6 Minute Read:
Sheryl and I made a pilgrimage on a Sunday afternoon in the spring to a park in my new neighborhood. Uncle Lawrence had sold the stable-side bungalow and the three of us moved into a bigger house a few blocks from school. I’d started working part time at the mall, but my boss usually didn’t schedule me on the weekends, which was fine with me. I much preferred to work nights after school. Sheryl and I journeyed there to examine the site where a girl from the next town over had been attacked, and to hang out, and maybe get some burgers for lunch.
We were near a grouping of benches, standing there with our big purses, looking at the ground. I imagined moonlight and shadows outlining heavy boot prints in the mud, and a girl our age lying alone after midnight, still and prone, blood pooling in the hollows of her shut eyes. Her name was Lisa, a very common name, but she also shared a less common last name with a friend of mine who’d moved to the same town the previous summer.
“Fuckin’ —A…” was all we could say, while Lisa recovered in a bed at the medical center a mile or so away.
“She was the one at your birthday party?” Sheryl puzzled.
“No no, it’s not her. I forgot to tell you.” We’d heard most of the details of the attack from people at school, rumors swirling in the quad and exaggerations in the locker room over the previous week. Finally and thankfully, a school photo of the girl published in the paper revealed that it was not my relocated friend.
“Ohhh, okay.” Sheryl said, with a look that acknowledged it didn’t matter which one of us it was or wasn’t. “But still…”
“Yeah, no shit.” I answered.
When we tired of staring at cut grass and acorns, we plopped down at a stone bench to smoke. We talked about those who were alive and uninjured: Danny, Jamie, our math teacher, Sting. We talked about walking to over for some chicken tenders. I hadn’t left my uncle a note and would need to get home by four or so. He’d gone to church and was planning to drive to Gram’s for the afternoon. A scruffy dude at another bench had been hunched over scratching something into the seat of it, but had now taken an interest in us. I glanced at him every so often, and this time he was erect and staring us down.
“Do you know that guy?” Sheryl asked.
“No. But he’s coming over here.” The man rose and executed a series of twists with his left wrist, afterward jamming the hand into his trouser pocket. He’d closed and concealed a butterfly knife. I only knew that’s what it was because Jamie had one with perforated brass handles. He’d taught me how to flip it open and closed.
The man stood in front of us. He was wearing too many shirts.
“Hey, I’m not a weirdo or anything.” He wasn’t much older than we were. “I just wanted to say ‘hi’ and see if I could bum a dime.”
“I’ve got some change,” Sheryl said and pulled a slitted rubber coin pouch from her bag.
The man plopped down in the grass in front of us and reached into the pocket of his oversized flannel outershirt.
“Oh.” He made a little noise and looked down at his pocket, tugging at the front tail of the shirt to keep it taut.
“Ohhhh my gaaaawwwwddd!” Sheryl cooed, her eyes widening.
“Is it alive?” I asked when I saw what he was holding.
The grey and white fur quaked in his cupped hands and Sheryl leaned in to get a better look at what seemed to be the cutest kitten in California.
“He’s the runt. He can open his eyes, he’s just been sleeping.”
Sheryl insisted on holding him, and the babe stretched in her palms, pushing two tiny white paws in the air and opening its mouth.
“He’s older than he looks.” The man assured us that he was old enough to be off mother’s milk, but he still needed some food.
“Don’t you need to get him home for feeding?” I said.
“We’re homeless. That’s why I was hoping you guys had some spare change.”
“Oh yeah, no problem.” Sheryl said. “This little guy is going to need to be fed four times a day… at least.” She handed the squirmy kitten to me and emptied her coin purse into the man’s hands.
“Oh thank you!” He stood up so fast it startled us both. “Hey, can you guys watch him for a minute? I need to go get some supplies.”
“Sure,” we said, and Sheryl mentioned a store around the corner.
“Great.” He turned and stopped. “Actually, I have to go to a friend’s house to pick up a fanny pack. My buddy is fixing it so the cat can ride in it.”
“Oh, okay.” Sheryl and I looked at each other. “Should we come with you?”
“Naw, it’s just right by here.” He turned forty-five degrees and walked off saying, “I’ll be back.” I rubbed the kitten on my cheek, and we smiled at each other. When I looked back up at the man, he was striding a beeline to the West, then turned, in the middle of the park, another forty-five degrees and continued along the new trajectory.
The kitty kept us occupied for a while. We let him walk around on the concrete tabletop, dragged the corner of her bandanna in front of him as a makeshift toy, and giggled at his clumsiness. He was a runt, but certainly not sickly, and he did open his eyes.
“What time is it?” I asked and scanned the park. There was no one else there aside from an ownerless dog carrying out a sniff inventory of every tree.
Sheryl consulted her ring watch. “It’s almost four. He’s been gone over an hour.”
“I’m hungry.” I suggested we get lunch, keeping our tiny companion concealed in one of our purses, and hope we run into the man on the way back. We could get a milkshake for the kitten.
“Don’t you have to be home by four?”
“I can’t go home with a kitten, my uncle wouldn’t be very happy.”
“I can’t take him, we live in an apartment,” she countered.
“I know.” We both sighed and scanned the park. The dog was gone.
Our return from lunch was just as fruitless. We sat at the same bench and ate. By five-thirty, the best plan we could come up with was to walk around the area and look for the man, and that’s what we did. The later it got, the more I knew I’d get an earful when I got home, and that it would be much worse if I had a kitten in my purse.
We walked exasperated up the avenue and a big stupid car pulled up beside us. I was grumpy and thought it was some joker flirting, then I realized it was Danny and I felt hopeful. For no valid reason I thought the presence of a guy would make everything better. We crawled into his car and briefed him as we drove around. At six forty-five there was still no sign of Kitten-Man and I instructed Danny to take me home.
Sheryl came in with me to help explain the situation to Uncle Lawrence, which turned out to be pointless. He was acrimonious, but the cat was just an excuse. I went to my room and slammed the door, plopping down frustrated on the edge of the bed and held the sleepy animal.
Sheryl came in and handed me a photocopy. “Your uncle wanted me to give you this.” It read:
Tired of Being Harassed By Your Stupid Parents? Act Now! Move Out… Get a Job… Pay Your Own Bills. Do it While You Still Know Everything