by Tillie Cole
“It ain’t her,” he said roughly. “That rosary was just a thing. It’s not Mamma.”
Thickness filled my throat. “It was to me.” I shifted on my seat, and playing with my hands, reluctantly confessed, “I don’t remember what she sounded like anymore, Axe. I… I,” I took a deep breath, fighting the pain in my gut, and continued. “I can’t remember how her hand felt in my hair.” I could hear how my voice had broken at that confession, but managed to add, “Those rosary beads were my anchor to her. Because I know she held them in her hands. When I held them too, I felt like I could still see and feel her with me, somehow. Because she’s fading from my memory, Axe. I didn’t have as long with her as you and Austin did. I’m finding it real hard to keep her alive in my heart.”
Axel didn’t say anything in response, but a few seconds later, he pulled the car into a rest stop and hit the engine. And we sat there. Sat there, both of us staring out of the window. Until my big brother’s arm wrapped around my neck and pulled me into his chest.
Tears built in my eyes at this simple gesture and I held my brother’s shirt tightly. “I don’t know what the fuck to do to make it better for you, Lev,” Axel rasped, as I exhaled a slow breath, trying hard to control my emotions.
I didn’t reply, I just waited until I could lift my head without falling apart. I slumped on the seat.
“I know you miss her, kid. I fucking do too, but you gotta try and live. You study, you play college football. I’m so fucking proud of you I could fucking burst. You’re smart, you’re the best of us, but you gotta try, Lev. Just try and live. Try and be happy. Or else, what’s the fucking point?”
I listened to his words and nodded my head. I knew he was right, but I didn’t know how to do it. I knew for sure that going to frat parties and getting piss drunk wasn’t it. But I didn’t want Axel to worry. All he did was worry about me, and even though he had made a shit ton of mistakes in our lives, he didn’t deserve my burden.
“I’ll try.” Then I forced myself to say, “Lo giuro.”
Axel sighed in relief. “That’s good, kid. That’s real fucking good.” He turned on the engine. “Now, where the fuck is this frat house? I know the area, but I need the address.”
I reeled off the address, and we arrived out front of the house a few minutes later. As the car came to a stop, Axel said, “Have a good time, yeah?”
Forcing a smile, I said, “Yeah, catch you later, Axe,” and got out of the car.
The large house was overflowing with students, most of the team drunkenly spilling out onto the lawn. I walked forward until Axel was out of sight. Then, as I looked up at the teeming house, my feet came to a dead stop.
This wasn’t my thing at all.
I wanted to show Axel and Austin I could do this, but the more I stared at students making out, kegs being cracked open as everyone stumbled around the lawn, I knew I couldn’t go in.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, I knew it would be Ashton, again. Making a split-second decision, and before I was seen, I lifted my hood over my head and ducked out onto the street. I set into a run, my Wide Receiver speed soon taking me well away from the frat house. Slowing down to a jog, then a gradual walk, I tucked my hands into my pockets and just followed my feet.
I couldn’t go back home yet, so I would walk.
I would walk until enough time had passed that my brothers would be fooled into thinking that I’d at least tried. Tried to be the normal kid I knew I could never be.
* * * * *
A couple of hours later, I’d found myself near a group of bars. I’d walked aimlessly, down street after street, just passing away the time. People were falling out of the nearby bars; loud music was blasting out of a pub on a corner. I watched the many groups of students filled with laughter. The smell of smoke and alcohol wafted in the cool night air.
Seeing a Starbucks up ahead, I tucked my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and made my way across the road. I was about to approach the door, when I heard the sound of a male voice coming from the alley in between the coffee house and a deli.
At first I put it down to a drunken man stumbling around in the dark, until I heard a dull crash and the sound of a muffled, pained female shout. I immediately backed away from the door and arrived at the mouth of the alley. It was pitch black, except for the dim light of a street lamp on the other side of the alley wall. A quick movement immediately caught my eye. The male voice growled low again. This time, the female cry was loud and distinct.
Without thinking I raced down the alley, quickly catching sight of a man pinning a girl against a brick wall. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I could guess what he was trying to do.
Without thinking I lunged at the man, gripping his shoulders and throwing him to the ground in one motion. His body hit the floor with a thud, and I turned to see him pushing himself to get up. I got a good look at his puffed up alcohol-laden features, his dirty clothes and his filthy skin. Clenching my hand into a fist, I plunged it straight into his face.
