The Ties That Bind Us: (The Ties Duet Part One)

by Danda K.

  I scold her over my shoulder. “Don’t be rude. He only acts like a scavenger.” Thinking about the evidence he so expertly hid under the docks, I lie, “He’s actually highly domesticated. You must have something in your backpack he likes.”

  At that moment, Magnet pops his head out of the bag, his mouth filled with, of course, a peanut butter sandwich cracker. He’s staring right at us, unbothered, when Cam blurts out, “You walk around at night with your cat?”

  “He doesn’t really give me much choice. Hence the name. He’s actually kind of a plus, though. The ladies love him,” I lie again.

  She looks at him in disgust. “Trust me, I highly doubt they do.”

  Grinning, I concede, “That may be true, but we mutually benefit from our unusual situation.”

  “Which is?” she asks, her voice sounding perplexed.

  “Friendship,” I state with finality.

  Cameron finally steps out from behind me, walks over to the railing, and leans her elbows on it to stare off into the ocean. Instead of continuing down the crazy train, I change course and ask an obvious question.

  “So why are you out here? Alone, again...” I try to come off as polite as possible so she doesn’t feel judged.

  She’s quiet for a while as if trying to gather her thoughts. She stares ahead into the darkness, takes a deep breath, and responds, “Let’s just say this is a win for me.”

  “Uhh, okay? Care to elaborate?”

  She turns around without a glance my way and waves me off. Staring at the bench with her arms crossed, she leans her back against the railing. “Nope, I do not. In fact, I don’t care to speak to you at all.” She’s obviously lying by the noticeable crack in her voice, but I don’t push the issue.

  “It’s not safe for you to be alone and exposed in this area. Especially carrying all that.” I point to what’s left of her laptop, the crackers and water bottles, and broken picture frames falling out of her bag. “Not only would another bench renter want your computer for parts, but they could use almost everything in your bag as a weapon against you. Except...are those tampons?”

  Still staring at the bench, her eyes bulge. “Stop looking through my stuff! I can take care of myself! I don’t need a man to tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing! So you and your serpent here,” she points to Magnet, “can take your advice and my peanut butter crackers and be on your merry little way.”

  Serpent? Ha! Great minds. I like her even more now.

  In a classic head versus heart internal battle, the logical part of me is saying to leave this grouchy little firecracker alone and mind my business. But the small yet very persistent romantic in me is screaming to throw her a bone.

  Even if she would likely take that bone and shove it right up my ass. The persistent Jaxon prevails.

  “Listen, I’m gettin’ the sense that you harbor some kind of misplaced anger towards me.” Or all men in general. ”But I think we got off on the wrong foot.” I wait for a response before I continue. An eye roll, great, we’re making progress. “I’m all too aware of how hard life on the street can be. You have no reason to trust me, but I promise I’m not a psycho killer. And I don’t bite. Unless that’s what you’re into?”

  Another eye roll...too soon?

  I internally slap my hands to my forehead. Getting off base, asshole.

  “What I mean is...I know what it’s like to not have a solid place to lay low. So, if you want, you can come back to my apartment. It has two bedrooms, so you can get a good night’s sleep. Safely. I promise.”

  She looks at me as if she’s actually contemplating whether coming home with a stranger is safer than spending the rest of the night alone on this bench.

  That’s when I see it- the defiance, the decision.

  The face you make when you’ve been screwed over too many times and know you can’t trust anyone, especially someone who seems remotely genuine.

  She finally responds. “Uh, no thanks. I’ll take my chances here. Have a good night.”

  She turns around and sits, making herself as comfortable as possible, like she’s got it all figured out when we both know she doesn’t.

  Hell, neither do I.

  I get it, though, because I’ve been on the defense when someone claimed to have all the answers to my problems. And at first, I refused. So I’m not faulting her for wanting her independence, but I do wish she would accept my help.

  Deep down, I’m not ready to let her go. There’s something about her that resonates with me. Her eyes, the bench, her being on the beach. There’s something in her that I can’t pinpoint, but I know it’s there.

  When I first caught Cameron behind the house, I chalked it up to her being a kindred spirit who basked in the joy of wandering. I see myself in her, sure, but she’s much more guarded than I am. She seems out of place but in her element at the same time.

  I want more time with her, which is crazy because I don’t even know her, but I know her eyes. I can see the need for change in them.

  I accept defeat. I pick Magnet up and walk away. I reach the ramp to the street and take one more glance back. Although she looks as though she has no clue what comes next, her determination is something I wouldn’t want to tarnish.

  Because most people don’t need to escape their reality like she does. Like I did. And I know firsthand that people don’t only wander because they feel lost.

  Cameron

  “I’m lost. I am one hundred percent fucking lost.”

  I huff out a frustrated breath. It’s times like this I wish I would’ve explored local neighborhoods more. If I had, maybe now I wouldn’t be trying to figure out how far I am from the secondhand store I shop in.

  I know it wasn’t far from my house, but after falling asleep on the train last night, I ended up on the other side of Brooklyn. I can’t get Jaxon out of my head, though, and a part of me almost wanted to take him up on his offer.

