Anonymity

by Janna McMahan

  In the entryway, behind a baby gate, a scraggly yellow dog slept next to a matted collie-mix. The yellow dog raised his head and stared vacantly at the guitar player before lowering himself back down. David scratched each dog in turn, but they both seemed too exhausted to be appreciative.

  The drop-in was one of the few shelters that welcomed pets. Homeless animals were usually well-socialized and sweet-natured. Some were family pets kids didn't want to leave behind to be abused. Others were strays taken in by empathetic hearts. Animal friends provide warmth, protection and unconditional love in a cruel and uncertain world. Why leave them out in the rain?

  Travis scratched the dogs’ ears again, then he went on outside to check on a faulty drainpipe by the door. The drop-in was at a high spot in the county, a whopping eight hundred feet above sea level, so the water flooding the entrance posed little danger. He'd meant to fix the broken downspout, but that project always got moved down his to-do list.

  After a few tries, David jury-rigged the downspout to reroute the water away from the steps. He stood looking out at vacant, flooded streets. It was odd to see no traffic or pedestrians.

  The city had gone more than half the year without a drop and now this deluge of destruction would be ruinous. Pease Park down on Shoal Creek would be a mud pit. Lots of the urban camping spots would be unusable. The drop-in would be swamped with increased demand for services for weeks.

  The storm would shake up the kids’ fragile social structure and make them scramble for resources. There would be fights over squatting rights, over blankets and clothes and food.

  When it stopped raining and the water receded, Austin would have visible wounds—millions in real estate damages, business closings and infrastructure issues.

  But the real tragedy in such violent weather was death.

  It wouldn't be the students in their campus dorms or the business people who had fled to the suburbs who died. It wouldn't be the folks in Penbrooke, the fancy neighborhood uphill from Shoal Creek, or those in downtown apartments with sunset views who were swept away. It would be the homeless who vanished, washed out of their hovels and drainpipes and camps. Nobody would even notice when these people were gone.

  Emily

  SHE EASED the MINI onto the main road. Vehicles crawled along in the middle lanes. She avoided the outside lanes where solid streams rushed past them down toward the Colorado. Storm sewers bubbled with brown water and trash.

  They passed Bouldin Creek Coffeehouse and Emily's favorite Mexican bakery. She saw a flash of hunger in Lorelei's eyes.

  “Here, have an energy bar and a bottle of water,” she said.

  Emily struggled to find the correct gear to forge ahead against the water's force. Lorelei shivered and Emily turned on the heat. She cursed herself for not suggesting Lorelei change into dry clothing before they left.

  The exit onto MoPac was clogged with traffic, but they inched forward until they made it on. Her tiny car weaved and wobbled against the maelstrom on the raised highway.

  “How far is it?” Lorelei asked.

  “On a good day I can get there in twenty minutes. Today, who knows?”

  Traffic thinned as they moved away from downtown. The windshield fogged with moisture and body heat. Emily handed Lorelei an old shirt from the back.

  “Can you wipe the condensation away?”

  She leaned forward and erased the fog, but it formed again, mirroring her swipes. The rain came in waves, so hard it was impossible to see past the headlamps. Between the fogged windows and the rain and the gale force winds, Emily's nerves were frayed. She decided to pull over on the shoulder and wait for a break in the storm.

  “Pray somebody doesn't rear end us,” she said as she set the hazard lights flashing.

  Lorelei seemed unfazed. Emily was suddenly glad the girl was with her. She was calm and Emily realized that she'd probably seen a lot more difficult situations than this.

  They sat in the quivering car, looking out at the taillights of vehicles creeping past. Even at slow speeds their rooster tails of water engulfed the MINI.

  “This is some crazy storm,” Lorelei said.

  “I hope my cat's okay.”

  “He'll be fine. Cats are tough.”

  Water thrummed against the driver's side.

  “Maybe I should call my mother,” Emily said. “She's probably worried.”

