Romeo is Homeless

by Julie Frayn

  “Oh, hell no. Not Randy, no way.” She took a deep breath and then told Sara about losing her virginity to the man who paid her sixty dollars.

  Sara stared at her and took a step backwards. “You you were a prostitute?”

  “Just that one time. I needed the money, there wasn’t anything to eat. And I had to do my share if I wanted to be part of their family. To be with Reese.”

  “He made you do that? Why would you love someone like that?”

  “No, you don’t understand. He didn’t make me do anything. Actually, he didn’t want me to. I didn’t want to do it, but I wanted to – help.” She sighed and pinched her lips together. Sara didn’t get it. “It’s hard to explain. You have to go through it to really know what it’s like.”

  Sara’s eyes narrowed and her head shook back and forth. “I’m not ever going to go through that.”

  “Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t want you to. That part was horrible.”

  She wrapped up her story, an abridged version of what she told her parents. The need to tell it all to this girl had disappeared. Sara had that look on her face. The one that said, ‘I’m better than you, but I’ll be polite just long enough to get the hell away from here.’

  “My God, August. You were only gone a few weeks.”

  She could feel it in her heart and see it in Sara’s eyes. They’d lost their bond. It was severed by an entire second lifetime she had lived in the city, utterly disconnected from her world at home. She turned away and stared out the window.

  “It changed me, Sara.” She stroked her stomach, then dropped her hand to her side. She wasn’t about to reveal her pregnancy. That news was too special to share with someone she couldn’t trust. Someone who wasn’t family. “It changed my life.”

  Chapter 43

  Spring bloomed early in full living color. By late March the side yard was carpeted by white daisies, the corn already in the ground. And babies were popping out all over the place.

  There was a flurry of activity in the lambing pen, all the lambs healthy except for the runt of a litter of triplets. He was pushed aside by his bigger siblings, not strong enough to fight his way to his mother’s bulging teats. After one day, the mother rejected him.

  August couldn’t bear to see him wander alone in the pen, his pitiful bleat tugging on her heartstrings. So she taught April how to feed him with a bottle. Her sister proved to be a loving substitute mother and the lamb started to thrive. Their father told April they were connected now, she and that lamb – she had saved his life. Saved him. At least one of the Bailey girls knew how to rescue a doomed soul.

  The three sows gave birth to a total of twenty-seven piglets, the most she could ever remember. August stayed in the pen with her father during the births, then held the newborns still while he trimmed their soft teeth. Most of them would be fed and fattened and sold for meat, like last year and the year before that. She was no vegetarian, but this part of reality was getting hard to swallow.

  Both of the cows’ bellies were colossal with pregnancy. She’d visited them every day in the barn during winter, and then in the pasture when the spring thawed the ground. They would waddle to the fence when they saw her coming and moo their hellos. They were always a little standoffish with her in past, but not this year. Maybe they could sense she was going to be a mother too, they could trust her now. She understood them.

  She rubbed their snouts and talked to them, told them how beautiful they were, those huge dark eyes and long lashes. She dreaded the day they did give birth. Like the pigs, their babies would be taken away from them, but after just one night. They would be incarcerated in veal pens, sentenced to be sold at auction and then slaughtered for their tender, young meat. The farm would have fresh milk from the mother’s bloated udders until the next cycle, but those poor creatures would bellow their gut-wrenching despair at the loss of their babies for days on end. Until this season she thought of it as just another sad fact of farm life. This year, it just plain broke her heart.

  *****

  August sat on the window seat in her bedroom and gazed out into the yard. Like the spring, the weeping cherries had blossomed early, their leafy limbs already bereft of flowers. Decaying petals carpeted the drive, the saccharine perfume from their decomposing bodies filled the air and mixed with the pig stink from the pen just a hundred feet from the house. The perfect rural cologne.

  It was a sparkling Wednesday the first week in April, and she started this day like any other – awash in thoughts of Reese. This morning ritual had replaced other, lesser rituals. No more prayers at bedtime. No more grace before meals. Just morning worship at the altar of her grief, her ceremonial devotion to his memory. It was here she analyzed the choices she’d made. Here she realized every day was full of choice. Every choice had consequences. Every consequence, life-changing.