I heard the distressed girl cry once again. Whipping my head round, I saw her curled into a ball at the furthest corner of the alley’s wall. I could hear her heavy stuttered breathing, then she started coughing a rough and chesty cough.
I heard footsteps echo down the alley, and when I glanced back to the drunken attacker, I saw him running toward the busy sidewalk. I was about to run after him, when the girl in the corner started coughing again, only this time she couldn’t stop.
Focusing on the girl, I carefully approached and crouched slowly down behind her. “Are you okay?” I forced myself to ask. Adrenaline squashed any shyness I felt.
The girl didn’t respond. Slowly reaching out, I lay my hand on her back. The girl cried out and tried to push herself further into the corner. “It’s alright,” I said and pulled my hand back, “he’s gone. The guy that attacked you is gone. I won’t hurt you.”
Despite my friendly manner, the girl didn’t seem to realize I was no threat. I sat back, waiting patiently to make sure she was okay. Only then did I finally concentrate on how this girl was dressed—black ripped jeans, leather jacket, strands of scraggly blond hair…
It was her.
As if sensing my recognition of who she was, the girl slowly turned around, and her eyes widened as she saw me before her. They were bright blue and perfectly round. She recognized me too, I could see it written all over her face.
The girl whipped her eyes around the alley, frantically searching every inch. “He’s not here,” I repeated. But she seemed to not hear what I’d said. Her neck stretched out, her wide eyes continuing to rove all around us, when I placed my hand on her arm. Her eyes snapped to mine. “He’s gone,” I said again, slower this time. Her huge doe eyes were intent on my lips.
The girl froze, then released a long shuddered exhale.
I stared and stared. Knowing she had taken my mamma’s rosary should’ve made me mad as all hell. But seeing her here, so small and afraid, curled into the alley wall, hiding under a sloped edge of roof, took away any hate I could harbor. Her hood was covering her head, shielding most of her face. But I could see, even in the dark of the alley, that her skin was pitted with dirt. Even through that dirt, I could see her skin was pale.
Too pale.
Concern overcame my shyness, and I asked, “Are you sick?”
As if answering my question, the girl bent forward and coughed like her lungs were failing. She coughed and she coughed until the sound of her cough was both hoarse and wheezy.
I clenched my fist, resisting the urge to put my hand on her arm. She was so thin and frail, bundled up in wet blankets, vainly trying to keep warm. Her clothes were ripped to pieces and completely worn out. As I stared at her, she wrapped her arm around her waist as if to keep herself upright. I tipped my head up to look at the torrential rain. I felt the increasing cold wind bluster in the narrow alley. I knew I couldn’t leave her here, not like this.
She needed help and she needed it fast.
<
br /> Shifting myself around until I was directly in front of her, I dipped my head until I could see her eyes under the hood of her sweatshirt. A threadbare black scarf was pulled half way up her face; only her dull blue eyes were visible. As her harsh cough faded out into a deep graveled wheeze, I said, “Please listen to me.”
But her eyes never lifted at my request. They stayed large and dazed, pupils dilated, focused on the ground beneath our feet.
My concern deepened.
Inching further forward, I waved my hand in front of her face. The girl jumped again, but her eyelids fluttered at the movement until, finally, her attention was focused on me.
Making sure she could hear me, I explained, “I’m going to help you.” I immediately thought of Lexi, and knew she would come to the girl’s aid. We could get her to Kind. We could get her a doctor, a place that she could stay.
I reached into my pocket for my cell, but when I pressed the screen it was dead. I sighed in frustration.
The girl’s eyes watched my lips. “I’m going to call for help.” As I told her those words, her face fell and she shook her head. Using her hands on the soaking wet ground, she pushed herself further back against the wall.
“It’s okay,” I said and held up my hands. “Calm down.” I watched her close in on herself, her body contorting like she was a small child: terrified and afraid. As she did her scarf fell, revealing her face. Something in my heart broke and cracked in two.
She looked like she could be pretty. But her face was sunken, dark circles shadowed like coal smudges around her eyes. Her hands were joined over her chest in a rigid vise. When I slowly moved the blanket covering them, I noticed they were trembling. She was either terrified or freezing. As I looked up at her haunted ashen face, I thought it could be both.
Her gaze never wavered from mine. “Please. Let me help you. You’re not well and y’all need help.” I watched her slowly shake her head in refusal. But as she did, I saw the tears build in her eyes and her bottom lip quiver.
