A Fistful of God (17 page)

Walking warmed me, too much. Sweat soaked my sweater and when I moved, the cloth under my armpits chafed. I kept walking. I passed the high school and more houses. And the street fair, empty now, and eerie. I reached up and clutched my cross. Where had the silver lady gone? The same place Miguel and his mother had? But she wasn’t running away from her monsters, was she? Heck, she even thought I was good. I wasn’t good. I was selfish and stupid and stubborn, and I would not go back home.

Don’t think about Mom.

I imagined Miguel’s delight when I found him, how he’d fold me in his arms and kiss me before he’d take me to see his mother. Mrs. Rosas would cry, but she wouldn’t ask any questions. Instead, she’d give me clean clothes and let me take a long bath and then I’d share their Thanksgiving dinner. We’d all drink ginger ale, and after that Miguel would hold me, and nothing would hurt either of us ever again.

Streetlights tricked me into seeing sidewalk cracks that weren’t really there, and I stumbled over nothing. The sun had given barely any warmth, but once it went down I started to shake. I needed to find a place to rest. Not stop. I wouldn’t stop until I found Miguel.

Beyond the race track. Beyond the hospital. Was Mom there right now? I looked up at the windows and imagined her holding her hands out for the doctor to stitch.

No!
Don’t think about Mom.

I saw the mall and decided I’d rest there, then angle north for a while and get past the freeway. Pasadena was only a few miles farther.

Even though the mall was closed, cars were scattered in the parking lot. Why? I shook harder and realized I needed to walk farther to find a safe place. I didn’t want to go home, but I didn’t want to end up raped or murdered, either. I wanted to end up with Miguel and my everlasting happy ending.

That made me smile for half a block at least, and then I realized I could barely put down my left foot. I must have walked a blister into my heel. I had to stop, but not in the open.

Across the street I saw the huge swath of the Arboretum, a haven. Mom used to take me there on Tuesdays, when admission was free, and let me throw corn to the peacocks.

Don’t think of Mom.

I stumbled across the empty parking lot and under the trees to the main gate. Just before the gate, a path snaked to the gift shop, taking a dip and a turn. No one could see it, and I’d be sheltered. All I knew was that I couldn’t go any farther that night.

Without the heat of walking I shook harder than ever. I opened my backpack and took out every piece of clothing I could add to what I was already wearing, but it was like adding cheesecloth. Nothing helped. I’d have to get up soon. I’d have to walk to keep warm. My feet hurt, but I was afraid to take my shoes off to see the damage. My muscles twitched and stung. When I tried to shift to a more comfortable position I could barely move. I was such a wimp. A little bit of walking, a little bit of cold, and I was ready to surrender.

My stomach rumbled. I dug the crackers out of my backpack and swallowed almost without chewing. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I drank the water in one long gulp and the mental picture of me, my head back as I drained the last drops, reminded me of Mom and her bottle.

Don’t think about Mom.

I felt better. The food warmed me just enough to think I could make it through the night without freezing to death. I’d find Miguel in the morning.

I curled up and tried to get my coat and the extra sweater to cover my legs and head at the same time. The concrete under me shot needles of cold through me. I wrapped myself around my backpack, trying to keep as much of myself as possible off the ground. I needed Miguel. I needed his warmth.

I played my imaginary movie in my mind again, paused on the look in Miguel’s eyes when he saw me, savored the way he’d treasure me and take care of me. I needed someone to take care of me, and I didn’t have anybody. I couldn’t count on anybody but Miguel, and he didn’t know I needed him yet.

Yes, he did. But he knew his mother needed him more.

The aftertaste of fake cheese filled my mouth, and I wondered what Mom had eaten. Probably nothing. She’d started a binge and that meant no food, just the booze, until she passed out. Her Thanksgiving feast had been a bottle.

No. Don’t think about Mom.

Half asleep, I jerked. Wine. I smelled wine. I sat up but only the scents from the few night plants still growing there surrounded me. It had been a dream. That was all, a nightmare starring Mom’s favorite thing in the world.

Don’t think about Mom.

I wrapped my fingers around my cross, my mouth trembling as I accused God. “Why did You let her start drinking again? Everything was going so good, and I prayed. You know I prayed. You must have heard me! You’re just like everyone else. You make promises and then You let people down.”

