Jeraline's Alley

by Becca C. Smith

  But most of all he was funny, which made me happy since my grandmother’s favorite thing to do was laugh. I could still remember watching the original Pink Panther and her laughing so hard she fell off the couch. Some of Buster’s quips had brought tears to my eyes they were so funny. With everything that had happened in the last few days, I needed it. And he knew I needed it, which was why he put in the extra effort. It made me love him just a little bit.

  Roofing also brought back memories of my dad. We’d only repaired a half dozen houses over the years, but it was the time we spent together that I remembered most. Sitting on the rooftop after a long day’s work, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches Mom made for us with the crusts cut off and drinking an ice-cold soda. My face flushed with the memory, and the old familiar ache crawled back inside my chest.

  Shingles.

  Almost done.

  Concentrate.

  After I tossed the last of the old shingles off the roof, Grandma walked out from the house, holding a tray with two large glasses on it. “I made you two some lemonade.”

  Better words were never spoken.

  Buster wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve. “Our savior.”

  “You are the best. We’ll be right down.” Unclamping my hands from the tear-off bar, I took a deep breath heading for the ladder.

  “Jeraline?”

  Was that . . .

  Josh?

  I whirled around to see where the voice had come from.

  It wasn’t Josh.

  It was my attacker standing on Buster’s front lawn, and he was pulling out a gun!

  I jumped in spite of myself and slipped on the newly installed roofing paper. Regaining my balance didn’t seem to be an option as I slid off the roof and fell all thirteen feet to land directly onto . . .

  Josh.

  Yup. Not my attacker. Josh.

  The brunt force of my landing pushed Josh to the ground so that I was now lying on top of him with his arms around me.

  “Did you hit your head? Are you okay?” I asked frantically, afraid I had given him a concussion.

  “Am I okay? Are you okay? You fell off a roof.” Josh stated the obvious, but for some reason it made what happened moments ago click in my brain.

  I had fallen off the roof.

  And I was in Josh’s arms.

  “Are you both okay?” Buster was halfway down the ladder with terror.

  Grandma had abandoned the lemonade tray and raced to our side.

  I scrambled to my feet and helped Josh up with my hand, then pulled off my hard hat.

  “I’m absolutely fine,” Josh kept repeating as Grandma inspected him thoroughly, to my horror.

  “Let me check you both. I can’t believe you fell off the roof. I’ve been worried about Buster falling all day, and it end up being my twenty-two-year-old granddaughter?” Grandma fussed.

  “Grandma, I’m fine, I promise.” I tried to placate her, but her worry-face was strong at the moment. Turning to Josh, I asked again, “Are you sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you?”

  “I’m a hundred percent fine. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I’m just glad I was here to break your fall,” Josh tried to joke.

  Then it really hit me.

  Josh was here.

  Standing on Buster’s front lawn.

  And before I could stop myself, I asked more bluntly than I intended, “What are you doing here?”

  But Josh didn’t take offense. He smiled at me as if I should know something I obviously didn’t. “It’s Saturday, remember?”

  Saturday?

  Oh, dinner.

  Our date.

  Grandma, apparently, had finished her health inspection of us both as Buster arrived at our side. “I’m Anna by the way, Jeraline’s grandmother, and this beautiful man right here is Buster.”

  Josh shook both their hands with a grin. “Josh.”

  “Oh, I know who you are. You were at the runway show supporting Jeraline. We didn’t get to meet considering what happened . . .” Grandma side-eyed me with a big “oops.”

  “Grandma,” I groaned. The last thing I wanted to talk about was the runway show.

  Grandma got the hint as she nodded toward the porch and the abandoned lemonade tray. “I made some lemonade. Why don’t you two catch up on the porch.” She discreetly winked at me as she kissed Buster on the cheek.

  Buster also gave me a conspiratorial raise of an eyebrow, then nodded at Josh. “Good to meet you. If you two don’t mind, I need a bit of shade. Anna and I will drink our lemonade inside.”

