Claudia shook her head. “Come get me down,” she said.
Trucks stared again into the eyes of the horse. Built sturdy and thick. More muscular than any horse he’d ever seen. How fast it could go. How far it could carry them if it was more than fixed stone.
Trucks walked around to the side and got Claudia down. She adjusted her hood and pointed to her ear.
“Can you fix it?” she asked.
“What’s wrong?”
“I hit the button on my hearing phone.”
Trucks didn’t correct her. He bent down and pulled her hood back, checked both her hearing aids. The volume dial on the right side had been turned down. He rolled it up to where she liked it.
“Good?” he asked.
She gave him a thumbs-up. He pulled her hood forward.
“We gotta keep going. We’ll stay warmer that way,” he said.
As they crossed the snow-lined campus, he reached over and rubbed her back.
Soon they found the student union and checked the opportunities boards. Most of the postings were unrelated to work—ads for roommates, tutors, carpooling, study groups. The few listed positions were strictly for students or jobs he wasn’t qualified for. One of the guys at the shelter had mentioned jobs were scarce but that the university sometimes had openings for janitorial staff or maintenance crew. But Trucks saw nothing like that. No possibilities at all.
Trucks took them by the stone horse again so Claudia could have another ride. He didn’t dare look the stone horse in the eyes this time. Like it might show disappointment. Blame him for it all.
They cut across the campus and continued west. Little traffic zipped by. A plane took off from the airport just north of them. Claudia stopped and watched in awe, a hand over her eyes. She followed the plane until it went through the clouds and out of sight. The vapor trail it left behind as a reminder of where it’d been.
Then they turned and walked on.
After a few miles they reached the Rocky Mountain College campus. It was more of what Trucks imagined about a university. Gray stone buildings with angular roofs. Quiet. Peaceful. They walked into the student center, and he searched the boards. Still, nothing. Not a single opening that would work.
Trucks tapped Claudia’s shoulder, and they tightened their coats and walked out.
They were quiet on the long walk back. Trucks felt like he was betraying the heart of himself by looking for common jobs. Instead of returning to the shelter, he took her to a diner and bought her a couple donuts. He didn’t know what else to do.
IN THE SMALL HOURS
The night had come again. Lights out. Bulbs taken.
Trucks listened to the hum of the room. Could almost feel it within him. The slight vibrations. The little withdrawals from trying to let go of such a vast part of himself.
He looked over at his girl. She was asleep with her mouth slightly open. Taking the big breaths of youth. He reached over and touched her soft elbow with his fingertips. He left them there a few seconds before pulling his hand back.
He was trying to give her a new life and a new way. To leave the boxing behind in favor of whatever else might come. Hopefully something without pain and punishment and blood loss. But weren’t those things that had made him what he was? Built the armor that he’d used to protect his girl and the life they’d forged together? She reacted to his boxing like it was a sin to throw a punch, to take one, to set a single foot on the hallowed canvas. But what did she know of what it had given them? What did she know of what it had taken away?
These were the things that plagued him in the small hours. All these nameless bodies lying around him in a mortuary of sleep. The only one that mattered a few feet away. How he’d watch and watch and watch, until finally he drifted off too. His thoughts a blur of questions. His love hung on the movements of her hummingbird breaths.
THE DYNAMOS
The next morning Trucks noticed a posting for the Billings Public Library. A page position shelving books. He thought back to the night before. How if he was going to kick this thing and start a life without boxing, he’d have to go as far away from it as possible. The library was promising in that way. Even though a high school diploma was required, he could lie. They probably wouldn’t even check.
Trucks looked around, then he tore the ad off the board. He folded it up and put it in his back pocket. Claudia was on the ground now, trying to arch her back as high as possible.
“You gonna be a gymnast dynamo or something?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe. What’s that?”
“Someone who’s really good at something. Like they’ve got a born knack for it that others don’t.”
“Hmm. Could I be one?” Claudia asked when she sat up.
“I don’t know. As you grow, we’ll figure out what you’re great at.”
“You think I’ll be great at something?”
“Definitely.”
He held out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up. Then he buttoned the throat flaps on her coat before they headed out.
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?” He watched the traffic before they crossed the street.
“Are you a diamond-mo?”
“Dynamo.”
“Dime-uh-mo?”
“Think of it like dinosaur. You can say that.”
“Dinosaur.”
“Good, now take out saur and add mo.”
“Dyna…mo,” she said. “Dynamo.”
“Good, see? You’re a fast learner, Pepper Flake.”
“Cause of you,” she said.
“You want some food, we better get moving,” he said, and pulled her into the street. “Come on! Run, little legs.”
They laughed as they ran across the street on their way to breakfast.
THE BILLINGS PUBLIC LIBRARY
The library looked like a giant glass box. Beautiful. Surrounded in hundreds of windows. A view of the mountains lining the background. Trucks and Claudia had gawked at the oval ceiling hole in the center of the main floor. It reminded him of an eggshell stripped thin. Painted in its own yolk. Claudia said they were in a spaceship. He’d asked where it would take them. She’d just pointed at the ceiling and said, “Up.”
