A Note in the Margin (14 page)

After a drink and a breather John was able to say, “He’s tired all the time. He doesn’t say anything, but he frequently dozes off during the day and I know sometimes he aches.”

“Oh John, that doesn’t have to mean there is anything wrong. Could very well be the result of poor nutrition and disrupted sleep patterns. Life can be pretty brutal on the body when there’s never enough to eat and the warmest place to sleep is under a bridge. Get him on a vitamin and mineral supplement and if he needs to sleep, don’t worry. It’s either his body or his mind needing to shut down for a little while.”

Tears prickled the back of John’s eyes and, embarrassed, he looked back at the tablecloth.

Barbara could see he was overwhelmed and struggling to keep control. “So how are
you
doing?”

John rubbed his fingers over his eyes and took a deep breath. He picked up his cup and gave a small shaky laugh. “I suddenly wish it was more than tea in here.”

Barbara laughed a little and ran her hand over John’s arm. “I’m not going to kid you, John. It’s not going to be easy, and it may not work out. So you need to decide if he is worth all this. If he is, I’m around to talk to.”

The
store was relatively quiet when John pushed the door open, but he could hear Jamie babbling away about something at the back of the store. “Just me!” he called out and walked toward the voice.

Jamie was in the middle of a very animated monologue about a bicycle mishap he had when he was nine while David sat eating his half of an apple. John smiled at David’s intense expression as he listened about scraped knees and dented pride.

He’s worth it.

“He’s
getting worse, isn’t he?” Jamie said quietly, handing John his mug of tea.

John looked up toward the back of the store and although he couldn’t see what David was doing he knew the pattern would be the same as it had been for the past few days: agitated, not settling, not talking. John took a sip of the tea and murmured, “I don’t know. The other day after his dream he seemed to settle once he got into the store, and then… then
this
started.”

Jamie nodded. David had listened quietly to him that afternoon and by closing time he was talking and helping unpack boxes. He shrugged. “I don’t get it. He was so much better by the time you got back from the market.”

“Yeah, we talked a bit after work and he fell asleep on the couch,” John said and remembered how exhausted David had been. “So what went wrong?” He frowned and rubbed his hand wearily over his eyes; he could feel a headache starting to build. Jamie watched and recognized the gesture. He leaned over and rested his hand on John’s shoulder, rubbing just a little. “I dunno, man, but we’ll figure it out.”

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes until Jamie huffed and said, “It started the next morning, didn’t it? We’d finished the unpacking from the day before
and
gone through the invoices, so we started flicking through the calendars. Aussie beaches, cute puppies… even cuter film stars, you know, and he found an art one. Not really my taste, but David seemed to like it so I gave it to him to put up in the kitchen.” Jamie hesitated and asked, “That was okay, yeah?”

John gave a little smile and said, “Yeah, that was okay. So he was happy. What changed?”

“Dunno.” Jamie frowned, thinking back. “He opened it on this month and asked me what day it was. I told him, drew a smiley face on the day, and wrote ‘
David’s calendar’
. Maybe that was wrong because he went all quiet. I hung it up in the kitchen and when I got back he was in his chair.”
Like when he first came to the store. Shit, maybe even worse,
Jamie thought but didn’t want to make John worry any more than he already was. Instead he asked, “What’s he like at home?”

“The same. He won’t talk to me. He cringes if I try to touch him.” John blushed at the mention of their physicality. “He alternates between sleeping too much and not sleeping at all. I woke up last night and he was standing at the bedroom window, just staring out.” The sight of David looking down at the empty street had hurt John more than he’d admit to Jamie; something had gone wrong.
I obviously can’t be doing enough.

Jamie didn’t say anything, but rubbed his hand over John’s back just to let him know he wasn’t alone in this.

Jamie
split the sandwich in half and put David’s share on the arm of his chair. “Have your lunch, David,” Jamie said quietly, watching carefully as the pencil continued its unceasing motion over the already creased and smudged page. He put his hand gently on David’s arm to still its movement. “Come on; leave that for now.” Jamie’s touch took a moment to register, but David stopped and sat looking at the sketchbook.