  I felt it the moment I touched him. Fireworks went off in my belly, nothing like the sirens that usually go off in my head. I’d call them butterflies, but that’s way too gentle of an explanation for what happened inside me when I involuntarily jumped into his arms after coming face to face with his cat.

  Which I’m still convinced is a raccoon.

  After he left, I thought about what he said and decided he was right; sleeping on a bench wasn’t the greatest idea. So I jumped on the train to head closer to my neighborhood. I intended to check out Randy’s Secondhand Stand for any old, reliable laptops I could purchase. But nope, it couldn’t go smoothly.

  I ended up falling asleep a few minutes into the train ride, and if there’s one thing anyone living in Brooklyn knows, it’s that the MTA system is a cluster fuck in the middle of the night.

  One wrong stop, and you end up on the other side of Brooklyn.

  Like I am right now.

  Six

  Cameron

  It’s been one week since I left my dad and one full week that I haven’t been able to get Jaxon out of my head. I’ve tried everything…reading, listening to music- even keeping my mind busy by cleaning up the garbage around the train lot at night.

  But he’s always there, lingering at the edge of my thoughts. I’ve never experienced any type of “crush” before; it was nearly impossible. I built my walls up so high you’d likely catch a nosebleed if you tried to climb them. I’ve never had a boyfriend, and I’ve never even kissed anyone before.

  I did experiment with porn, though. So I’ve explored my sexuality the only way I could safely do so: by myself.

  Milla tried to do the whole girl talk thing with me when we were in high school. She would tell me what fooling around with a guy felt like, but I always tuned her out. I couldn’t imagine a man touching me with tenderness or making me feel anything other than uneasy. So these sudden feelings creeping up inside me for Jaxon are surprising, to say the least.

  Feeling thankful I found a decent second-hand laptop to hold me over, I turn it on and type “local apart
ment listings” into the search engine. I’ve been stopping by a local Starbucks to mooch off their Wi-Fi and charging station almost every day.

  Finding a damn apartment in Brooklyn is impossible. Homeowners want tenants with credit. And apparently, having no credit is worse than having bad credit. I’ve never had much under my name, so there’s not a lot to show.

  This deems me untrustworthy to stuck-up landlords who’re renting out their shitty studio apartments for way over the value price.

  I can’t afford any of these places without a full-time job either. And not an online job, but a job where I have to go and mingle amongst society. It’s scary, but I refuse to go back to my father’s house. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of saying I told you so, or even not letting me back at all.

  I’d rather sleep every night inside one of the abandoned trains under the highway, by myself, than give my father any ammunition to use towards me for coming back home.

  I’m getting used to life on my own. It’s not ideal, and I’m on edge more often than not.

  I need to find a place to live where I don’t risk being mugged or catching some type of tetanus infection. Milla has called every day, but I play it off like I’m still home. I refuse to let her know I left and that I’m homeless. I don’t want her worrying about me, so I’ll fill her in once I’m settled somewhere.

  After about a half-hour of searching and jotting down potential listings, I take the last bite of my croissant and unplug both my charger and computer from the outlet. I zip all of my belongings up in my Jansport, then throw it over my shoulder.

  Taking one final sip of my coffee, I throw the white and green cup into the trash bin by the counter and walk out into the bright early morning.

  ◆◆◆

  Walking through the large deserted lot, I spot Thomas, the black and blue abandoned train car I’ve been spending a lot of my time in the past few days. It’s so old, the rust exceeds the paint. But you can still see the blue mixed with the black trim on the roof in some areas. I’m seriously starting to wonder if this car was used in a movie at some point.

  It’s so small and seems like it would be useless for anything other than a prop.

  Although my new room is anything but useless, especially when it rains. Inside there’s a small pull-out bench, which I use as a makeshift bed. Purchasing a couple of blankets from Randy’s really helped to make it more comfortable. The door slides closed, and I’ve been storing camping lanterns in here for the night, so I have some light around me without drawing any attention.

  Looking around this metal carriage, even though it’s small and slightly decrepit, somehow makes me feel lighter, freer. I don’t even recognize myself anymore.

  Maybe this new Cameron’s been here the whole time. Was she feeling as trapped and alone as I was? Was she overcome with hopelessness, too? Did she pray for her other half to snap out of the funk she was buried in to have the freedom to go anywhere and do anything she pleased?

  This new me is fighting like hell to breathe. So I owe it to her to continue what I started. Maybe there’s light at the end of this tunnel waiting for me. For us. I can’t let anything stop me from reaching it. Not anymore.

  My feet move faster than my brain can register, and before I know it, I’ve already exited the empty lot. Exactly one week after I turned my world upside down, I’m off to cross off another destination on my list. And this one I’m really excited about.

  Because, like me, this place represents rebirth and change. It proves first hand that there’s beauty in all of it. That there’s hope in the unknown.

  ◆◆◆

  The Brooklyn Botanical Garden is absolutely stunning.

  The bright array of flowers and trees lining the entrance walkway is enough to steal your breath. There’s greenery everywhere, but there are also beautiful trees and flowers of all colors. As I walk down the concrete path, the only bit of the Garden that isn’t green or colorful, I notice yellow and red roses and bushes of pink flowers spotted with purple.

