connections to the battery. Mom scrapes crud off each part with the knife. She puts everything back together, slips into the car, and turns the ignition. Nothing.

  Mom and I take turns scraping harder and deeper. Brown flakes drift over the black top of the battery. Mom turns the ignition again and gets nothing but the same dead click.

  Meg’s voice drifts across the damp, gray air. “I have to go potty, Mommy.” She sounds so little and sad. Like being six years old and having to pee is a crime.

  I glance around the neighborhood. The houses are small and poor—a totally different community than where we parked the last three nights. Some lawns are trimmed and others are scraggly and long. Any clumps of bushes are set back from the sidewalk and too exposed for a little girl to squat behind.

  Panic sets in. Mom grabs her backpack, pulls out her college books, and tosses them on the car seat. I find Meg’s shoes and bundle her into her sweatshirt. Mom locks Ruby. She slings her pack over her shoulder but hesitates, glancing up and down the street like she’s not sure which way to go. She picks a direction, and we start walking.

  Meg clutches Mom’s hand and hurries along beside her. “Where are we going, Mommy?”

  “To find you a bathroom, baby.”

  Meg won’t last long. I know that by the way she’s dancing next to Mom. A car passes. Two dogs bark from behind a chain link fence. A young woman in a baggy sweatshirt, pajama bottoms, and slippers wheels a garbage bin out of her garage. She parks it by the curb and turns back to her house. I want to ask if we could use her bathroom, but she doesn’t look at us. Besides, most people won’t let strangers in their house, even in an emergency.

  Meg makes it five blocks before she breaks into tears. “I can’t wait, Mommy! I can’t wait!”

  Mom spins around, looking for anything that will hide a little girl’s bottom. She picks the biggest clump of weeds she can find, and hurries Meg over to it. She’s too late. Before Meg even gets her pants unzipped, pee pours down her legs, soaking her panties, jeans, socks, and shoes. Meg throws her hands over her face and breaks into long, gasping sobs.

  “But I’m a big girl, Mommy,” she wails. “I’m a really big girl.”

  Mom kneels in the pee-soaked grass and wraps her arms around Meg. I rub my hand over Meg’s hair, aching for her. She lays against Mom’s body and cries and cries. Her sobs fill the street and float across the lawns and houses. Her cries finally slow, turning into choking gasps.

  Mom struggles to her feet and picks Meg up. My wet, stinky little sister wraps her arms around Mom’s neck and her legs around Mom’s middle. Mom carries her out of the yard and down the sidewalk. She sets her mouth in a straight line and holds her head high. Pee soaks into her clothes, but none of that worries her.

  Mom messed up her life. I’ve got issues with that. Like how her choices made life so hard for Meg and me. How we struggle just to put clothes on our backs and food in our mouths. But even with all that baggage, I love Mom so much my chest hurts.

  We walk for a long time before we get to a main road and spot a string of businesses. I figure we’re home free, but there isn’t a gas station in sight. In the distance, we see the big yellow arches of McDonald’s. It’s a long, cold walk, but we finally get there. We head straight for the bathrooms, use the toilets, and clean up as best we can.

  Mom herds us out of the restroom. I’m expecting to sneak out the side door without buying anything, but she steers us toward the front. A couple of guys stand in line by the counter. Mom stops, gives Meg a hug, and presses a kiss on the top of her head. “Let’s get breakfast, sweetie.”

  Meg looks up at Mom with big, pleading eyes. “Can’t we go back to Ruby?” She glances at the two guys by the counter. “Please, Mommy?”

  Mom gives Meg’s shoulders a squeeze. “You’ll feel better with some hot food.”

  I whisper in Meg’s ear. “No one can tell your jeans are wet.” I give her a goofy grin, but Meg doesn’t smile back.

