Anonymity

by Janna McMahan

“Don't we need to keep up with them?” Emily asked.

  “No biggie,” Fiona said. “They'll be playing all afternoon.”

  Oddly, Lorelei and Fiona were drawn to pretty dresses, unlike their rough, ripped street style. Perhaps there was a time in their lives when they had party dresses, a time when they had been prized children. Emily imagined them without their rough edges, in pastels instead of black. Clean and rested and fed girls. Girls who went to high school and proms and took dance lessons and learned to play the piano. How were they before they hit the streets? How long had they lived this way?

  The apartment complex had seen better days. The pool had been dry so long that people had filled the bottom with flowerpots and plastic patio chairs. Summer's plants were wilted. A couple had only stalks left, which made Emily think something must have been harvested from them.

  Fiona led the way upstairs and let herself into a unit by the street. Inside, the boys surrounded an old thirty-inch television, their faces scrunched in concentration. Emily recognized the rapid-fire blasts and thundering detonations of Call of Duty. They groaned in unison. A frail woman smoked a cigarette in the kitchen. Fiona went forward and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Hi, sweetie,” the woman said, and pushed back the dreads around Fiona's face.

  “Hey, Betsy. How you feeling?”

  “Some days are better than others.”

  “These are my friends, Lorelei and Emily.”

  They both said, “Hey.” You could tell that Betsy had once been attractive, but her face had the furrowed look of a smoker and her voice was gravely and deep. Her winged 70s hairstyle was flecked with gray.

  “I'd offer you girls something to eat, but I just don't have a thing in the house,” Betsy said.

  “That's okay. We just ate,” Fiona said, although that was unlikely.

  The den erupted in hysteria, but in ten seconds there came another massive groan.

  Betsy grinned thinly. “They sure do like those games.”

  Minion was perched on an arm of the sofa, his guitar balanced on one thigh.

  “Can you play that thing or is it just for effect?” Emily asked him.

  He began to pick out chords, and she immediately recognized a Radiohead song. He had a nice voice. His music drew the girls to him. Within a few bars the game was paused and all the kids had joined in. They sang about being a creep, about being a weirdo. About wishing they were special.

  Betsy put the cigarette to her lips and inhaled.

  “I hate that song,” she said to Emily. “These songs these kids like, they're so sad and negative.”

  “Sometimes it's hard to stay positive.”

  “You got that right,” Betsy said. “I've got this fibromyalgia, and I can't work no more. Disability barely gets me by, and my son can't live with me or I lose my apartment, but you don't see me moaning about it. Singing songs about how bad I got it.”

  “They're kids.”

  “I love ‘em all. They're good, you know. They're all good kids. They got their whole lives ahead of them. I try to get my son to go back to school, but he thinks it's romantic to live on the street. Well, he won't think that when he's my age. I've never been homeless, but I've been damn close. That shit ain't funny.”

  They finished their song, and Betsy broke in.

  “You girls come outside with me so I don't smoke everybody out,” she said.

  They followed her tiny frame out onto the second-story walkway that looked down on the forlorn pool below. From the back, Betsy appeared young in her worn jeans and baggy T-shirt. You could feel the girl inside, but hard life had nearly extinguished her. She had smoked her cigarette down to the filter, so she lighted another from the butt.

  “You girls being careful?” she asked. “There's lots of crazy people out there, crazy men. You stay around my Johnny. He'll take care of you. Johnny's a good boy.”

  “Johnny?” Emily asked.

  Fiona laughed. “Mook. Johnny. Whatever.”

  “Where's Elda?” Betsy asked.

  “She's taking the GED today,” Fiona said.

  “Well, good for her,” Betsy said. “Good for her. I like that Elda.” She reached up and touched Fiona's cheek. “But you'll always be my favorite.”

  Fiona saw Emily's curiosity, so she said, “I used to be Mook's girlfriend. We broke up. Elda's cool with it, but I don't get to see Betsy as much as I'd like to. Betsy's like my mom. Betsy's like everybody's mom.”