  With another thinking-they’re-clever smile between Grandma and Buster, I tried desperately not to die of embarrassment as they entered the house.

  Now I was alone.

  With Josh.

  Turning back to him, I tried to regain my bearings. “I thought after what happened . . . you wouldn’t want to see me.”

  “I followed you here this morning. I’ve been psyching myself up to come and talk to you for the last four hours. What you did was very sweet. I’m sorry I didn’t go after you to tell you that.”

  My brain couldn’t form words.

  Was this a fantasy?

  From the awkward shift of Josh’s position, I knew it wasn’t. “You could say something.”

  Did he really think speaking was that easy?

  “I . . . need some lemonade. Let’s go sit?” That was me: such a player.

  But Josh nodded with a half-turned smile and an ease to his steps as we walked up the three stairs of Buster’s porch. Sitting on the swing-bench with the two glasses of lemonade that Grandma left, Josh lazily rocked the swing with his foot.

  After taking a large, relieving gulp, I began to feel human again.

  Sipping on his glass, Josh asked, “Where’d you learn to roof?”

  “That’s all Buster. Apparently, he worked for a roofing company for years. And my dad was kind of a handyman, doing odd jobs here and there, so he repaired a couple of roofs and I’d help. It’s weird how it all comes back to you though. It’s kind of nice, keeps me distracted from . . . my life.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  The echo of the gunshot rang in my ear as I pulled the trigger on my attacker. “Why did you come? I mean, I’m glad you did, but why?”

  Josh shifted on the bench, causing it to sway crooked. “Do you think I’m just a guy who’s so into himself I couldn’t possibly like anyone?”

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Do you think that little of yourself?”

  Ouch.

  And yes.

  “I’m saying everything wrong.” I hated all words that came out of my mouth.

  “You don’t know me.” Josh’s tone was sad, as if he wanted to change that.

  “You don’t know me either.” Why am I me?

  But Josh smiled ruefully. “And that’s why I came.”

  I smiled back, and a moment passed between us. A good moment. A comfortable moment.

  But then I had to speak again. “Don’t you ever feel that if you start to show your true self, people will run away screaming?” I was scared of what people would think of me. The true me. The one who played out her nightmares in real time.

  Josh leaned back on the swing, and we rocked slowly as the sun moved closer to the horizon. “I can’t imagine running away from you ever.”

  I killed someone.

  “Nothing could be that bad,” Josh added lightly.

  I killed someone.

  “Hypothetically, being a murderer would be pretty bad.” How do I live with that?

  “You’re talking about killing someone?” Josh reared his head back and chuckled. “I think that should be the least of your worries, Jeraline.”

  But it happened.

  I killed someone.

  “Trust me. You’re not the murdering type.”

  I am though.

  I did it.

  It happened.

  “What’s the murdering type? Buste
r? He killed men in war.” Why was I going down this road? Why with Josh? I didn’t know his favorite color, for goodness sake.

  “That’s different.” Josh kept the bench rocking with his foot.

  “How is it different? He still has to live with it.” Tell me. Tell me how it was different.

  “It was him or them.” Josh shrugged as if this explained everything.

  “But it’ll be with Buster forever. I don’t see how it could ever fade,” I said desperately. Would it? Would it ever fade? Even though it was self-defense?

  Steadying the bench with his foot, he turned to me with a thoughtful expression on his face. “It’s just something that happens I guess. It’s not fair, but you learn to live with it, and it becomes a part of you.”

  Nodding, I began to push the bench with my foot. “I’m tired of being scared of everything.”

  “Are you scared of me?” Josh’s eyes shifted nervously, expectant.

  Duh.

  “A little,” I admitted.

  Josh reached over, and his lips met mine. It was tentative at first, but when I began to kiss him back, it became more assured, then I forgot everything else because my mind went completely blank from my brain exploding.

  Pulling away felt like yanking a rip cord that happened to be my nervous system.