He didn’t give me any more answers than usual, and I figured I might as well stop asking.

When I woke I had to pee so badly I nearly cried, and I ended up squatting in a bush and wetting my jeans. After I struggled out of them and into the dry ones, I stuffed the nasty ones behind a bush. If someone found them—well, they’d never know they were mine, would they? They’d probably imagine a couple of kids out screwing around, doing stupid stuff and leaving the evidence behind. As I stood up, daylight showed my hiding place hadn’t been as protected as I’d imagined. It didn’t matter. I was safe, and I wouldn’t be there the next nightfall.

I headed north under the freeway, along the main street lined with houses and hedges. It took me hours to find a restaurant cheap enough to suit me. I bought a breakfast burrito because it reminded me of Miguel. I sat at a small table and held my backpack under it. Hunkered down, so no one could see, I counted my money.

Enough for two crosses for Mom. Forget her. It would feed me for a week at least, long enough to find Miguel. After that, I wouldn’t need money. I’d be in paradise.

After a visit to the restaurant’s real, bush-less bathroom, I marched out to the street. Now I could find Miguel. I had all day, didn’t I?

I stood on the sidewalk, tears pouring down my face, fogging my glasses. In the daylight, in this real, huge town, I knew I’d never find Miguel, even if I was right and he was there. He and his mother wanted to hide; they wouldn’t wait out in the open for me. But I needed him. Who would hold me? Who would tell me it wasn’t my fault?

I’d come this far, and I had no choice but to go on. I’d wander around Pasadena for a few days. Maybe I’d see Miguel anyway. Maybe he’d see me. Maybe he’d be looking out the window as I passed by, and he’d run out and grab me in one of his crushing hugs. Then he’d take me inside to his mother, to where we would all be safe.

I went to the fast food places with the cheapest food, just for the chance to sit in their warmth and use their bathrooms. Each time it took longer for the needles to prickle out of my feet, and longer still to make myself get up again. I must have formed a thousand blisters and burst them all, but I wouldn’t take off my shoes to look.

When I stopped for dinner, a small boy edged up to me, offering me a smile. Just as I grinned at him, his mother jerked him out of my view. I gaped at her. I’m a babysitter,
I wanted to say, and a good one! Andy and Lucas love me, and they know I’d never hurt them. I would never hurt any kid.

Who’d believe me? I needed a shower and a comb, or at least a washcloth for my face.

I needed Miguel.

If he was hiding, where would he go? Not any place his father might drive by and catch sight of him. He’d be tucked away in some deep corner, someplace along with a thousand other kids who needed to hide from their monsters.

Yeah, I needed to find him because I had a monster, too.

I forced myself outside and got myself thoroughly lost. If I stayed on the same street, I was bound to run into some place familiar, and figure out where I was, wasn’t I? Just because I didn’t want to be found didn’t mean I wanted to be lost.

Wait. That was Miguel and his mom who wanted to hide, not me. Right? I couldn’t remember anymore.

Was anyone looking for me? Not Mom. She wouldn’t notice I’d gone. If she did, she’d be glad. Elaine? If she’d taken Mom to the hospital, she might notice I still wasn’t home when they got back, but she’d probably decide I was sulking somewhere and not worry about it. She’d just plan how she’d chew me out for deserting Mom when she needed me.

Don’t think about deserting Mom. Don’t think about Mom at all
.

The sun set by the time I came to a busy street lined with the hulking skeletons of bleachers. I stared, mystified, until I spotted an ad for Rose Parade seating. I must have found Colorado Boulevard. The city erected bleachers long before New Year’s Day. Across the street, behind another bleacher, I saw the city college. Security lights spotted the buildings, and I knew where I’d spend the night.

I scouted the wide-open quad and decided against its unprotected state. Raindrops pelted my face. The campus must have plenty of hidden places where I could stay dry. I slipped my backpack from my aching shoulders and wriggled them. Maybe I had blisters there, too, to match the ones on my feet.

Only the thought of Miguel, or no thoughts at all, had carried me this far. How long could I go on looking for him? Until I ran out of money? Until the blisters got infected and I couldn’t stand? Until I couldn’t hope, couldn’t lie to myself, couldn’t seduce myself with dreams that I knew would never come true?