  Lorelei pursed her lips and rolled her eyes slightly.

  Emily's face burned. She realized that the tone of her voice had made her sound weak. Sure, Barbara would be worried, but Emily decided not to call.

  Emily squeaked as she tried to shed the raincoat.

  Lorelei gave her another strange look.

  “A gift from my mother. Attractive, right?”

  The girl grinned.

  “Can you help me?”

  Lorelei yanked on one sleeve until Emily could pull herself free.

  “Thanks. It's like a freaking sauna in here,” she said.

  “Got any music?” Lorelei asked.

  “How about some Stevie Ray?”

  “Why does everybody in this whole town listen to that lame stuff?”

  “Stevie Ray's a god.”

  “To you maybe. You got any Radiohead or Beck or Green Day?”

  All musicians who provided anthems for displaced, disgruntled youth.

  “Or Pink maybe?” she suggested.

  “Sure. Pink's cool. I've got her on my iPod, but I only have a CD player in my car.”

  “Do you like I'm Not Dead? I like that song on it called Dear Mr. President. It's about homelessness and politics and stuff.”

  “How about something a little more relaxing, considering our situation? Maybe some Regina Spektor?”

  “She's a little whiney, but okay.”

  “It's in the glove box.”

  Lorelei found the CD and pushed it into the player. A mellow voice warbled out, but it was hard to hear over the rain. Emily couldn't take both and was glad when Lorelei gave up and abandoned the music.

  As if she were reading Emily's mind, Lorelei said, “I'm sorry I smell so bad.”

  Emily was unsure how to respond, so she said nothing.

  “I know I stink.”

  “That's okay. I'm guessing you can't help it.”

  “I go to the drop-in and shower a couple of times a week, but this week I've only had a McBath.”

  “A what?”

  “You know. At McDonald's.”

  Emily found that amusing, but she didn't dare laugh.

  Looking back over her shoulder, Lorelei said, “You can pull out now. Don't be a wuss. Nobody's going to hit you.”

  “If they did, we'd be toast. All those massive SUVs would run right over my little car.”

  “Sometimes you've got to take chances. We can't sit here forever.”

  “This car's really old.”

  “Why don't you get a new one?”

  “Because it runs fine. Besides, I don't have any money for a new one.”

  “Aren't your parents rich?”

  “No. Why would you think that?”

  Lorelei didn't answer. She was studying the traffic situation behind them.

  “Go now,” she said. “Nothing's coming.”

  With caution lights flashing, Emily eased back onto the highway. An hour later, they arrived at Gerald and Barbara's house.

  “I thought you said your parents aren't rich.”

  How could she explain that her parents were not congenitally wealthy like the Texas oil families and the celebrities and dot-comers who lived in lavish Mediterranean homes on the limestone bluffs that ringed the lakes? That her father hadn't had a good job in nearly five years, and that she feared money problems would eventually destroy her parents’ marriage?

  “They're not rich. They're in debt.”

  “Then why do they live in such a big house and drive such nice cars?”

  “That's what keeps them in debt. It's called ‘living above your means.’”

 
; Emily gripped the steering wheel and considered her childhood home. She knew it would be a relentless undercurrent of tension inside. Either Lorelei would diffuse the situation or make it unbearable.

  “You don't want to go in,” Lorelei surmised.

  “Not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “I suspect for many of the same reasons you don't want to go home. I don't get along with my parents that well. Not my mom anyway.”

  “So why come home?”

  Emily chewed her lip and wondered why herself.

  “It's not like that. I don't hate them. They're not bad people. They're just so…Republican.”

  Lorelei nodded understanding. “I hear you.”

  “It's better now that I'm an adult, but my mother still tries to tell me what I should do. How I should live.”

  “Bet it's not as bad as when you're a kid. Eat this. Eat that. Go to bed. Do your homework. Show some respect.”

  The girl had a point. “No. You're right,” Emily said. “It's not like being a kid.”