  Josh held my cheek in his hand, our faces inches from each other. “At least I’m one less thing to be fearful of.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that.

  The sky had turned a glowing purplish red as the sun slowly lowered past the houses across from us on the horizon.

  “I have a question for you.” Josh watched me as if he was gauging my reaction.

  Uh-oh.

  “Yes?”

  “Why did you take my picture?”

  And I found the question didn’t scare me as much as I thought it would. “I don’t know anymore. I thought I needed it at the time.”

  Josh pulled out his cell phone and showed me a picture of the two of us at the counter in the store.

  “Where did you get that?” I asked, wondering why he’d have a picture of me that he didn’t delete.

  “It was a shot of the front room for the website. Rachel sent it to me. She wanted to cut you out of it, but I cropped it so it was just you and me. I guess I needed it at the time too.”

  Oh.

  Really?

  My face flushed.

  Josh liked me. As in, I wasn’t a lone crazy person in this situation.

  Taking another sip of his lemonade, Josh asked, “What about your dress from the competition? Please tell me you kept it.”

  “It now lies in a pile on my bedroom floor, but yes.”

  “You should fix it. You’re beautiful in it.”

  My brain sizzled in response. Another explosion was imminent.

  Leaning down a second time, Josh kissed me again. This time I wasn’t as scared. It felt as if we were destined to kiss each other. My mind went fuzzy again as his lips pressed against mine.

  Pulling away, Josh positioned himself so that I could lean on his chest. “So? Hungry?”

  “Extremely.”

  Kissing the top of my head, Josh said, “Let’s get some dinner.”

  I sighed in happiness.

  “Okay.”

  Entering my apartment, I couldn’t stop smiling.

  The night had been perfect.

  I tossed my backpack on the couch and stretched out my sore muscles.

  Josh kissed me!

  And we had a lovely dinner of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with the crusts cut off furnished by Grams. She had obviously remembered my favorite “work” meal I used to have with Dad as well. It made me love her more, if that was even possible.

  Replaying every word of every part of the conversations Josh and I had together tonight, I was relieved that only a couple sentences would haunt me for the rest of my days. That was nothing for me! I did pretty good. And what was crazier was that I actually wanted to see him again. I didn’t want to hide under the bed and never come out.

  Progress.

  I was about to go into my bedroom and call it a night when I glanced over to the kitchen counter and saw the plate of cookies Grandma had made a few days ago.

  My stomach dropped.

  Hank!

  I had told him to wait for me Friday to give him dinner, but I had stormed out after getting caught with Josh’s stolen picture. His dinner and my lunch were both still in the fridge.

  I knew I wasn’t his keeper, and I knew he didn’t rely only on me for food, but I had promised.

  The thought of Hank standing there by the dumpster waiting for me? My stomach curdled in pain at the thought.

  Maybe he was around. I had to try.

  Shoving the entire plate of cookies into a bag and rummaging through the refrigerator for anything I could find, I finally left my apartment with three paper lunch bags full of food.

  Though my body was exhausted from a day of hard labor, I ran. Ran past the alley, ran past all the buildings, and ran past the front of the bookstore, cleared the corner, until I stood panting next to the dumpster.

  Rachel lived upstairs, and I didn’t want to wake her, so I whispered as loudly as I could, “Hank! Are you here?”

  Darkness blocked almost all light. Not even the streetlamp a few yards away was enough to see anything clearly, but I searched all the same. Maybe he was sleeping nearby? Maybe he was leaned up against the wall?

  Maybe he was nowhere near here.

  Giving up wasn’t an option though.

  “Hank!” I whispered louder. “I have some food for you.” I may have overcompensated with the three paper bags, but at least he’d have food for a while. If I could find him.

  But nothing.

  No sound. No voice. No ruffling.

  Hank wasn’t here.

  “Jeraline? Is that you?” Rachel’s voice sounded from above my head.