By the time I reached a ramp that twisted and curled on itself, providing another concrete cave, I was sobbing. Across a short corridor I saw the doors to an auto shop, and the scent of grease and tires filled the damp air. Under the ramp redolent of cat pee and garbage, I found a hollowed out cave. I wondered if some other runaway had hidden there, and what had happened to her. I wondered what would happen to me. I curled around my backpack, crying from pain inside and out and wondered if I’d give up the next day.

I don’t know how long I’d slept when something slammed me awake. I screamed and something rolled on top of me, pinning me with the smell of booze and unwashed body. I gagged and tried to push it off.

“What you doing here?” the monster asked.

His voice, heavy and slurred, spurred me. I pushed him away and made it to the bottom of the ramp before he caught me.

“You’re just a kid.” He fell against the rail, pulling me off balance. “What you doing squatting in my place?”

“I’ll leave. Just let me go.”

He snorted, and his hand stroked the arm of my coat as he swore at me. “You lyin’. Gimme something to drink. Gimme your money.”

“I don’t have any.”

He swore again and threw me against the rail, then his hand clipped my jaw and my knees collapsed. As I fell, he grabbed my arm and jerked up, and my whole back burned.

“If you’re lying to me, I’ll kill you.” He said it so casually I knew he meant it. “You get out of my place, and I won’t bother you none. Hear?”

I nodded and tried to stand. But I couldn’t leave. I needed my backpack but I’d left it on the ground behind him.

“Go on,” he snarled. “You oughta be peeing your pants now. Don’t you have any sense?”

He staggered a bit, lurching in laughter, and stopped. “This yours?” He leaned over, swiped at my backpack, and finally snagged one of the straps. It took him a few minutes to work the zipper, and I could only watch, pain and fear rooting me. When he pulled out my roll of bills, I knew I’d lost. I’d never find Miguel now.

“What you doing with this? This is gonna buy me some good stuff. Oh, baby, you made my night, lemme tell you.” He rumbled toward me, and I jumped out of his way, holding my arm so the jolts wouldn’t hurt so much. “Sweetest thing in the world.” He wasn’t talking to me anymore.

I backed away. I should have run when he let go of me instead of wishing after my backpack. Would I die now over such a stupid mistake?

But he staggered past me, dragging my backpack with him, chortling.

I was safe again.

I wanted Miguel so bad I could taste his hugs. I could hear his voice telling me he loved me and would take care of me forever.

No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t save me from this drunk who slept in cat pee and robbed kids. He couldn’t save me from Mom’s drinking, and he couldn’t save me from my own mistakes.

I crumpled to the bottom of the ramp and cried. I wanted Miguel, and I couldn’t have him. I wanted Mom. I wanted her—sober, drunk, passed out, never able to help me, I didn’t care. I wanted her. I closed my eyes, rubbed my aching shoulder. OK, I wanted Mom, and I knew where she was.

I wiped my runny nose on my jacket sleeve and pulled myself up and out of the concrete cave. The rain washed over me, poured down my neck, and soaked my hair. I tipped my head back and let it mix with the tears and wash them away. I’d given up on Mom for the last time. From now on, I’d just wait her drinking out. I would wait forever, if I had to. If I got home. If she let me come home. If she hadn’t bled to death.

Elaine would have taken care of her, wouldn’t she?

I planned every inch of my life from then on as I trudged to the street. The morning mist lit the way though the sun hadn’t risen yet, but enough that I could see where I was headed. As soon as I got home I’d check on Mom. I’d get rid of all the booze she’d stashed and as soon as she sneaked more in, I’d find it and pour it out, too. And as soon as she sobered up, we’d talk. It would be different this time, I swore to myself, because she’d said she didn’t want to drink anymore, because—

Because why? Because I’d force her to dry up? I couldn’t make her stop drinking, I knew that. I’d tried a million times in the first three years. Before I gave up on her the first time.

I took a break on a bus bench, stretching my legs and trying to stretch my shoulder and my mind. No, I couldn’t make Mom do anything. I couldn’t make her drink or not drink. But I could be there for her as she tried once again to quit. I just had to figure out a way to keep myself from going crazy.

That Alateen program that everyone pushed at me, the meetings they said were so great. Maybe,
maybe
I’d give one a try. At least there I wouldn’t be an outsider. Everyone else would be just as screwed up as I was.