“Dave, what’s happening right now? John and I are worried about you,” Jamie said just loud enough to be heard in the quiet store.

David looked at Jamie’s hand and then closed his eyes. “I don’t want to do this.”

The unexpected words confused Jamie; he wanted to ask what David didn’t want to do, but whispered, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

David didn’t answer, but the thought was clear in his mind.
Maybe in your world, Jamie.

Jamie sat back in the chair and let David return to his drawing, watching his hand skitter across the page in rapid and, at times, seemingly uncontrolled movements. The picture didn’t make sense to Jamie; it was dark and abstract, not the usual delicate renderings elsewhere in the sketchbook. The pencil lines created deep indentations in the soft cartridge paper and the graphite was so dense in places the paper’s texture was flattened and shining.

Jamie chewed his sandwich triangle slowly and tried to make small talk between bites. David didn’t touch his share.

The
excited babble of the five-year-old faded as the young mother held her hand and led her through the store door. The purchase of a first reader was always recognizable, but it also signaled late afternoon. The schools were empty, parents had picked up their children, and they were heading home to start tentative explorations of the written word and dinner.

David had put the sketchbook down, his fingers aching, and now sat curled in his chair. He glanced up at the polished wood store clock and his stomach cramped.
It’s time to go.

He unfolded his legs, not really surprised at how they trembled while he pulled his boots on over the socks John had bought for him. He took a deep shuddering breath and stood up. His sketchbook lay on the floor beside his chair and he looked at it, uncertain what to do. David knew he didn’t want to take it with him, but…
John will keep it safe
. He bent down and picked it up, holding it close for a moment, fighting the urge to simply sit in his chair again,
safe with John
. He shook his head, his jaws clenched tight as he walked down the store.

John looked up and smiled when he heard David approach, but the smile faded when the sketchbook was pushed across the counter toward him.

“What is it, Dave? Do you need a new one?” John asked hopefully, but not really believing that’s all it was.

David shook his head and kept his eyes on the book. “I need to go out, John.”

A bolt of nausea hit him at David’s words and he just stood and stared for a few seconds before he realized he needed to answer. “Um, okay. Will you be long?”

David’s fingers rubbed over the cover of the sketchbook, mentally warring whether or not to lie to John. He swallowed and said quietly, “I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

John frowned. He really felt sick now. “Okay, Dave. I’ll put your book upstairs and wait for you.” He went to put his hand over David’s, but the fingers were quickly withdrawn and David whispered, “I have to go.”

John listened to the bell on the store door jingle as David left.

The
early evening weather was still mild but David already felt cold and sick to his stomach. He quickly walked away from the store, pushing down the memory of John’s face as he left.
Can’t think of that, can’t think of John.
It was already dusk by the time he reached the toilet block on the perimeter of the park and he recognized some of the men already there.

David leaned against the cracked concrete wall and watched the dust of the gravel creep over his boots until they almost disappeared in the gray. The younger men always got picked first but he knew he wouldn’t be here much longer. A pair of clean leather shoes appeared in front of his. David didn’t look up as the man opened his wallet and shoved a twenty toward him. He didn’t move. Jamie’s words came back to him.
You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to
. He knew it wasn’t true.

“Well, do you want it or not?”

David felt like he was moving through molasses as he lifted his hand to take the money.

“Are
you going to close up, John? Or do you want me to?” Jamie asked, well aware that it was already half an hour past their usual time.

John looked up from the messy ledger page. “I keep thinking about dragging this place into the computer age, but I haven’t managed to do it yet.” He paused and added quietly, “It’s okay, Jamie. You go home I’ll wait a little longer.”

Jamie nodded and lifted his fingers to the back of John’s neck. “Call me, yeah? You know… when he gets home.”

“Yeah, he shouldn’t be too long now.” John smiled without any real conviction. Something felt very wrong this time, but he knew that he
would
wait for David to come home.

The
concrete was cold and hard through the knees of David’s jeans. Water from the leaking toilet had soaked through the fabric; his knees ached.

The man had left without a word.

