Love Under Glasse

by Kristina Meister

  Mama sounded more like herself with sarcasm in her throat. “They told me you were extremely grateful.”

  “Waitress called the cops, not me. Do they even have CC permits in Ohio, because you know gun control is a very political issue these days? Boy howdy, their legal fees—”

  “Shut up.”

  At long last, Riley could swallow her pain meds and crack her joints. Her muscles uncoiled. She yawned operatically. “Hey, I do have a pretty important question.”

  “What’s that?”

  Riley rolled her eyes and laid a new trap. “That was a pretty neat trick they pulled, with the kid’s phone number, but see that’s unfair, because you gave them more than you gave me. I was supposed to have the same footing.”

  “They asked.”

  “For Rose’s phone records?”

  “For my phone records. Who d’ya think pays for her phone?”

  Riley popped each knuckle in turn, thinking of Rose’s mask, painted up and plucked, her body trotted out on the stage for disgusting people to rate like prized pork. She may have found a different strategy for dealing with her mother, but Rose was just as much a prisoner as El. Riley was sure of that.

  “You do realize that they can use a backward directory to find his address, right?”

  “So?”

  “So, if they do something criminal to him, it ties directly to you. You might want to make sure they don’t. Just a thought.”

  “Oh, so now you’re an attorney too, huh?”

  “Ask your husband. Get something back for all the work you put into his education. I gotta go to sleep.”

  “My husband isn’t part’a this. He has enough to think about.” Mama poured another drink. It was like listening to a faucet, the way she guzzled it down. The hashes on the page multiplied. “You’re gonna find her, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have to.”

  Riley picked up the knife. “I know.”

  “Somethin’s gotta be done.”

  “For her or to her?”

  “It’s the same, sometimes,” Mama whispered. “That’s what love is. I love her.”

  “You love yourself and how she was supposed to fit into that. It’s pretty sad you don’t know the difference.”

  Riley hung up. For the next half hour, her phone lit up with misspelled text messages, every one an attempt to draw her back in. Berating to begging, pathos to promises, she ignored it. Without El, Mama had no one to use as her personal victim, so she was looking for a replacement.

  She might be able to get one more day of use out of the ATM card, but this tenuous association with Mama Glasse was going to have to end.

  Riley returned to the question El had asked of her and knew the answer.

  Who was she?

  Yours.

  El’s companions exited the bus in Utah with promises to stay in touch. As she watched them retrieve their suitcases, the loneliness descended. She’d felt so comfortable and safe with them, something that made working through her attack even easier. These men, whom her Mama would have gasped to see her with, had paid attention to her in a way no adult had ever done, never once speaking down to her. When she began to talk about her abuse, they didn’t offer advice, but sat and took in her feelings. When she described her online following, they were impressed and got their own accounts so that they could read her journal too.

  It was the first time she'd ever felt proud of the blog, she realized, and if they left, she worried that feeling of accomplishment would vanish with them.

  Doc drew El aside and wrapped her up in a hug. “You got this, sis. You are one of the smartest kids I ever met. You ain’t got no problems. You just gotta stay safe and know when to fight.”

  She held back tears. “Thank you for talking with me. It helped a lot. I have a plan now.”

  He released her and stood back as if memorizing her face. “You getting off at the end of the line?”

  “Yes.”

  He gave a thoughtful nod and looked out over the parking lot. “I know a guy in Berkeley at a shelter out there. Want me to call him and tell him you’re on your way?”

  “You can do that?”

  “Sure can. I’ll set you up. Least I can do. You’ll call me, anytime, if you need anything? Even if it’s money, right? I can help here and there.”

  El’s lip trembled. She was mute, marveling that anyone could be so kind without any prompting. Doc was a religious man, and though she knew that those beliefs conflicted with her own, she didn’t care, because unlike every other Christian she’d ever met, Doc actually embodied the principles of his teachings. It was a strange thing for her to contemplate—that goodness and decency weren’t dependent upon faith. Rather faith seemed one method for delivering goodness to the world.

  They said their goodbyes, though they stayed to wave at her as the bus pulled away. Feeling vulnerable, but somehow stronger overall, El wrote a multitude of entries, each one detailing a different instance or type of abuse she’d suffered at her parent’s hands, because Doc had told her it was important to get it out of her mind and into the world. Each one was like a case study in her life and as she documented them from that objective viewpoint, things made complete sense. Feeling them, she’d never been able to think about them. Now looking in on her life, she could clearly detect the warning signs, the programming that she’d endured, the cycles of behavior. Everything she’d endured became somewhat formulaic, which helped her to distance herself even further from the pain in a way that was healthy, like pulling a sliver from her brain and letting it heal.

  Once the oppressive sorrow left her, she returned to the reply from @hellonaunicycle.

  “Yours,” she whispered.

  El entertained a number of possibilities, from creepy stalker who had somehow figured out who she was, to Jay, to her mother in disguise, playing another game to undermine her spirit. For almost two days, she pondered it and if it was prudent to continue the conversation.