  Reese hadn’t had many choices to make. He didn’t choose to be raped, never asked to be beaten, burned, whipped. Even his addiction was thrust upon him. The one horrific choice he did make, to kill his mother, wasn’t really a choice at all. It was a matter of life and death. His life. Her death. He would have died years earlier if he hadn’t done it. Dead either way. Doomed from the start.

  Sitting at the window, she played out that last day over and over again. The day she watched him jump in front of that train. The day he sacrificed himself to save her. The day the pain came and wouldn’t go away. That pain haunted her as much as he preoccupied her thoughts. The electricity that passed between them when they touched. The taste of his lips, his tongue, his skin. The wave in his hair, the length of his limbs, the angle of his neck, that enticing lump in his throat. His eyes. Those eyes were ever present. No, he never left her. She was bound to him until the end of days, permanently tethered to a dead man. United in some cruel, heartrending, cosmic marriage.

  After each memory ended, she was hollow, her heart vacant. How could she ever be with anyone else? She would never love another like she loved him. She could never love again. She was certain this was true, and yet fating herself to this lonely conclusion, the presumption she would only experience the joy and exhilaration of perfect love in some nostalgic haze, never in the here and now, left her on the brink of emptiness.

  Her baby stretched in her belly and shook her from her melancholy fog. She watched as one of his little body parts tried to push the limits of her uterus. She rubbed and poked at her stomach, prompting a flurry of action – a fist punching, a foot kicking. She couldn’t tell which.

  A contented smile took over her face, releasing her from the heartache of her memories. How could she feel empty? She was in love with this little person – half her, half Reese – growing inside of her. She was thrilled when the ultrasound revealed it was a boy. Now Reese would live forever through his son. She’d never even considered giving her baby up for adoption or terminating the pregnancy. She would love this child without reservation, guarantee him a home where he would be safe and happy. But he could hurry up and make an entrance already. Her due date came and went two weeks ago, but this little dude had no plans on leaving his warm and comfy home yet. She rubbed her lower back and groaned.

  Tires crunched on gravel. The school bus. She watched as her sisters ran down the drive to catch it. June turned to wave at her like every morning. She waved back and blew her baby sister a kiss, then breathed a heavy sigh and hauled herself downstairs to do her chores. Life on the farm didn’t take a break just because she was stupid enough to get knocked up.

  Dishes clattered in the kitchen and the nauseating aroma of fresh coffee cut through the sweet putrefaction of rotting cherry blossoms.

  At the kitchen threshold she paused and watched her mother clean the breakfast dishes, humming a familiar, off-key tune. “Hit me like a train.” She fought the urge to cry, then tiptoed behind her mother and wrapped her arms around an apron-clad middle.

  “Morning, Mom.”

  “Good morning, sweetheart. Breakfast is on the table.” Caraleen twisted around and k
issed her on the cheek.

  August rested one hand on the shelf of her belly and eyed the plate full of eggs and greasy sausage. “If you don’t mind, I’m not up for it yet. I’ll come back after the pigs get theirs.”

  She crossed the yard, squinting in the bright sunlight. She slogged through the pen with a heavy pail, watermelon rinds and apple cores floating atop the slurry, her black rubber boots fast becoming cumbersome with mud. She heaved the pail up to rest on the side of the slop bin and tipped it, spilling its pungent contents for the waiting snouts.

  A gentle poke in her rear put her off balance. She reached out and grabbed the feeder. The largest sow snorted at her, probably thinking, ‘Ha ha, gotcha again. Don’t you ever learn?’

  “Well, good morning to you, too.” August laughed and knuckle-rubbed the old girl between her ears, the thick rough hide and sparse bristles of hair like a rasp against her calloused skin. She grabbed the empty bucket, still not ready to face that greasy breakfast plate, and went to gather eggs.