  Emily could see Lorelei bracing for this new situation. The tattoo coiled up the side of her smooth cheek pulsed when she tightened her jaws.

  “How long are we staying?” she asked.

  “Until they say it's safe to go back downtown or until I can't stand it any longer. Whichever comes first.”

  The front door opened and Barbara appeared. She held her arms crossed in front of her and even through the rain Emily could see her expectant look. She should have called her.

  “That your mom?”

  “That's her.”

  “She's kind of intimidating.”

  “You got that right. Leave your stuff in the car. We can get it all later.”

  This seemed to make Lorelei uneasy.

  “Your stuff's safe. Believe me. It's better this way.”

  “Okay.”

  “You ready?”

  “I guess. This is going to be weird.”

  Emily put her hand on the door's handle and prepared for the deluge.

  “You have no idea.”

  Barbara

  SHE WAS surprised to see another person step from the passenger side of Emily's car. Her daughter was never a child to bring home unexpected guests. While other mothers in the neighborhood complained that their refrigerators were always raided by a swarm of kids, Barbara had been left wondering if Emily had any friends at all.

  The girls ran through the rain, dodging washed out spots on the brick walk. They stepped into the entryway, water dripping down onto the terrazzo.

  “Careful,” Barbara warned. “These tiles get really slick when they're wet.”

  “Yes, ma'am,” the girl said.

  Emily shed her rain jacket and waited to be told what to do with it.

  “Laundry room,” Barbara said.

  “Okay,” Emily said.

  “And why don't you give me your sweatshirt and I'll fling it in the dryer,” Barbara said to her young visitor. “I have a cardigan you can put on.”

  “No thank you,” Lorelei said.

  “But you must be freezing.”

  “I'm fine.”

  There was something genuine about the girl's shabby appearance, as if the fade of her clothes was earned. No artfully ripped jeans or distressed designer T-shirts for this child. She held her head in such a way that Barbara couldn't see her face beneath her hood. The smell of the child hit her then and reality set in. Emily had brought home a street urchin.

  “This is Lorelei,” Emily said. “This is my mom. You can call her Barbara.”

  Gerald appeared from around the corner and gathered Emily in a bear hug.

  “So good to see you. What an awful day, huh? Who is this?” Gerald said.

  “This is Lorelei. This is my dad. You can call him Gerald.”

  “Nice to meet you,” the girl said.

  “We were just about to sit down to some chili. I'll set another place,” Barbara said. “Gerald, why don't you and Lorelei go check the Weather Channel and I'll have things ready in ten minutes.”

  “Can I take your coat?” Gerald asked the girl.

  “She's fine,” Emily said.

  “But she's all wet.”

  “Really. She's okay. Let it go.”

  Gerald seemed unsure. He was trying to be gracious, but this girl wasn't receptive.

  From the kitchen, Barbara said, “Emily, could you please come and help me?”

  “Sure, Mom.” By Emily's tone, Barbara knew what was coming. When she rounded the corner by the wine rack, Emily was already on the defensive.

  “So who is she?” Barbara whispered.

  “Just a girl. I'm trying to be her friend.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…I don't know. Lots of reasons. Because she needs a friend.”

  “Is she homeless?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “It makes no difference at all. I was just asking.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “She smells awful.”

  “I'm well aware of that. I drove all the way out here in the MINI with her.”

  “Would she be offended if we offered to let her take a bath? You have some old things upstairs she could wear while we wash her clothes.”

  “She doesn't like to accept help.”

  “Then why is she here?”

  “Geez, Mom. Do you want us to leave?”

  A crack of thunder rattled the house.

  “No, of course not. Don't be accusatory. I'm just wondering how you…oh, never mind.”

  “She showed up at my house while I was packing to come here. I couldn't very well leave her standing there in the rain with nowhere to go. I mean, my God, they're evacuating the city.”

  Barbara peeked into the den. She could see Gerald's profile in his chair and the back of the girl's head.