  Lorelei

  BETSY'S BATHROOM was so clean it made Lorelei long to take a bath. It had been months since she'd soaked in a tub, but she didn't dare take advantage. Betsy had seemed pleased she had something to share, but Mook felt differently.

  “Just don't stay in there too long,” he'd warned Fiona. “Mom has to pay the water bill.”

  “Chill out, Johnny boy,” Fiona said.

  Lorelei stepped into the spray of water and turned it hot against her back. She ran conditioner through her hair, separating knots with her fingers. She lost track of time as the sensation caressed her body. One of the boys banged on the door, snapping her back to reality. Lorelei ignored his knock, but she reluctantly got out of the shower.

  After she had dried off, Lorelei looked inside the medicine cabinet for nail clippers and found dozens of prescription bottles. She wondered how sick Betsy must be. She checked the labels. Some were pain meds, others she had never heard of. She knew Mook's friends would steal the pain pills.

  “Get out of the way,” Fiona said on the other side of the door. There was a knock. “Lorelei, let me in. I've got something for you.”

  She unlocked the door and Fiona slipped inside.

  “Here,” she said. “Look what I got.” Tags dangled from the clothing she pulled from her bag. “Pick out something. Last week me and some friends did a commando on the steampunk store.”

  Lorelei picked out a frilly top and skirt with a jagged hem. She pulled them on and stretched to look at herself in the tiny mirror on the medicine cabinet.

  “Cute,” Fiona said. “Take these tights. I got, like, five pairs of those things.”

  The tights were as soft as clouds on her legs.

  “These feel great.”

  “I know, right?”

  Fiona had introduced Lorelei to steampunk—fingerless gloves, layered skirts, ruffled shirts, top hats, old trousers and leather jewelry with clock gears. Some of the kids even wore goggles, which reminded Lorelei of the old movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Steampunk was more like costuming than dressing. The style reminded her of the artwork in her mangas and graphic novels.

  “Try this,” Fiona said, handing Lorelei a tube of fuchsia lip gloss. A few minutes later, the two emerged from the bathroom with black-rimmed eyes and bright lips. Lorelei even wore a fake nose ring held in place by a magnet.

  Freestyle, immune to the girls’ transformation, pushed past them.

  “It's about damn time,” he grumbled, and slammed the bathroom door. Fiona went to the wall phone in Betsy's kitchen and made a call. Lorelei looked around for Emily, but didn't see her.

  “Where'd Emily go?” she asked Mook.

  “She split,” he said without taking his eyes from his game. “Said she had to go to work.”

  Fiona hung up the phone and came into the front room.

  “Gotta fly. Wanna come?”

  Lorelei shrugged. “I got nowhere else to go.”

  The girls said their goodbyes to Betsy and walked down to the road, where they sat on a low wall. A few minutes passed and a shiny black BMW pulled up to the curb. Fiona walked over.

  “Don't stand there like some stupid hooker, bitch,” the driver said.

  Fiona opened the back door and slid in. Lorelei followed. The car pulled into traffic. The driver was a gangsta-wannabe, a white guy with grills, chains and probably other, more dangerous, hardware tucked away somewhere. The front seat passenger was a casually dressed black guy who seemed to be in charge.

  The black guy turned around and said, “Wha
t you got for me, Fi?”

  Fiona pulled out a wad of cash and handed it to him.

  “Now that's what I'm talking ‘bout,” he said. He reached into the console between the front seats and handed Fiona a small brown paper bag. “Same deal. We cool?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Fiona said. “Cool.”

  The guy smiled. “Excellent. And what about your friend here? How about it sweetheart? You wanna do a little business?”

  “What about it Lorelei, you want to earn some cash?” Fiona asked. “It's really easy.”

  Panic tightened Lorelei's stomach. She'd been around drugs enough to know that dealers were never friends. She'd seen what they did to people who pissed them off. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to ease the flare of tingle from her tattoos. She had to get away.

  “No thanks,” Lorelei said. “I'm good.”

  “Fi, your friend a little junkie?” the dealer said. “Look like something got a hold on her.”