  When she exited the pigpen she doubled over. Pain ripped through her stomach. She turned the pail upside down and sat, throwing one arm around the fence rail for support. Sudden warmth flooded her legs. Her jeans were soaked to the knees.

  “Mother!” she screamed. “It’s happening!”

  *****

  The pain was undulating waves of torture that crested, ebbed, deceived August into momentary comfort and then crested again. Her entire body was slippery with sweat, hair stuck to her forehead and neck. The breathing exercises she’d learned were thrown out in favor of flat-out screaming. How many hours would this go on?

  “Breathe, August! Now push!”

  She grabbed the hand that patted her arm and squeezed, finding encouragement at her mother’s touch. Rocking forward, she did as she was told and pushed.

  “Good girl, August. Keep breathing! There’s the head.”

  She flopped onto her back, the vinyl mattress pad crackled beneath the thin sheet. Relief was temporary. Another wave of pain surged through her.

  “One more push, August. Just the shoulder and then you’re home free. Come on, you’re doing great! You can do it!”

  August grunted. Whoever the cheerleader was could shut the hell up. Then she pushed. The small shoulder squeezing out of her sent fresh pain coursing through her lower back. Then sudden relief and a wonderful tickle as arms and legs squiggled free of their months long confines.

  She fell back, gulping for air. A magnificent, indignant wail filled her ears. She burst out laughing, tears streamed down her face.

  “Here he is, August. You did great. He’s perfect.”

  The doctor laid her son on her stomach. She reached out and touched his tiny hand with one finger.

  “Hey, little Reese-man. Happy birthday, baby.” She stroked his gooey little head. A renegade tuft of light blond hair poked up from the darker clumps still sticky with birth.

  He blinked his eyes and looked right at her.

  Her heart melted. She hadn’t felt exhilaration or joy this intense in months. Maybe never. She laughed again through ecstatic tears and cooed at him when he grasped her finger in his tiny hand. If only his daddy could have seen his beautiful face. Then he would have really been saved.

  “Look, Reese. Grandma’s here too.”

  Her mother kissed her forehead. Then Caraleen took the umbilical scissors the doctor held out and cut the cord.

  Chapter 44

  August rested her head against the window of the pickup and watched the storefronts and restaurants roll by. Had more than a year passed since that life-changing summer living on the streets of this city? And now she would be here every month, maybe more often. It wasn’t a pun. It wasn’t even irony. It was just a sad fact.

  When she first learned the truth, she needed someone to blame. Was it her parents fault for keeping her so protected and sheltered from the world beyond their rural borders she was ill-equipped to make the right decision? No, that was crap. She’d learned about sex in school, learned about protection, pregnancy, disease. She chose not to make that leap with any boy before Reese. Maybe the school system was at fault. They taught all the parts, all the equipment, all the consequences. But no one – not teachers, not parents, not friends – prepared her for the feelings. Emotions she didn’t know how to control. Love. Passion. Lust. She couldn’t stop herself. Or maybe she just didn’t want to.

  She’d maintained such a fabled view of him, her prince, her knight. After the birth of their son, the fog started to lift. The chinks in his armor dulled his shine. Her reasoning that his love for her had derailed him emotionally, had blurred his common sense, lost merit. Reality smacked her in the face more often than memories of their fantasy romance. He was a drug addict who shared needles. A prostitute who probably had hundreds of dates. How many of those encounters were unprotected? None of it lessened her responsibility, but it was his fault too. He had to share the blame.

  She thought of him every day. It was hard not to when her son wore his face. But she didn’t have the time, or even the need, for her morning observance at the window seat. Once in a while, brief pangs of desire caught her off guard. She still held tight to certain memories, mourned the loss of intense passion. But another feeling had taken centre stage. Anger. How could he not have protected her from this? How could he abandon her, leave her to deal with it alone, for the rest of her life?

  Little Reese started to fuss beside her. She popped his soother into his mouth then ran her fingers through his silky curls.

  He looked up at her and grinned. Then his eyelids flickered and he fell back to sleep in his seat.