David sank back onto his heels and rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans. He’d told the man to stop before he came. He’d never had the courage to say that before. But this time he told him before they started. The problem was when David tried to pull away the man had wrapped his fingers in David’s hair, reminding him he had no choice in this and fucked his mouth hard before coming down his throat.

David looked down at the state he was in. His new clothes were soiled and wet. He thought of John choosing these clothes for him; picking them up in the store, maybe holding them against himself and deciding between colors. Now in the blue glow of the “junkie” light they looked old and used.

Tears stung his eyes and he swallowed them back only to be reminded of the taste still in his mouth.

David’s stomach lurched and he scrambled for the edge of the toilet bowl and vomited until his empty stomach cramped and convulsed over air and bile. A young hustler pushed the door open and leaned against the wall. “You okay?” David’s white-knuckled fingers gripped the edge while his other hand still clutched the crumpled twenty. He nodded and waited until the youth closed the door.

He pushed himself back, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood up, not sure what to do other than get out of the toilet block. The hustler was still outside when David opened the door; he moved out of the way to let David get to the sink and said quietly, “You need a hit? I got some if you need it.”

David spat the water into the sink and grimaced at the metallic taste. He shook his head and walked out. He hovered outside the toilet block, not sure which direction to head. The only one
not
possible now was Margins and John.

It
had been dark for a few hours, but the “open” sign hadn’t been flipped and the door remained unlocked. John sat at the counter unmoving, the sickness in his stomach growing. When a group of youths walked noisily past the front window John looked up at the clock and sighed.
A bit longer.

Another hour had passed before the front door opened, but it was Jamie who walked in and stood beside John. “I got worried when you didn’t call,” he said a little apologetically. “I went upstairs first, but there was no one there….”

John glanced at the door again and said quietly, “I couldn’t face it yet.”

Jamie nodded, not sure what to do or say now that he was here, so he settled on his mother’s favorite “cure-all”. “Want me to make a pot of tea?”

John tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t form. He looked away from Jamie, his fingers clenched as tightly as his jaw while he blinked away the tears he didn’t dare allow to start. Jamie watched John and although his first instinct was to hug the man, he was wise enough to know that was the last thing John could deal with right now. Instead he slid open the drawer at the counter, grabbed the store keys, and said, “Come on. Let’s go look for him.”

John took a shaky breath and gave Jamie a silent but grateful look. Jamie smiled and threw him the keys while he scribbled a note for the door of the store.
David, if you get home before us call John’s cell phone. Love, Jamie xx
. He then taped a couple of coins to the back of the note.

John smiled over his shoulder and said quietly, “Thanks, mate.”

By the time they reached the shelter, Jamie was sure they would find David inside and jumped out of the car almost bouncing on the balls of his feet while John locked up. He quickly disappeared into the foyer of the old building. John followed, less convinced, but a tingle of hope started in his belly. The foyer of the old building smelled vaguely of disinfectant and stale cigarette smoke; it housed notice boards covered in leaflets detailing rehab clinics and counseling for the long-term unemployed, and tattered pages of photocopied or handwritten pleas for missing persons. John glanced at them briefly and quickly looked away.

Jamie was already at the reception desk trying to get someone’s attention when John called to a man handing over a blanket to a wary-looking youth. “Is Barbara on duty tonight?”

He turned to John and shook his head. “No. Sorry, man. Only male staff in here at night. Can I help with something?”

John tried to explain as best he could with regular interjections from Jamie, but the shelter worker just shook his head again and suggested they have a look around. The large hall was full of small beds, each one becoming home for a single night. The first thing that struck John, other than the overcrowding, was the smell, and it hurt John to remember how he had complained that David stank when he first took over the store.

As he scanned the room, many avoided his eyes, retreating to the safety of their own thoughts, while others met him with open defiance. The memory of David’s words about nighttime in the shelter suddenly hit him.
Some men cry at night or call out to people they don’t have anymore.
He had to leave. Jamie saw him turn and walk out the door. He thanked the shelter helper, smiled gently at a few faces, and hurried after him.