  It’s pretty early in September still, so I’m sure I won’t be able to experience the cherry blossom trees in their full bloom yet, but that’s okay. I have every intention of coming back here.

  As I follow a small brook leading me towards a little arched bridge, I relish in the warm air and sunlight while listening to my music at a normal volume setting. I reach my hand out to graze the beautiful flowers bursting with life.

  As I approach the bridge, I notice it’s at the center of five huge greenhouses. I examine a tree above and see the leaves are beginning to turn orange and yellow to prepare for fall. They slowly dance around as the light breeze flows through them. Change really can be beautiful.

  Dropping to the edge of the little brown bridge with my feet dangling, I take off my glasses and turn my face toward the sun to absorb the rays I never allowed to kiss my skin.

  Taking deep and calming breaths, I smile when “Bat Out of Hell” by Meatloaf begins, and I almost laugh at the irony. When the second verse begins, and he sings about the lost child who’s the only pure and good thing in this world, I feel a single tear fall down my cheek.

  I stay calm, though, even when that single tear turns into a flood and my face is drenched. I just absorb the music’s sound and take it all in...because Meatloaf has been singing these words to me for years.

  Still, it’s as if I’m actually hearing them for the first time ever.

  Seven

  Jaxon

  “Everyone, find your walking buddy! Stay in a straight line, please, and do not wander off!” the camp counselor shouts as she moves out of the way so a family can pass her.

  “Chaperones, please find your group and make sure they stick together! It gets packed by the greenhouses at this time of day so stay alert, and let’s have a great time.” With her hands cupped to her mouth to throw her voice above all the noise of tourists, loud kids, and crying babies, she continues, “This will be the last exhibit before we head back to camp to finish up our day!”

  Her voice is giving me more of a headache than the screaming toddler next to me.

  I’m pitching in to help Sayeed with Samir, or Sam, which is what the little monster prefers to be called.

  Sayeed has been a widower since his seven-year-old took his first breath. His wife died during childbirth, and although I’m sure an experience as traumatic as losing your wife would send most into a tailspin, it seems as though it humbled Sayeed.

  Since living in his house, we’ve grown incredibly close. I consider him and Sam family. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to help make his life a bit easier like he’s made mine.

  So, when Sayeed calls and explains he’s stuck at work due to a broken fridge, then asks if I can chaperone his son’s field trip, I don’t hesitate. Early this morning, he called me explaining the broken refrigerator crisis at the store and how he’s forced to go in to be there for the technicians when they arrive.

  Little man wasn’t complaining. We enjoy each other’s company, and he likes having an adult around who lets him get away with slightly more than his dad does.

  Plus, I like being the cool neighbor.

  The tropical greenhouse is beautiful to look at, even if it is extremely humid. The mist is falling everywhere, soaking my already damp forehead. There are rows and rows of large green leaves from bushes and small trees hugging each other over our heads as we walk, making a tunnel of sorts. Bright pink and yellow flowers mark the bushes adding some contrast to the greenery.

  Kids are climbing over the railings to get a closer look at what looks like a Venus flytrap.

  “Kids, please! No climbing on the railings! And stay in the area marked for visitors!” the counselor shouts again.

  I roll my eyes. Does she really think fifteen kids under the age of ten aren’t going to use this place as their very own jungle gym?

  I lean over and put my hand on Sam’s shoulder, whispering in his ear, “Get our group of little impractical jokesters to stay off
the railings and make it through this sauna without her reprimanding any of you, and I’ll buy you the extra-large cone in Carvel this weekend.”

  I’m not ashamed to resort to bribery.

  He twists his neck to look up at me. “Make that one extra-large cone and at least two tries at the claw machine, and you got a deal.”

  Damn it, smart kid.

  “Done. And just so you know, I would’ve done anything to not have to listen to her whiney voice yell another time. You totally under bargained.” I tousle his hair, stand up straight, and give him a few easy slaps on the back.

  We continue to walk through the aisles of greenery, and I see Sam conspiring with his friends to keep them in line. Before I know it, we’re at the end of the tour, about to return to the concrete jungle.

  The doors fly open, and kids scatter to the tables not far from the exit. The counselor starts her headcount and instructs the kids to get their belongings together before heading back to the bus.

  Sam looks up at me with one of his tan hands covering his eyes to block the sun. “Thanks for coming to hang out with me, Jax. My dad thinks I’m gonna be mad at him about this, but I’m not.”

  “Why would he think that?” I ask him, confused. “It’s not like he does this often. Things happen. You know that, right, buddy?”

  With a wry smile, he shrugs. “I know, but there’s this new Kingdom Hearts game coming out on the Xbox in a month, and I really, really want it. I figured guilt would be the quickest way to raise my chances.”

  Kids, man, they’re the most conniving creatures to walk this planet. I should be concerned, but I’m actually impressed. “Yeah, Uh, no. You’re not going to guilt your dad into buying you that damn game.” I pull him into me and mess up his hair. “You’re a good kid; you deserve it. Keep being you and doing the right thing.”