  Oscar even weighed in via direct message, though his idea was decidedly romantic and nonsensical. To him, only one possibility made any sense—her admirer was Riley, who had been following her blog all along, secretly trying to find a way to approach her. Not only was that silly, and at odds with events, it was impossible. Riley could never lie to her face like that, because she had too much inherent nobility. And even if Riley did know about the blog, there was no way she’d ever be interested in El. At most, Riley would make that adorable face of surprise and then say something like Ain’t that a fucking kick.

  El stared out the window as the forests of the Sierra Nevadas rolled by, daydreaming about the fierce beauty she’d left behind. Perhaps someday, when she was an adult and sure that her mother couldn’t hurt Riley, El would contact her and tell her of the crush she’d harbored for years. Not expecting anything in return. Just to tell her that someone found her magical.

  If there was anything El had learned, it was that acknowledgement was important.

  Downtown Oakland was a strange mixture of art deco and 1960’s aesthetic. The tall buildings cast forbidding shadows over many empty shop windows, security bars, graffiti. Walking just from the bus depot to the local transit station, El felt out of place. It was her first time wandering a densely populated area alone, and the Bay Area was far larger than any city she’d ever visited. There were dozens of homeless people along her route, people whose circumstances seemed far direr than her own. The closer she came to the shelter, the more nervous she was about accepting aid from anyone.

  The BART train screamed through the tunnels. People seemed to be in their own worlds and no one made eye contact with her. Her misgivings grew as she walked toward the shelter and through a group of kids her own age just getting out of school. For the briefest instant, El was homesick, not for her mother or her cold mansion, but for the easily understood circumstances. She knew that life and how to handle it. Every day in this life was new and complex in ways she hadn’t imagined.

  The
shelter was a series of buildings tucked behind a church. The large crucifix at first put her off. If it meant the same thing to these people as it meant to Mama, this may not be the safest place. Then again, Doc wouldn’t do that to her and whatever they had was better than nothing.

  The woman immediately recognized the name on her sister’s ID. “I’ve been expecting you!”

  El smiled, but as she stood there, she felt incredibly out of place. A cork board was covered in notices and local events. Looking them over was like seeing a collage of cultures she didn’t recognize—free music and food events, local clothing drives, and a series of posts for people trying to find others. Mama would have taken a glance and then rolled her eyes, but El was drawn to them, reading each flier for a missing person with an eye for detail. She knew what it was to be lost. She wasn’t sure what it felt like to be found.

  The woman assembled a clipboard. “We have a lot of parents come and post them, just in case.”

  El nodded. So other people’s parents didn’t hire goon squads to hunt their children down. That was comforting and also unrecognizably odd.

  Filling out the forms, El had to give a great deal of information she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Before she could be admitted for a bed, she’d have to submit to having her bag searched for anything hazardous and go through a series of rules and regulations for the shelter. Meals were at specific times and consisted of the best the organization could afford. The bed was a twin-sized mat on the floor in a dormitory. The bathrooms were communal.

  El initialed everything and signed—she was supposed to be at camp anyway. This wasn’t too far off the mark, though the situation was anything but a holiday. But she would take the Camp of Hard Knocks over Fairest Meadows any day.

  She was assigned a locker and a mat. Lunch was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and canned green beans. El ate every bite. She’d been living on beef jerky and dried fruit for days and had gone far past the threshold of being emotionally invested in food. As she sat, paper napkin in her lap, sipping her Solo cup of fruit punch with her pinky out, she noticed two girls watching her. They weren’t subtle about it, one scowling while the other whispered in her ear and set them both snickering.

  In high school, El had never been picked on in the usual ways. Her mother’s looming shadow was enough to secure her a silent seat at the cool kids table, but she was out of that darkness now and she’d have to stand the full light of a harsh sun.

  As she sat there, breathing deeply, her hands clenching around her plastic fork, more of Riley came into focus for her. El had watched, mute and dejected, as Riley had been tormented by the bullies she used for protection—from food being thrown to threats. Riley somehow managed to turn it back around, transforming a conflict into an examination of the bullies themselves, and when that didn’t work, she’d step right up to them. Riley could look at a social dynamic and see the weapons just lying there to be used.

  But El had never been a fighter. She knew her way was different, even though she had no idea what it was.

  Maybe it was time to figure that out.

  Picking up her tray, El walked to their table and smiled down at them. The comedian had a shaved head and piercings up both ears, while her friend wore long braids, each one ended with a bauble of some kind, some sea shells, some beads, some little pieces of glass with string wrapped around them. They stood out beautifully against her skin and read like a kind of guide to her travels.

  “I’m sorry to stare, but I just had to come over and say . . . I really like your hair. Did you do that yourself?”

  “Naw. She went to this salon on the hill, got a nice massage at the same time. That’s Boho Chic sea glass in genuine rawhide. And those plastic beads are on fleek.” The girl with the shaved head rolled her eyes. “Of course she did it herself.”

  El shifted from foot to foot nervously. “I just meant I wondered if she had help with the back ones. I can’t braid my hair at all. Working upside down and backwards doesn’t make sense to my fingers. All I know how to do is put it into a ponytail. It keeps getting caught in my pack straps . . . Sorry to bother you. I just thought it was really unique and pretty.”