  “Nah,” Fiona said. “I think she's clean.”

  Lorelei began to rock. She needed to get out of the car.

  “Riiiight.” He dragged the word out. He held money toward her. “How about I spot you a twenty and we'll call it an advance in case you change your mind?”

  Lorelei just stared at the money.

  “Take it,” Fiona said, but Lorelei couldn't bring her hand up to grasp the offered bills.

  “Go on,” the guy said. “Never mind about the deal. Just take it and get something to eat. You too damn skinny, girl.”

  She took the money, then stuffed it into a pocket.

  “We finished,” he said to the driver.

  They pulled up to the curb along the Colorado River near a section of the Town Lake river walk.

  “Shit,” Fiona said. “Can't you take me back downtown?”

  “Naw, baby. We ain't headed that way. You getting out here.”

  Fiona didn't argue. She opened the door and stepped out onto the wide sidewalk. Lorelei scooted across to get out behind her when the dealer reached around and grabbed her arm. A flash of terror ripped through her.

  “I'll be looking for you,” he said. “Pretty bird girl.”

  Lorelei shook off his hold and got out. The car accelerated before the back door even closed.

  “Well, that's just fucking great. Dump us out here. Shit,” Fiona said.

  “It's not that far back.”

  “Couple of miles. Let's go down to the walkway and then cut up the Shoal Creek Greenway. Maybe Mook will be back at camp.”

  “Don't you think he's staying the night at Betsy's?”

  “Who knows? Come on. I don't like to walk up on the street when I'm carrying this much.”

  Lorelei followed Fiona down to the river. It was dark and few people lingered. A couple of guys were kissing on a park bench. In the distance, an old homeless man pulled a metal shopping caddy behind him, his dirty possessions trailing along the crushed gravel path. He turned off onto a trail Lorelei knew led along Shoal Creek. It wasn't a polished park path like the one around Town Lake. The Shoal Creek trail was rough, natural terrain that connected a few public spaces along the way. It was an artery the homeless used to move around below street level.

  Lorelei's tats tingled again, and she said, “I got this twenty. Let's get a cab back.”

  “Keep your money. I'll let you buy me a breakfast burrito.”

  They walked toward the spot where the old guy disappeared toward the creek. Then they heard voices.

  “Here comes some customers,” Fiona said, and stopped.

  “Don't do that now,” Lorelei said. “Can't you wait until we get back?”

  “Look, I need some cash. Chillax.”

  Three guys sauntered toward them, shadows moving over them as they walked in and out of the path's lighting. They were dressed in jeans and fleece jackets. They all had hats pulled low.

  “Hey,” Fiona said as they neared.

  “Hey fellows. Look what we got here,” one of them said. Lorelei smelled alcohol and cigarettes, but there was something else about them that made her skin crawl.

  “You looking to score?” Fiona asked.

  “That depends. What you got?” one guy said.

  Fiona motioned for them to step into the shadows of the trailhead. Two of them followed her. Lorelei lagged behind, and that was when she noticed that the third guy had a tiny video camera.

  The guy brought the camera up to his eye and started filming.

  “Hey, put that thing away,” Fiona said.

  “Man, you're bossy,” one of them said. “You holding or not?”

  “Put away the camera or no deal,” Fiona said.

  “Come on, man,” another one said. “I don't want to mess with these skanks.”

  “That's so uncool, man,” Fiona said. “You wanna do business or not?”

  “Maybe we'll just take what you got, junkie.”

  “Fuck off,” Fiona said.

  Their laughter crawled through Lorelei. She saw the baseball bat that one held down by his side, and a sick wave of adrenaline surged to her legs. She checked for escape routes. Woods surrounded them. She couldn't outrun the boys in her heavy boots.

  “Ooooooh. She's a tough girl. That right? You a tough girl, skank?”

  “You're the skank.”

  “Stop,” Lorelei said. “Stop it. She didn't mean anything by it.”

  All three guys turned toward Lorelei.

  “You got something to say, Miss Ink Stain? What's with all those tattoos? You think you're some tough shit too?”