Trucks and Claudia sat on a black couch under the oval as he filled out an application for the page position. Under work history, he didn’t put down that he’d boxed to earn a living. Instead he wrote the name of the gym where he’d trained. To save money on dues, he’d spent a lot of late nights mopping the mats, wiping down the benches and weights, putting away the headgear and gloves and wraps, sweeping the ring. He figured he could put that down.
“You enjoying those?” he asked Claudia.
She flipped through some kids’ magazines he’d nabbed when they first got there.
“Bored,” she said.
“I’m working on something for us,” he said.
She smiled like it was a secret he’d surprise her with.
“A good job possibility. I might get this one, you never know.”
The application was only a page. Trucks put down KHS under education, though he’d never finished high school. He’d spent a few years at Klakanouse High School, probably worked his way up to a sophomore in completed credits. He couldn’t remember. It didn’t really matter. He’d lie about it and see. Who was really going to call a high school over a minimum-wage job?
Trucks completed the form. He told Claudia to sit tight and walked to the main desk. He handed the paper to the librarian who’d given him the form. She quickly scanned his application, then said, “Your contact number, it’s from the rescue mission, is that right?”
“That’s right,” he said.
“I wanted to be sure. You put Beartooth after the number.”
“I figured I should write that so if you call you’ll know to ask them to find me. I might not be there. It depends. I’ll be in and out quite a bit with my girl.” He pointed at Claudia. She’d rolled up one of the
magazines like a telescope and was watching them.
“That’s adorable,” the librarian said.
“She’s something,” Trucks said.
“From your application, it looks like you don’t have any experience in the field.”
“I don’t.”
“Well, it’s not a requirement for the job. We’ve hired many people over the years who have no experience. These days, it’s just a nice bonus when someone’s familiar with the stacks.”
Trucks didn’t know what she meant by stacks. He thought of all the wins he’d pulled off in a row early in his career without a single loss. People would say he was “stacking them up.” His wins like knocked-out bodies on the ground in stacks. Or the smokestacks on the outskirts of Klakanouse where he’d lived in a children’s home when he was eight. He remembered running laps around the home to build his wind, watching the black smoke float through the sky.
“It’s mostly just sorting the books from the return bins, separating them on carts by section—children’s, fiction, nonfiction, magazines—then sorting them by genre or Dewey number, depending. After that you would shelve the books. It’s not too hard once you get started. Have you done any shelving?”
Trucks didn’t know what a Dewey number was. But the job didn’t sound so hard. Maybe boring but not difficult.
“Not exactly, no,” he said. “I’ve hung up a lot of equipment back at the gym. Put pads and gloves and bags and mats on shelves and hooks. It’s kinda similar.”
The librarian nodded. “That’s good,” she said.
The librarian set another form on the desk. Four stapled pages, front-to-back print.
“What’s that?” Trucks asked.
“It’s our customary sorting and logical deduction aptitude test. Everyone who applies must take it. I know, it’s kind of a bother, but it shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. Some fill-in-the-blank questions, some multiple choice. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Trucks grabbed the form.
“Thanks. Good thing I’ve got my girl with me, she’ll know all the answers,” he joked.
The librarian gave an uncomfortable laugh.
Trucks thanked her again and walked back to Claudia. He sat next to her and put the test on the circular wooden table.
“Can we go now?” she asked.
“Just about. I just need to fill out some more papers.”
“Again?”
“Yeah.”
“What are we doing after?”
“I don’t know, Pepper Flake. Just give me a little time to get this done, okay?”
Trucks rested his elbows on his knees. He covered his face with his hands, closed his eyes, and sighed hard. He wasn’t much of a test taker. From what he’d seen of the questions, he didn’t have a damn clue. So he did what he always did and gave it a shot. He took the pen and worked through the problems. Questions about numbers before and after decimals, how to arrange books if Mc and Mac and Maac are on the same cart. What was meant by the abbreviations YA, F, NF, AF, CB, TP, and on and on. Some things he could work out. Some he couldn’t. Whenever he’d get stuck, Trucks would look over at Claudia. He’d feel real warm inside as he watched her trying to make houses out of the magazines. Roll them up, one in each hand, and tap the edge of the table like a drum kit.
Trucks walked the finished test up to the librarian. He handed it to her. She skimmed it with a finger. Looked up at him.
“We’ll let you know,” she said. “Calls will probably go out within the week. We notify all applicants, either way.”
“I don’t know a lot about the books, but I work hard. I’ve done some shelving, like I said.”
“It sounds like it,” she said.
“I know it’s not your kind of shelving, but it was real work. I arranged things.”
Trucks opened and closed his bad hand by his hip.
“We haven’t had too many applicants yet. Really, as long as you passed the test and your history seems like a fit, I’m sure you’ll get a call with some good news.”
“I’d really appreciate it. I just want you to know that. I’d do good.”
“I don’t doubt it,” the librarian said. Then she took off her glasses. “I’m really not the one hiring, so I won’t have an impact on your application or your chances.”
Trucks looked over at Claudia. He tapped his knuckles against his leg.