  “Why won't she take off that hood?”

  “She has tattoos. They're off-putting to some people.”

  “Is she going to wear that hood up while we eat?”

  “I don't know. Probably. Please, don't act like a dork.”

  Barbara bristled. “I most certainly will not ‘act like a dork.’”

  “Just don't give her the third degree.”

  “I think I should get a little credit here. You did spring this on me.”

  She could see Emily reconsidering her words.

  “You're right,” she said. “What do we need to do to get ready for dinner?”

  Barbara decided if the child wouldn't change her wet clothing, then they would eat on the wooden chairs in the kitchen. No way was she ruining her dining room cushions.

  When the table was set, Barbara said, “Let's eat. Lorelei, if you'd like to wash your hands before we start, our powder room is in the hall.”

  They sat at the table waiting for Lorelei. Ten minutes ticked by, their food growing cold.

  “Do you think you should check on her?” Barbara asked Emily.

  “No.”

  They waited silently, hands in their laps. Finally, the bathroom door opened, and a few moments later, the girl reappeared. She had taken off her grungy sweatshirt and tried to brush her violently streaked brown hair back into a ponytail. Tacky plastic hair clasps gripped above her ears. Barbara wondered if she had used her brush and made a mental note to throw it away. The tattoos were strange and large, but Barbara had seen worse.

  “I left my sweatshirt on the bathroom door. Would you mind if I borrowed that sweater?”

  “No, of course not,” Barbara said. She went to the closet and selected an older brown one that seemed more the girl's morose style. “Here. Feel free to keep it. I haven't worn it in years.”

  Emily glared at Barbara from her end of the table, but Barbara failed to see how the offer of a nice cardigan could be offensive.

  “Thank you.” The girl pulled the sweater on and buttoned it up. She unfolded her napkin onto her lap and waited. Barbara raised her spoon and began to eat and the others followed suit. But t
hat was where Lorelei's manners ended. She must have been starving because she finished her first bowl of chili and asked for more before anybody else had eaten half of theirs.

  “Thank you,” she said when Barbara set another full bowl in front of her. “You're a totally awesome cook.”

  When they had all finished, Barbara said to Emily, “Why don't you and your father clean the dishes while Lorelei and I go make up the guest bed?”

  Emily seemed nervous about leaving them alone, but Barbara was going to prove her daughter's bad assumptions wrong. In the upstairs linen closet, Barbara selected her oldest sheets and towels.

  When Barbara began to make the guest bed, the girl stepped opposite of her. The rhythm of Lorelei's movements showed that she knew the routine.

  Barbara smoothed the edges and laid towels at the foot of the bed.

  “Thanks for your help,” she said.

  “I'm sorry to put you out.”

  “Honey, I'm the one who's sorry. If I had known you were coming I would have had things ready. Here are some towels. The guest bath is through that door. There should be plenty of soap and shampoo. There's a new toothbrush and some paste in the medicine cabinet. Oh, and here, I grabbed the hairbrush from downstairs. You're welcome to keep that and the toothbrush if you need them.”

  “Okay,” she said meekly. “Thank you.”

  “Emily still has some clothes and pajamas here. I can leave them outside the door while you bathe.”

  The girl nodded, but didn't meet Barbara's eyes. Maybe Emily was right. Maybe she was stepping on the girl's pride.

  As Barbara picked though the drawers in Emily's room, she heard the shower turn on. She selected a warm pair of pajama bottoms and a faded UT shirt that had actually been hers in college. Barbara also selected a faded cotton camisole with a shelf bra and a pair of underwear. These items she laid neatly folded on the floor outside the bathroom door.

  When she came downstairs, Emily and her father were watching local storm coverage.

  “Emily, why don't you ask your friend if she'd like to launder her clothes?”

  “Okay. I bet she has a bunch of dirty stuff in that backpack in my car. And her sleeping bag looks like a rat's nest. Could we wash that too?”