  “No,” Lorelei said.

  That was when she felt the stings on her leg, blinding pain that made her fall to the ground. Two bright splashes of yellow spread across her black tights. They'd shot her with a paintball gun.

  “Shoot her again,” the one with the bat said.

  “No. Please. Just leave us alone,” Lorelei said. “Please.”

  “We don't want your kind in our parks, brushing your teeth in our water fountains, making everything smell like piss.” The guy with the gun shot her again, this time in the ankle. He turned his bravado on the camera. “People pick up after their dogs, but you bums just leave your shit where you drop it, like wild animals.”

  “Yeah,” the one with the bat said. “Like animals. That's what you are.” He raised the bat at Fiona. She scrambled backward and fell against tree roots.

  He began his swing. She braced for the blow. He balked. She cowered. They laughed, a drunken, hateful chorus.

  “Hey,” the one with the bat said. He pointed farther down the path. “There's an old one.”

  Leaving the terrified girls, the first two took off. The cameraman hesitated, then he turned and hissed, “Get out of here.”

  The stalkers moved quickly, silently, melting into the shadows of the path.

  “Bum hunters,” Fiona said. “They're going to beat down that old guy.”

  The girls stood paralyzed. They heard distant voices, then a cry for help.

  “We should find a cop,” Lorelei said.

  “No time,” Fiona said. “They're going to kill him.”

  Without warning, the homeless man tumbled out of the darkness. The tattered old guy made a noble escape attempt, but the boys were on him like wolves. One held him down while another kicked him in the stomach. The cameraman moved smoothly, careful to get all angles of the scuffle. One kick snapped the man's head back and he vomited violently.

  “Stop it!” Fiona screamed. “Stop it!”

  The kicker lunged for Fiona and caught her by her hair. Fiona kicked at him and caught him in the shin with a heavy boot.

  “Fuck that hurt!” he yelled. “Big mistake, skank.”

  The one with the bat came toward Lorelei, and a flock of birds took flight in her chest. She couldn't outrun him or fight him off empty-handed.

  Her assailant closed in with the bat. His eyes were black and soulless. Hate floated on his breath. She was hit from the side and sent sprawling onto the walkway
, air knocked from her lungs. She lay crunched up on her side, hoping they would turn their fury back to the old man. Her line of vision was askew, fuzzy at the edges, but she could make out Fiona's thrashing boots as her friend was dragged into the darkness of the trees.

  Barbara

  “WHAT'S THE matter with you?”

  “What?” Gerald mumbled. They were watching one of the last games of UT's season play. They used to go to every home game of their alma mater, but like other things they'd enjoyed in the past, season football tickets were now too expensive.

  “I asked you if you wanted some popcorn. You've been so distracted lately. What's going on with you?”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Lord.” She went into the kitchen and got out the popcorn maker. The crowd erupted, and Barbara looked up to see an ocean of orange and white fluttering on the plasma screen. It's true that a widescreen is always the best seat in the house, but Barbara missed tailgating and the electricity of the stadium.

  Normally, Gerald would have yelled, “Touchdown!” Today, he just sat plastered to his chair, only grunting if something went wrong with a play.

  Barbara wondered if he was slipping back into depression. It was something she fought off herself. The thrum of financial struggle was always in the background, a constant gnaw on their psyches.

  Recently, they'd had to dip into Emily's unused college fund. Gerald had insisted that her money was not to be touched, but Barbara's attitude was, use it or lose it. She certainly wasn't going to give her daughter the money for anything other than college.

  Gerald had put on a little weight. He ate when he wasn't happy. He still hadn't made peace with the customer service position he'd landed a couple of years ago selling computers for Dell. He had complained a lot at first—he deserved to be in development, it wasn't enough money, there were no opportunities for advancement, his talents were being overlooked. After a while he stopped complaining and just trudged off to work each morning with his head hung. It was hard on him, going from senior staff to peon, but at least being a peon brought home a paycheck. They still had friends who had been unemployed for years because they wouldn't take a job they felt was beneath them.