“Okay. Well, maybe you could pass it along. Let them know the guy who did the application works hard. And he’s…he’s a good guy. He’d be happy to shelve or do cleaning or whatever needs to be done.”
“Will do. I better get back to it here,” she said.
“Sure,” Trucks said. “Thanks for the time.”
“Good luck, um…” The librarian looked through the papers. “Mr. Kadoka. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from us.”
Trucks squeezed his fist tight. He turned and walked over to Claudia.
“Okay, Pepper Flake, we gotta put these magazines back,” he said.
Then he walked Claudia over to the children’s section, and she put the magazines back.
Before they walked out, they stood next to the entrance and put on their coats. Trucks made sure her hood was tight. He buttoned her throat flaps. Claudia reached inside the hood and adjusted her hearing aids. She stared up at him when she was ready.
When the librarian looked over, Trucks gave her a wave. She waved back. Then Trucks walked his girl out the door and into the biting Montana winter.
He didn’t say anything as they walked along, but he felt a warmth inside. Like the rare feeling of hope. Claudia moved in a light skip. Trucks listened to her sing under her breath. He thought about how happy she seemed in the library. Its unique chairs and colored lights. The angled architecture. Thousands of square feet of pristine carpet. Everything tight and crisp and clean and in its place. The shelves making homes for worlds they might finally know.
NIGHT BREATH
Trucks lay awake in the cot, trying hard not to smell. One of the homeless guys had vomited all over the floor just before lights out. Even though the staff had cleaned it up, the smell hung heavy.
Trucks was feeling hopeful about the job. He’d never felt this way about something so apart from his known world. The hope made him sick. Trucks put his hands on his stomach. He didn’t know how to displace his energy from his hands to his organs. But he thought about it again. Tried to remember what the naturopath had said back when he and his trainer were trying to get his body right. So many years of boxing takes its toll. The stress and anxiety of attack and defend, attack and defend, did no good for him. At least not in the real world. Not in any practical way. Sure, it won him fights. It put him in a good headspace for the ring world but not for the working world. Or the world where he was trying to raise his girl. Teach her morals as he knew them. The ways to treat others. How to treat herself.
He’d never taught her to box. Part of him was never sure if it was a good idea. Elle had so much intensity and heat to her, he feared it would come out in Claudia too. And maybe the boxing would only make it worse. Bring it out faster. Force her to snap so much sooner than she might anyway. Or maybe snapping wasn’t part of her makeup. Maybe it would skip her blood. He hoped for that. That his little girl wouldn’t be anything like Elle when she got older. That maybe all they’d have in common were those long, dark curls. A beautiful thing.
Trucks turned on his side. He kept his coat on the ground near the bed. He dug in a pocket and pulled out his sachet. Trucks opened the sachet and waited for that familiar smell to rise. A draft of gardenias. Those dangerous things. He put his busted hands together and closed his eyes. He put all the energy he had into trying to see Elle again in that bar all those years ago. Back when he first met her. When it felt like the spark of him and her meant something good. When it radiated between them like a tension of love and understanding and what could be. But it was too hard to picture anything like that now. All he ever imagined was her cold body
in a ditch. Her skin so pale and blue in the darkness. It had been years since he’d seen her or heard from her, so there was little else to suspect. She’d become the kind of woman who woke up with the needle still stuck in her arm. The syringe lying at an angle from tossing in her sleep. The knot still tied off. Blood trickling from the entry point. It’s not how he wanted to think of her. Dead isn’t how he wanted to see her. But he couldn’t control what his mind showed him. And be it sickness or love, the fact that he still thought of her kept her alive in the spirit of the world. Because at least someone was thinking of her. That poor soul.
Suddenly he was aware of the hum in the room again. A noise that came with the night. He blinked and looked into the darkness. Wondered if there was anyone out there thinking of him. And if he died, who would be there to mourn him? Who would care enough to keep him alive in their memory?
He looked over at Claudia. She was asleep on her side. Her lips shook when she breathed in that way. He liked how heavy it was. Like she was letting him know she was still alive. That her wind was good and strong in those little lungs.
Trucks got up on his elbow. He looked around the room. There wasn’t much he could see. The nightlights were gone again. He wondered if the homeless men took them out of the wall sockets. Put the bulbs in bed against their skin under the sheets to take in the warmth of the cooling glass.
He kissed his thumb and ran it over Claudia’s eyebrow. She twitched but didn’t wake. He brought his hand back and cracked his knuckles under the sheets. He thought of how he always did that before putting on the boxing gloves. And after taking them off. How he’d shake out his hands to release the tightness, to open up the blood. Feel his wrists slip into place. The crack of the bones.
She was too delicate for it. He knew he should never teach her. But a good part of him wanted to pass something on, and wasn’t that the only real trade he had? The evidence of a depth of knowledge he’d gained over all his years? So he couldn’t tell her about Dewey numbers or how to grow vegetables or calculate prescriptions or what happens in the stock market. But he could teach her how to throw a right cross, slip a punch, step away from the power, slide into the pocket.
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