  We order our food. Hunger gnaws at my stomach, but I think of the money it’s costing and don’t order as much as I want. We sit in a booth by the window and unwrap our breakfast. I bite into my Egg McMuffin, with its soft melted cheese, real meat and eggs, and warm English muffin, and know for a fact I will never forget the taste no matter how old and snobbish I get. It is the best food I have ever eaten, and I don’t mean the best McDonald’s—I mean the best food ever.

  The last bite of my Egg McMuffin sits in my mouth until every bit of flavor is gone. I finally swallow, knowing I could wolf down two more, drink a giant glass of orange juice, and still be hungry.

  I roll up my wrapper, set it on the tray, and glance at the clock on my phone. School has started. Did Jack wait by my locker? Is he sitting in class now, wondering where I am and why I didn’t show up? Or am I dreaming? Hoping for this perfect romance that I built up in my head like Meg imagines our sweet little room with all our very own things?

  Meg sees me staring at my phone and turns to Mom, her eyes round and full of worry. “Did we miss school? Did it start without me?”

  My sadness deepens until it swells up in my chest and forces the air right out of my lungs. I can keep functioning as long as I don’t think about anything but the very moment we’re living. The minute I look at Meg’s stricken face or worry about missing classes, assignments, and all the stuff teachers toss out that you don’t pick up if you’re not there, my anxiety level cranks up so high I can hardly sit still.

  Mom runs her hand over Meg’s head, smoothing her long, straight hair. “You’ll miss part of it, honey.”

  Why am I sitting here? I could catch a bus and get to school before I miss any more. I could keep up with my work and meet Jack for lunch. I could even take Meg with me, drop her off, and race to the high school. Mom can deal with the car battery and whatever’s wrong with Ruby. She doesn’t need me. I ache to go. I itch to take off at a dead run. But I take one look at the bruises on Mom’s face, the sorrow in her eyes, and know I can’t leave her.

  We walk to Walmart and head for the automotive section. Mom and I lift a new car battery into the shopping cart. I’m ready to pay for it and start the long trek back, but Mom veers off to the children’s department. I don’t get what she’s doing and am too nervous about school to care.

  “You’ll have to walk to the car, Meg,” Mom says. “Mattie and I can’t carry you because we’ll have the battery.” Mom stops in front of
a table full of little girls’ jeans. “I’ll get you some dry clothes so you won’t get cold.”

  The jeans are on sale, but the underwear and socks come in packages of three, so Mom has to buy more than Meg needs. The money adds up.

  At the last minute, Mom swings by the cosmetics department and walks the aisle until she finds a hairbrush just like my old one. It’s a gift, a present I should feel grateful for. Instead, I see dollar signs going up and up and up and our apartment sliding quietly away. In the Walmart bathroom, Mom helps Meg clean up while I brush my hair for the first time in days.

  Meg’s cheeks glisten with tears. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

  “It’s not your fault, baby.” Mom pulls a comb out of her backpack and runs it through Meg’s hair. “If we had a house, none of this would have happened.”

  The walk back is long and slow. Gray clouds cover the sky. A breeze kicks up brown leaves, but luckily, there is no rain. Meg walks behind in her new clothes while Mom and I carry the double plastic bag with the battery.

  “I can get a job, Mom.” I struggle down the street, trying hard to walk without banging into the battery between us. The rhythm of our strides has to be precise, or the bag bumps against our legs and makes us stumble. “I could babysit some kid after school at the kid’s house and bring Meg along. She’d have fun, and we’d have extra money to put toward an apartment.”

  Our arms ache and our backs bend at a painful angle, but if we stand up straight, Mom and I are too close and the battery bangs into our shins.

  “No, Mattie.” Mom shakes her head. “Taking care of Meg is a big enough help.”

  “I’m sixteen, Mom. It’s time I help with money.”

  Mom sighs. “When we get settled, we can talk about it.”

  The plastic bags give out and the battery lands with a thud on the sidewalk. The rest of the way back to the car, Mom and I take turns cradling the heavy black block in front of us. The closer we get, the shorter the turns, until we are staggering no more than a block or two before we have to turn it over.