Sync, page 15
Juvenile detention hearings
aren’t generally newsworthy,
and underage defendants
require some anonymity.
Jim is here, though, dressed
like he’s going to a funeral.
I’ve never seen him in a suit.
But I’m elated to see him now.
He’s here, so he hasn’t turned
his back on me completely.
He nods a silent hello.
I Shuffle Across Polished Floors
Sit in a polished wood chair.
At a polished wood table.
Stare at the ceiling, try to avoid
the fluorescent glare off all that polish.
All rise.
The Honorable Judge Clayborn waddles
out from chambers. If ol’ Pete is a packrat,
the judge is a walrus, all odd tufts of hair
and a wide mustache that looks like it
would get in the way of a sandwich.
He settles into his cushioned chair.
You may be seated.
He consults his notes. Looks up.
Cuts me in half with a scathing scowl.
As expected, Judge Clayborn detains me
until my jurisdiction hearing.
Three weeks, give or take, to reel
in witnesses for the packrat to call.
I only have a moment to speak to Jim,
who hasn’t managed to contact Jaidyn
but promises to give it another try.
Morley surely misses you.
Afternoons, he waits by the door
for you to get home from school.
I miss your company, too.
Back to lockup, eyes smarting.
Still in C Unit until my sentence
becomes set in cinder block.
One Day Bleeds into the Next
I start juvie school.
None of the core classes they offer
promises a future in vet science.
I don’t talk much. No use making
connections when I’ll likely move
into a different unit with tougher dudes.
I do utilize the gym. I lift. Run.
Practice martial arts moves that
might come in handy before long.
When I’m not doing those things,
I’m confined to my room. I study.
Read. Write. Think.
About Jim. Wonder.
If he’s replaced me yet.
If Morley still waits by the door.
About Lake. Wonder.
If she’s disappointed
in the me she’s discovered.
About Lance. Wonder.
If he’s working on single-
testicle sexual assault.
About Jaidyn. Wonder.
If she’s still in denial.
If she’s healing.
If she’s wondering about me.
If she even remembers who I am.
For Whatever Reason
I maintain a slim hope
that Jaidyn will decide she loves
me enough to come to my defense.
I came to hers. And then I put
everything on the line to exact
the revenge she’d never
even seek for herself.
I love her that much.
I know the psychological
fallout of abuse, assault.
I live with it every day.
But I’ve never been raped,
and can only guess
how my brain would
process the aftermath.
Something happened.
What happened?
Think about what happened.
Can’t remember what happened.
So nothing happened.
Don’t tell me it happened.
Too
much.
Shut
down.
But at some point the synapses
must reboot, fire up again.
The problem is time.
LAKE
Wishing
I hadn’t listened to Parker.
Don’t worry, she said.
We’ll be fine, she said.
We can make it on our own.
Here we are, two weeks
after stuffing our pitiful
belongings in our backpacks,
swiping sixty bucks
out of Colleen’s purse,
and running off into
the teeth-cracking cold
fog-draped morning.
We had no idea where to go,
only that we were going together.
Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.
We can make it on our own.
At first, I said no way.
“I’m scared.”
Of what?
“Where we’re going.”
More scared of that than where we’ve been?
“At least they feed us here.
At least we have warm beds.”
Don’t you get it? Colleen
won’t let us stay here anymore.
Echoes of Eloise.
Only instead of letting
one of us stay, Colleen
would send us both away.
She wasn’t about to let
queer girls sully her house.
I might have played
wait and see, but Colleen
was yelling into the phone
that whoever was on the other
end had better come get us.
Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.
We can make it on our own.
Honestly, when we first tore
out the front door it was exhilarating.
Parker grabbed my hand.
We started to run.
She started singing
Pharrell Williams’s “Freedom.”
“Hold on to me. Don’t let me go…”
We hit the city center,
jumped on the first bus.
Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.
We can make it on our own.
Reality Set In Quickly
Let’s start with this: Freedom
isn’t free. It isn’t even cheap.
I knew we couldn’t find
an apartment for sixty bucks,
but had no clue one night
in an iffy motel could cost that much.
I’ve never stayed in a motel.
“What about a shelter?”
You need an ID to get into one,
and there are long waiting lists.
Neither of us has an ID,
except for our school ones.
School. Forgot about that, too.
Besides, pretty sure we’ve been
reported as runaways by now.
Shelters are supposed to screen people.
Parker knows more about those
things than I do, since she and
her mom were homeless for a while.
I’ve never been homeless.
Until now.
That first day we wandered
unfamiliar roadways in alien
neighborhoods, searching for
a suitable place to crash until
we figured something out.
We spent that night nestled
beneath a palm tree in the side yard
of a Catholic cathedral. Next morning
Parker said an angel must have visited
because she had come up with a plan.
Let’s look for an abandoned car.
I would’ve never thought of that.
It took most of the day, but eventually
we found an ancient rusting sedan,
left to rot on a quiet street.
It wasn’t locked. Thank you, angel.
One problem was obvious right away.
“Where we gonna pee?”
If you get desperate, in the trunk.
She laughed at my expression.
Kidding. We’ll use public restrooms.
Parks. Libraries. Fast-food places.
Convenience stores. As long as you
buy something, they can’t say no.
“Then we’d better scope out
the closest place to buy candy.”
You mean water. Your body needs it
and it fills you up better than candy.
Water. Candy. Jerky. Nuts.
Buy one. Lift two.
It’s become our motto.
The Days Smudge into Each Other
Sleep comes hard at night,
not knowing who or what
might wander by. A single
drop of Daisy brings me closer
to Storm, and is my reward
for surviving another day.