  She always sat in the back with him so he wouldn’t be afraid, riding backwards with nothing to look at but the ceiling of the truck. She always watched his little face, her finger gripped in his whole hand. But today she was too distracted by the increasingly familiar sights and the memories and feelings they ignited.

  The truck turned onto the street in front of the park. Blossom-free weeping cherries lined the path. Pigeons pecked at the ground around the benches, their heads bobbing back and forth like chickens. Goosebumps tingled up her arms. She sat bolt upright and banged her palm on the window.

  “Stop! Dad, stop the truck!”

  Before he could bring the truck to a full stop she opened the door and jumped out. She weaved through the cars that crawled through the afternoon rush hour, and raced across three lanes of traffic.

  “Amber!” She screamed and sprinted down the park path. “Amber!”

  Amber turned away from the man she was with and took one slow step toward her. “August? Oh my God, August!”

  They crashed into each other’s arms, both of them sobbing. Amber pulled back, laughing through tears and stroked August’s hair.

  “Damn, honey. Have I ever missed you.” She took both of August’s hands. “How’ve you been?”

  “You know what happened?”

  “Yeah.” Amber swallowed hard. “I was in the hospital for a few days. It was on TV, about you being found. And about Reese. Well, not about him. It only made the news because he screwed up subway traffic for a few hours.” She looked away and blinked several times, squeezing August’s fingers. Then she looked back, her eyes wide. “What are you doing here? You didn’t run…”

  “No, no. I’m here with my dad. I’ll be here a lot, to see a doctor. A specialist.”

  “Why? Are you okay?”

  “Not exactly.” She looked at the ground. The enormity of the diagnosis, the potential finality weighed heavy on her shoulders. She looked at Amber, touched by the concern pinching around her friend’s eyes. “I’m HIV positive.”

  “Oh, shit no.” Amber touched August’s cheek. “Honey, I’m so sorry.” Amber put one hand behind her neck, pulled her in and hugged her. “He didn’t know. He couldn’t have known.”

  August pulled away, her brow furrowed. “How couldn’t he know? Or at least have considered the possibility.”

  Amber looked awa
y, then turned back to meet her eyes. “Yeah. You’re right. What do the docs say?”

  “I’m on a bunch of medication and I have to come here a lot, at least once a month. If I manage it and it doesn’t turn into AIDs, they say I may live a full life.” Or she could get caught in the corn thresher during harvest this autumn and bleed out in the field before anyone could save her. Life was just as unpredictable now as it was last summer. “I’m so angry. I want to hate him. But I just can’t.”

  “I get that. Can’t blame you.”

  “What about Guy? What happened to him?”

  “He will be an old man before they let him out. They wouldn’t listen to me, about what that rat bastard did, that Guy was protecting me. Hell, they even accused him of killing Ricki. Fucking cops.” She pulled a piece of worn paper from her pocket and stared at it. “I tried to visit him, but he wouldn’t see me. Gave the guard this.”

  August took the paper and unfolded it. Move on. Love, Guy. He was always a man of few words.

  Amber took back the paper, folded it and tucked it into her pocket. “You know, I lost my whole family in one summer.”

  August took Amber’s hand. “Not your whole family.”

  The man Amber had been talking to came up behind them. “Look, sweetheart, I haven’t got all day. Are we doing this or what? Maybe you could give me two for one, huh? You and your friend there?”

  “If you don’t walk away right now, I’ll shoot you dead like the diseased dog that you are.”

  August smirked. The man’s eyes doubled in size and he backed away.

  Amber stared at August’s father.

  August took her son from his grandfather’s arms.

  Amber looked at the baby, then looked back to August, her knitted brows wrinkling her forehead. She pointed at the baby. “Is that? Is he?”

  “This is Reese.”

  Amber brought a hand up to her mouth, tears filling her eyes. “Oh my God. August, he’s beautiful.” She held out her hands. “Can I?”

  Amber gathered Reese in her arms and bounced him up and down. “Hi, baby Reese-man. Look at those blue eyes. Those are Daddy’s eyes.” She gave him an apprehensive hug, then kissed his flaxen hair. “What about him, is he?”