by Sara Hosey
“Not here. All I have on me is water. But come with me. I have food stashed. And you stay with me tonight, in my tent,” I added, impulsively. “It’s small, but you can stay with me.”
“Really?” Corinne abandoned any attempt at remaining cool, her eyes lit with excitement—and maybe hunger. “Camping out in Forest Park!” she declared. “What a crazy world. I am so lucky I ran into you, aren’t I?” She ground out the cigarette and flicked it off, away into the bushes.
Standing up, brushing the damp leaves from my butt, I wondered if I had made a mistake. What was I doing, bringing this girl back to my camp? She might rip me off or who knows, she might be a crazy park serial killer.
But, to be honest, I think those weeks alone taught me just how hard it is to be person-less. Don’t get me wrong, Angel was the best. She was good company, for real. But it’s different when someone talks back.
And I knew something that day, talking to Corinne. I knew that even though I thought I could do it alone, I needed somebody else. I knew I needed her.
Chapter 14
The rain had stopped while Corinne and I were talking and we headed over to my camp. Hiking through the woods, she told me stories: about Prince and how she bought him at a pet store even though you’re not supposed to do that, but how it was just so sad and pathetic she couldn’t leave him there, and about Henry, her ex-boyfriend and how it was love at first sight but now he was deadly, “literally deadly, girl,” she said, and about her mother, who sometimes “got religion” and started speaking in tongues, which Corinne loudly imitated, her voice ricocheting through the woods. I nodded and laughed at the right times, marveling all the while at this girl’s ease, at how easy she made talking seem, at how easy she made it to be with her.
When we got to my spot, we sat on a log while she scarfed down a can of cold lentil soup. When she finished she was suddenly quiet and looked at me expectantly, like it was my turn to tell her something. I knew that this was how it worked with friends, especially girlfriends. I thought: What can I tell her?
There was something—something I was ashamed of, but which I knew I should probably get out in the open.
“Um,” I began.
She waited, her face serious and alert.
“So, like, at night I sometimes chew my thumb?”
She paused. “Do you mean you suck your thumb?” she asked, not able to restrain her smirk.
“I mean, it’s just the edge …” I began, my face getting hot.
“Whatever,” she laughed. “That’s cute.”
I shut my eyes. Why couldn’t I be a normal person?
“Honestly, I really don’t care. So, tell me,” she said, mercifully changing the subject, “anybody give you a hard time out here all on your own?”
I told her about the time the guy with the knife tried to grab me and how I threw the beans at him and all that. When I was done, she looked at me like I was crazy and then she started laughing. “Well, check out skinny little you! I bet he was surprised! How sneaky with the pepper spray. Saint Sneak, that’s what I’ll call you. Patron saint of the gutter punks.”
I laughed.
“I wish I had been there!” She jumped up and bent both arms, like bodybuilders do when they want to show off their muscles. “We woulda showed that guy. Me and Saint Sneak,” she kissed each bicep in turn, “we’d be like superheroes.”
“Well,” I said, feeling good, feeling, I don’t know, like I could be funny too. “You know, not to brag or anything, but I kinda did. Show him. You know, by myself.”
“Oh yeah?” she laughed, sitting back down. “Is that right?” she said, all sass, to Angel. The dog, loving the attention, danced around her and then lunged forward to lick Corinne’s face.
“Ouch,” Corinne winced, and protected her face with her forearm. “And, gross, dog!” she complained, pushing Angel off her, but Angel kept jumping back, wanting to play more.
“I’m sorry.” I got up and grabbed Angel around the neck.
“It’s okay,” Corinne said, wiping at her face and fixing her scarf. “Just, you know, still a little sore is all.”
I hugged Angel into submission, whispering a scolding into her ear. She kept twisting around to lick me.
“Anybody else give you problems?” Corinne asked.
I shrugged, releasing a calmed-down Angel to sniff around Corinne in a more civilized manner. Corinne put out a hand to tickle Angel’s ear and I knew all was forgiven.
“There’s a couple other homeless. They sleep on the benches around the perimeter mostly, though. They don’t bother me. But if I leave stuff out or like, not hidden, even for a minute, it’s usually gone when I turn around.”
“So, then, like, what’s the long-term plan? What are you gonna do?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, dummy,” she said, shaking her head, rising to dig out her cigarettes, “so, you get assaulted by like, a rapist child molester monster or something. And then you’re like, okay, that’s cool. Night-night?”
“Well, I was pretty scared.”
“Exactly.”
“But where am I supposed to go?”
“Uh, I don’t know. How about anywhere besides Forest Park?”
I kind of laughed. She was right, of course. “I don’t know. I can’t go home. And I’ve got Angel now, so you know, I can’t go to a shelter or anything.”
“Okaaaay,” she drawled the word out, rolling her eyes.
I wasn’t ready to tell her the rest, to tell her about my mother, to tell her I couldn’t leave until I found her or until I knew for sure she wasn’t in the park anymore. I knew it would sound too crazy. “Where else is there?”
Corinne was serious. “I don’t know. I really don’t.” She picked a leaf and stripped it down with her fingers, the shreds falling. “It might be better to like, live in the subway. Or, really, I mean, home can’t be all that bad, can it?”