Parker and I wake up
when we feel like it or when
a blast of exhaust belches by
or when the car seats become
impossible to stay curled into.
Sometimes it’s still dark
when I’m jolted awake
by Parker fighting nightmares
or singing in her sleep.
For a couple breathless seconds
I don’t know where I am.
What closet is this,
clothes hanging like ghosts?
Then the smell hits.
Old motor oil. Old leather.
Old sweat. Old cigarettes.
I remember then.
One more night
in an abandoned sedan,
spare clothing curtaining
the windows from curious eyes.
One more morning hoping
freedom is worth the struggle.
That Misplaced Sense
Of morality I once clung
to has deteriorated,
and any droplet of shame
I used to possess has evaporated.
I haven’t used the trunk.
But a couple of desperate times
in the gray of predawn I hurried
down the sidewalk to a litter-strewn
lot, peed in the dirt, and air-dried.
Mostly, we rely on public
restrooms for our most
personal necessities.
Using the toilet.
Brushing our teeth.
Washing off grime and stink.
If you don’t think that’s awful,
try shampooing your hair
in a cold-water-only sink
and drying it with industrial-
strength paper towels.
After “laundering” your two
spare pairs of panties with soap
that smells like kerosene.
All while someone waits outside
the door and, when you exit,
hair and underwear dripping,
quite obviously considers calling
either the manager or the cops.
We’ve Been Super Careful
With those sixty dollars,
but have to spend a little
almost every day, the price tag
for flushing our poo.
The money won’t last forever,
so we’ve been looking for jobs.
A lot of places are hiring.
Problem is, you need more
than just an ID to get one.
We learn this the hard
way when Parker fills out
an application at McDonald’s.
It’s asking for my Social Security
number. I don’t know mine.
I shrug. “Make one up.”
She writes 35826 and when
she hands the paper to the manager,
he looks confused.
You forgot four numbers.
I did? Oh, 7549.
So, 358-26-7549?
I guess. Is that right?
His glare says she’s either off
her rocker or being purposely obtuse.
He says he’ll call if she gets the job.
Only, no phone. No address.
Not that her fake responses
on the application indicate
either. So many complications.
We splurge on a two-dollar
chicken sandwich to share,
use the toilet (paid for), grab
cups of water, and exit, giggling.
Next time I’ll remember nine numbers.
But we both know it’s next to
impossible to score regular jobs.
We’re undocumented workers.
“Maybe we should hitchhike
to Salinas or something.”
Parker gets my reference.
If I must toil for next to nothing,
picking produce will be a last resort.
Mostly because I’m a total wuss.
We sit at a table outside,
with a spectacular view
of the drive-through line,
and feed each other bites
of a mediocre chicken sandwich
like it’s a gourmet meal.
It kind of is.
We Decide
To go to the public library
and use a computer to check for
under-the-table work like maybe
babysitting or dog walking or something.
Luckily, our bus passes are good
for a while. We plop into a rear
seat, dare to share a long kiss.
It’s a twenty-minute ride.
Parker sings the whole way.
This older woman with silver-
streaked hair turns, squinting.
You’ve got a beautiful voice.
I bet you could sing for a living.
Parker literally beams.
Think so? Well, thank you.
“Maybe we should find a busy
street corner, put out a hat,
and you could sing for dollars.”
More like pennies. But in a pinch…
Anyway, people might misunderstand
why I’m on that street corner.
I think about Star, who left foster
care, only to land on a sidewalk
in a sketchy part of town,
waving down customers.
For the thousandth time,
I pray we didn’t make a major mistake.
At the Library
We discover we made a minor mistake.
All the computers are in use.
You have to reserve them ahead
of time, with your library card.
We’ve never been here before,
so we spend time checking out
the gorgeous artwork displays
before perusing the magazines.
Parker picks People and Rolling Stone.
I peruse Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar,
checking out clothes I’ll never afford.
Then I dig a notebook out of my bag,
sketch my own brand of fashion.
We don’t find jobs, but we do
take comfort in spending an afternoon
reading and drawing in plush chairs,
almost like regular people.
Then we get on a bus for the return
trip to our borrowed rusting car.
No dinner.
No movies.
No shower.
No heat except each other.
We rely on that to thwart the chill.
But, more, to conquer the fractured
certainty of tomorrow with tangible
human-to-human connection today.
In This Moment
Tomorrow doesn’t exist.
The only thing that matters
is the intricate weave
of our bodies. Here. Now.
We know the pattern well.
And yet, there are surprises.
The perfume of library
somehow clinging to her hair.
Goosebumps lifting into
the cool evening air
with the feather stroke
of my fingers against
the thrum in her throat.
The way she heats my skin
with no more than the brush
of her lips as she whisper-moans
a love song into my ear.
Discovering joy in the listing
back seat of an old sedan
unworthy of ownership.
Sort of like Parker and me.
All I have is her.
All she has is me.
And we celebrate that
with lustful abandon.
Wild.
Wicked.
Wonderful.
Totally Immersed
In the magic, the tap-tap-tap
on the window doesn’t register.
But now it becomes knock-knock-knock.
A man’s voice. Hey, girls.
Whatcha doin’ in there?
Parker scrambles to make
sure the doors are locked.
I always make sure they are.
What if it’s a cop?
I don’t want to move
our makeshift curtains, so
I yell, “Who wants to know?”
Just me. Teddy. Been watching
you for a couple of days now.
You two all alone in the world?
Don’t say anything, Parker
urges. Maybe he’ll go away.
“Seriously? If he’s been
watching us, he’s a creep,
and creeps don’t just go away.”
So, what do we do?
“Two of us. One of him.
We could probably take
him. First, let’s try playing nice.”