  Uh-oh.

  Guess I was too loud.

  Rachel poked her head out of the upstairs window with what I could only describe as a snarl.

  “Hey, Rachel.” Very professional.

  “What are you doing down there?” she grumbled. Yes, she actually grumbled.

  “I . . . it’s . . . there’s this really nice homeless guy Hank that I give food to when I work, and well . . . I forgot yesterday when I . . . left.” Articulate, powerful, moving.

  “Well, he doesn’t seem to be here now, and you’re waking up the entire street. Go home.”

  Hey, she didn’t fire me.

  Holding three brown paper bags, standing in the dark, with my boss yelling at me from a second story window. Not my finest moment.

  Wait.

  A moaning sound, very faint, and possibly in my imagination.

  “Hank?” I whispered so as not to anger any of Rachel’s supposed neighbors.

  And there it was again. But this time I heard Hank’s voice. It was muffled and sounded far away. “Jeraline? Is that you?”

  I searched everywhere around the dumpster, behind it, near it, but I couldn’t figure out where Hank’s voice had come from.

  “Hank, where are you?” I whispered desperately, panic setting in.

  There was a brief pause as I waited.

  “Well? Is he there?” Rachel seemed to be on pins and needles as well.

  “I can’t find him anywhere!” Breathe. You’ll find him. Breathe.

  “I’m in the dumpster.” Hank projected his voice loud enough for me to hear.

  I threw the lid up, leaning it against the building wall, then looked inside: garbage everywhere. Still too dark to see.

  Cell phone.

  I pulled the cell phone out from my back pocket and turned on the flashlight. Why I hadn’t thought of this sooner was beyond me.

  Rachel called out to me from above, “What’s happening? Is he in there?”

  “I think so. Hang on,” I answered.

  As I flashed the light around the inside of the dumpster, Hank’s
head was visible, though his body was buried in trash.

  “Jeraline, I’m stuck,” Hank groaned.

  “What happened?” My shoulders both untensed and tensed at the sight of Hank. On one hand, I was relieved to find him, but on the other . . . dumpster.

  “I climbed in like a young fool. They all make dumpster diving look so easy. I think I broke my ankle. These fumes are killing me. I’ve been here over a day,” he confessed.

  “Hank!”

  I couldn’t climb in fast enough, my guilt guiding me. I landed my feet gently on the garbage, careful not to step where Hank’s body might be.

  But once I was there . . .

  The smell.

  I retched, though nothing came out. I imagined what Hank had gone through having lain in the bottom of this cesspool for the last day, and my stomach twisted in sympathy.

  And another problem.

  I wasn’t strong enough to lift a full-grown man out of a dumpster. I needed help.

  Calling up to Rachel, I said, “Call an ambulance and get down here and help me. I can’t lift him out of here alone.”

  In the darkness I saw the whites of Rachel’s eyes widen in terror. “I’ll call the ambulance, but we should wait for them to move him.”

  Right.

  Afraid to leave her house.

  It was always a theory, but now, from the horrified expression on her face, I knew it was true. But I couldn’t pull out Hank alone. I wasn’t physically capable. I needed to convince her.

  “Rachel, I need you,” I said sternly, hoping she’d overcome her fear and race down to help.

  But she simply stared at me with frightened eyes.

  “Please,” I begged, though I knew I was arguing with someone’s deep-rooted phobia, and I wasn’t sure if a simple please would work.

  I had to try alone. There was no other choice.

  Turning to Hank, I kept my voice calm. “I’m going to try and dig you out of here.”

  Clumps of wet paper, plastics, and rotted food all covered Hank with a dense thickness that stuck to my hands when I peeled the layers away. Hank’s hand appeared as he managed to shove some of the garbage aside as well. I used it as a beacon and slopped off clumps of decay until his arm was free.

  The stench caused me to gag once more, but thankfully no vomit. Just what this dumpster needed: another foul-smelling ingredient to add to its disgusting soup.