“I think I like the monsters here better than the ones at home.”
She smirked. “I hear you.”
“Come on,” I changed the subject. “We’ve got to set up camp.” I crawled a few feet to a spot I had marked with a rock and then I brushed away the leaves to reveal the tarp that covered my gear.
“What’s that?”
“A tent and sleeping stuff.” I pulled back the tarp. “And some more food.” I handed the tent to her. “Go ahead and unpack that.” She put her cigarette out against the tree carefully and stuck the unsmoked half, unlit now, deeply into her hair.
“All the comforts of home,” she said, wonderingly.
“It’s not much. But it’s not too bad, either.”
She slid the tent out and stood there waiting for me to start the assembly.
I spread the tent out on the ground and started expertly popping the poles together.
“So, Brenda, I have something I think I have to tell you …” My stomach dropped a little, like, the way she said it, whatever it was, it wasn’t gonna be good news. I looked at her.
“If it’s not cool with you, that’s fine.” Corinne fished the cigarette out of her hair. “I can just, you know, move along.” She was pretending to be casual, but I could tell by the pitch of her voice that she was nervous.
I waited.
She tugged at her earlobe, lit the cigarette carefully because it was so short. “So, I guess, you know, you’ve been real nice to me and all so I want to tell you something. It doesn’t matter, really, but …” She exhaled and looked off into the trees. “It’s just that I am not, like, one hundred percent biologically, a girl. I mean, I am a girl, but, you know?”
It took me a minute to understand what she was saying. Then I looked at her again—I couldn’t help myself—in a new way, noticing her skinniness, her small chest, her big hands.
“Okay,” I said uncertainly.
&nb
sp; “Okay? So, that’s okay with you?”
“Okay,” I shrugged. I felt like staring, but I knew that would be rude, so I continued sliding the poles in, making the tent take shape.
I won’t lie. It was weird to me. I never knew anyone like that before. There were people like that on Roosevelt Avenue, under the overhead train tracks, but you only saw them very early in the morning or very late at night. They were prostitutes and they made me a little nervous, the way they slunk around and then smirked at you if they caught you staring. And I felt a little scared for them, too, perched on perilous heels, getting into cars with strangers.
But I wasn’t like, disgusted or anything. It was just strange. And with Corinne, I suppose the fact that we had talked, that I already liked her, made a difference. Maybe otherwise I would have judged or been uptight about it.
“Um, do you, like, have any questions?” Corinne’s voice was mocking, teacherly, but I could tell she was also sincere.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I guess it’s not that big a deal. It’s none of my business, really. So, whatever.” I shrugged. “You seem cool to me.”
“All right then!” Corinne laughed and came over, put an arm around me. “You, my friend, are pretty cool too. The cool and quiet type.”
I smiled.
“I guess I do have a question.”
“Gimme.” She released me, but kept a hand on my shoulder, looking me in the face.
“Your boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend.”
“Is he …?”
“He is biologically male. Hetero. Straight as the day is long.”
I looked at her.
“It’s complicated,” she said, patting my shoulder. “But not very.”
I nodded.
“Now, I’ve told you a secret. So, it’s your turn.”
Secrets. Sure, I had some. They were buried so deep, though, I didn’t know if I’d even be able to find them anymore myself.
Corinne dropped her chin. “What’s your real name anyway?”
I laughed, relieved. “How do you know Brenda’s not my real name?” I turned to unzip the tent and knelt down to unroll the mat and put it in the sleeping bag.
“It’s the way you say it. Like you got marbles in your mouth. ‘Hi, I’m … Brenda!’” she mimicked, completely absurdly. “Like even you don’t believe it’s your name.”
I smiled. Kept at my business organizing the tent and didn’t say anything for a minute. There was only so much organizing to do. I crawled back out. “My real name is Iffy,” I said finally.
“Iffy? What? What kind of name is that?”
“Iphigenia. Iphigenia Murphy.”
“Well,” huffed Corinne. “I think I might have just gone with Murph, myself.” She paused and let out a quick laugh. “That is some name.”
“It’s Greek.” In my head, I heard the explanation: My mom did a year of college. She read it in a play and she thought, “that’s what I’m gonna name my daughter.” Of course, the character gets killed in a sacrifice. So, that’s not very cool. But when she told my father that’s what she wanted to name me, he thought it was pretty. Didn’t know about the sacrificing part. Probably still doesn’t. But I didn’t say all that. Instead, I said, “My mom’s idea. Maybe not her best one?”
Corinne laughed. “Our moms should get together sometime. Mine named me Corey T. Wales.”
“What’s the T for?”
“That’s just it: nothing. My mom just thought it would look nice. Like, distinguished.”
“That’s so funny.”
“She’s a funny lady,” Corinne said dryly.
“My mom left when I was eight,” I blurted out.
Corinne looked surprised, probably by my delivery. “That sucks.”
I shook my head in assent. Silently I filled a bowl with water for Angel.
“Where’d she go?”
I almost laughed. “I’m not sure.”
“Wow. You ever think about trying to find her?”
“All the time.”