  Uncertain where to go, or how to diffuse the tension, El walked stiffly to the trash can and dropped her plate in. Without looking back, she went back into the dormitory and sat on her bed mat. Being lonely was nothing new to her, but being alone while lonely, that was a new feeling.

  As she sat there, the two girls appeared. When they spotted her, they cut a path to the locker room, declaring her an outsider with dismissive glances over their shoulders. El logged into the wi-fi and texted Oscar, just to forget how uncomfortable she was.

  In his usual way, he offered to come and meet her, but if @hellonaunicycle was right and the commandos knew about Oscar, they’d be following him. He confirmed there were no ominous vehicles outside his home, but El couldn’t imagine what she’d feel if something happened to him.

  What if we meet at like a crowded mall, it would work, right?

  She smiled. Maybe tomorrow. I haven’t showered in a few days and I am really tired. They make us leave during the day, so I won’t have anything else to do anyway.

  I have the perfect place!

  Plans made, El disconnected the phone and tucked it into her pocket. When she looked up, the two girls had reemerged with their own backpacks and were on their way out. As if they couldn’t believe how stupid she was, they laughed at El and shook their heads.

  “This ain’t no day spa. You want a nap, go sleep in a doorway.”

  Embarrassed, nervous, confused, El gathered her necessities for the day into a smaller sack.

  If this was where she was going to be for the next few weeks, it might be a good idea to figure a few things out before the evening curfew. Signing out, she set an alarm on her phone so as to be sure to arrive before the doors locked for the night, and walked out into the city. She toured the busiest streets, located the library and got herself a library card so that she could use the free wi-fi. Seeing a sign for a junior college, she steeled herself and dropped in on the administration office. They gave her booklets of information on the exam she’d need and what she could do to get into a college after taking it. They even explained the loan system and taught her how to file for financial aid.

  Feeling overwhelmed but happy, El wandered toward a patch of trees, realizing she’d found the local University. Its monolithic bell tower played an entire concerto as she sat beneath a redwood tree. She retrieved some employment applications from a few shops, watched some skateboarders perform tricks, and treated herself to a scoop of ice cream for a dollar. She felt accomplished by the time the alarm on her phone warned her to start back.

  Halfway to the church, El’s mood was knocked askew by a series of shrieks. As she passed a parking lot, she looked for the source of the noises and recognized the two girls from the shelter amidst a snarl of limbs. Above the screams of the brawlers, she could pick out the voice of the joker among them, crying out for everyone to chill.

  Two people had a hold of the girl with the braids and were trying to rip her bag off her shoulders, while she fought back in spitting, hissing fury. The three collided into a metal dumpster. One of the strangers had a hand tangled in the braids and used the hold to smash the girl’s head into the metal. Her friend tried to pull them off, but the aggressors seemed to be older and stronger.

  El didn’t know why, but she couldn’t walk away. Her friendship with Doc and John had begun when they’d helped her and if she didn’t take their example, she’d never embody what she admired. She dropped her ice cream cone and took to her heels. As she gained speed on her hobbled knee, a fuzzy thought came to El. All day long she’d felt as if she didn’t deserve to take any charity, that her circumstances were so much better than most runaways. She’d filled up her time trying to think of valuable things to do to repay the debt she owed to society. But all the things she’d considered—going to school, getting a low-level job, trying
to find a way to pay back the shelter—ignored the fact that she’d been forgotten in the first place. El didn’t want to exist in a world that ignored the people who needed the most help.

  Just as she had seen Riley do at school, El ran full force at one of the girls. At the last possible second, she jumped and brought her good knee up to chest height. She landed the blow right to the small of a back. In a loud shout, the attacker lost her grip on the girl with braids. In a sound like the bell tower, her forehead hit the edge of the dumpster. As they fell away from the main altercation, El got a leg around a flailing arm and tightened her hold. From the ground, she watched the girls from the shelter chase off the other attacker. It wasn’t until the person vanished around the building that El realized she was restraining an unconscious body.

  To her surprise, as she wriggled out from beneath, the girl with the shaved head offered her a hand. Huffing, her fists bloodied and her feet unsteady, the other girl nodded at her.

  “We gotta go. Come on!”

  El spared the body one glance to make certain she was breathing, and followed. They jogged down a backstreet toward the shelter. Every time a car passed them, they ducked behind trees. El mimicked them, uncertain what she’d just gotten herself into. Apparently, her way of making friends had a lot more in common with Riley’s than she’d thought.

  “Who were those women?” she hissed.

  The victim shook her head. “Just some bitches from another shelter.”

  “You knew them?”

  “One of them took my shit. I took it back and she tried to get me kicked out. She’s got a thing for me. She hears voices. Thinks I’m in some kind of conspiracy.”

  El leaned against a tree and rubbed her knee. Blood stained her pants, but she wasn’t sure if it was hers or someone else’s. The pain was certainly intense.

  The snarky girl ran her hands over her stubbled head. “We gotta clean up or they won’t let us in.”

  “I have some wet wipes,” El wheezed, digging through her bag. “I’m El.”

  The girl with the braids mopped blood from her forehead, her face screwed up in pain. “Maddy. And this is Risa.”