Chapter 15
The days passed quickly with Corinne. We hung out, Corinne talking endlessly and me contributing only when I had to. We walked around the park, looked at the turtles in the pond, listened to the radio. We made tiny fires to heat up lentils and guarded each other when we took showers at the sprinklers. At night, when I woke up gasping, she’d pat my arm, tell me it was all right, go back to sleep.
Money started to get tight. We had to get more gear, more food, more cigarettes for Corinne. I still had a little cash and so did she, but I started panhandling more and, since Corinne was around to take care of Angel, I also started leaving the park more. I would go to the Kmart or a pizza place or the public library to “take a bath” in the sink, brush my teeth, pick up supplies. It was weird to be in the world again, to feel at once so conspicuous and so irrelevant. I didn’t like it.
But Corinne was pretty nervous about being seen by someone she knew. Her ex-boyfriend’s place was right off the park, which is how she wound up at the bridge that day in the first place. She had waited until he fell asleep, drunk, and then sneaked out and ran into the park, into the trees, as fast as she could. She said she hadn’t thought much beyond getting out of the apartment and away from him.
And I had run into Henry, the ex, the day before Corinne and I met—that was when he tried to take Angel away from me. We didn’t know each other, of course, but the meeting seemed ominous, a close call. It meant he was or had been in the park, and it also meant that he was looking for Corinne.
But then about a week into what Corinne called our “cohabitation,” she started making noises about going back.
She’d been talking about Prince a lot, like whenever Angel did something sweet or cute or even naughty, she would say, “What a good doggie! You’re just like my Prince,” and then she’d launch into a story about when Prince ate a whole bag of Hershey’s kisses, or the time he jumped out the car window when they were stuck in traffic on the LIE. “And then, the little so-and-so, jumps in the window of the car behind us! The poor driver almost had a heart attack!” The car one was funny, but in general, I’d say, other people’s dog stories aren’t all that interesting. I’d listen, maybe with half an ear, and smile or laugh at the right times.
But so, after she’d tell her story she’d get sad, wondering if Prince was okay, chewing her lip and saying we ought to go back and get him. I usually didn’t say anything. Just sat there, waiting. She’d conclude regretfully that it wasn’t a good idea, but maybe soon … and then we’d get on to something else. But one morning, as we ate our granola bars, she announced with a new determination, “Iffy, we have to go get Prince.”
I looked at her, cocked my head. Waited to hear more.
“We can’t leave him there with Henry.” She looked at my face and added, “You don’t get it, Iffy. Could you just leave Angel with some jerk? He’s probably totally neglected. Pooping in the house and all that stuff.”
I grimaced.
“Or worse. God knows what’s going on there. My poor Princie,” she continued, a little whine in her voice making her sound just a bit like a lonely dog herself. “He might be hurt. And if he’s hurt … he’s probably wondering where I am, why I haven’t come back for him.”
It got to me. She could see it getting to me. That’s the thing about animals: you can’t explain things to them like you can to a human. If you could just tell them, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a little bit, I still love you,” it would be that much easier. But you can’t.
I looked at Corinne again, but softened my stare. “I had a kitten once.”
I watched Corinne as what I was saying registered.
“Oh.” She put an arm on my shoulder. “Never got to be a cat?”
“Yeah.” That’s how it was with Corinne. I didn’t have to
spell it out; she just got it. I had a kitten once.
“So, you hear me.” She went into planning mode. “We’ll go to the apartment when Henry’s at work. He works nights at the restaurant. We’ll go to the apartment and see if there are any lights on. If there aren’t, I’ll just run in, grab a couple of things—I’ve got to get my medicine and I might be able to dig up some more cash—and we’ll snatch Prince and we’ll get right out of there.”
“Okay, Corinne. We’ll go get him. But you do know this is totally nuts?”
“It will be fine.”
“What about Angel?”
“She can come with.” She patted Angel’s rump. Angel looked from Corinne to me and back again, like, telling us she was in, she was excited about the mission. “She and Princie are gonna love each other,” Corinne kind of squealed. “It’ll be good for her too, Iffy. Angel needs more dog companionship. Don’t you, girl?”
Angel barked once, making us laugh.
“Yes. All right.” I had my reservations; I straight-up knew it wasn’t a good idea.
I shuddered, images of a kitten I’d called Oreo swimming in front of my eyes. I saw his quick little tongue lapping up milk and felt his tight tummy against my hand.
I heard the sound Oreo made when my stepbrother threw him against a wall.
I squeezed my eyes shut tight and when I opened them I saw Corinne frowning. “Let me tell you about the time Prince ate my wallet,” she began. She launched into a disgusting and improbable story and I forced myself to listen, happy to have Corinne’s voice to carry me away and calm me down.
That night around ten o’clock we set out.
I retrieved my skateboard, excited to get on it. Outside the park, going down the sidewalks, I’d alternate between riding along real slow next to Corinne and then going on ahead and circling back. It was good to ride. It was extra good to have Angel trotting next to me. I hadn’t been sure if she’d be cool about it or if she’d be too skittish to walk alongside the board, but she seemed to like it, jogging right there with me and looking up with that big, goofy smile.