I looked away, frustration mounting in my chest. “Please,” I whispered, feeling helpless. When I faced the girl again, her glazed eyes were back to looking at the ground, and her wheezing had become worse. Her head had flopped to the side and she had pulled the wet blanket up to her chin, searching for warmth.
The rain came down heavier.
Realizing that it would take more from me than to simply offer help, I got to my feet. The girl didn’t even flinch. I glanced down the alley, it was clear. Turning back to the girl, I said, “I’ll be back in two minutes. I’m getting you some food and a coffee.”
I waited for a response, but none came; her head stayed firmly down.
Without hesitating, I jogged to the end of the alley and walked quickly through the Starbucks entrance. I threw back my hood and shook off the rain. I approached the barista, instantly seeing a young brunette, about my age. She smiled as I approached the counter.
“Two venti dark roasts with room,” I ordered, then searched the pastry cabinet. I grabbed a few bottles of water and a bunch of sandwiches. I put them on the counter. “These too. And a few of those chocolate cookies.”
I reached into my pocket to pull out some cash. When I looked up, the brunette was smiling at me. Her eyebrow was raised in a way I’d come to recognize. She wanted to talk to me. She liked me. The minute she giggled, I could feel my cheeks flood with heat.
“You hungry or something?” she asked in a playful voice, pointing to all the food.
She waited for me to reply. Instead I ran my hand through my hair, kept my attention on the counter and shook my head.
I shifted on my feet as she ran the sandwiches through the register. The brunette leaned forward. “You want these sandwiches warmed up?” I nodded my head.
I heard another flirty laugh come from the barista’s mouth, then my stomach rolled when she leaned down to rest her elbows on the countertop. She peeked up at me and, this time, I had no choice but to meet her eyes. She smiled again. “What’s your name?” I cleared my throat. The barista lifted up the cups and added, “For your order.”
“Levi,” I answered quietly and handed over a fifty. The girl took it. Before she could talk again, I muttered, “Keep the change.”
As I turned away to wait at the end of the counter, I caught sight of her face falling at my obvious rejection, but my guilt was short-lived as I thought of the girl in the alley. I thought back to her clothes, to her sodden and thinning blankets. The ache was back in my chest at how she was living. That this existence was her life.
Inhaling a deep breath, I stared out of the window, and immediately saw the light of a cheap Seahawks store open across the road. Turning to the barista, I laid my hand on the countertop. “I’ll be back in five minutes.” She frowned, but shrugged.
Throwing my hood back up over my head, I left the coffee shop and ran across the road. As soon as I entered the cluttered store, I searched around for what I could get. Shirts, hoodies and tacky mugs reading ‘12th Man Pride’ littered the space.
I pushed through the racks and racks of clothes. Grabbing three smaller more non-descript hoodies, I then rushed to a corner section housing Seahawks fleece blankets. I grabbed two then took everything to the register. I paid and, in no time, I had picked up the coffees and food.
Ducking down the alley, I searched all around for any sign that the attacker had been back. It was deathly quiet. Pushing forward, I squinted my eyes trying to adjust to the dark when I saw the girl, still hunkered down in the corner against the wall. Even from this distance I could see her small body was convulsing.
She was getting worse.
“It’s me, I’m back,” I said loudly as I approached, trying not to startle her. The girl didn’t move, and for a minute, pure panic surged through my veins that something was very wrong.
But when my feet stopped before her, she jumped, a hoarse cry leaping from her throat. I stepped back, as those huge blue eyes fixed on mine. Her breathing was erratic. Droplets of sweat ran down her cheeks.
“Sorry, I called out that it was me. You didn’t hear.”
The girl weakly pulled the scarf off her neck, the skin underneath flushed and red. When she looked at my handful of goods her eyes widened. Taking it as my chance to explain, I crouched down and held out the coffee with cream and sugar. The girl’s brow furrowed, causing me to prompt, “It’s for you.”
She swallowed, and my cheeks heated with nervousness at the look of sheer gratitude on her face. Clearly seeing I wasn’t lying, she fought to straighten her weak body and sat further up against the wall. I resisted the urge to help her as she fought for breath. But I stayed back. She’d just been attacked. She didn’t want my touch, even if it was kindly meant.
The girl’s hand lifted up. I thought she was taking the coffee, until her hand landed on her large hood and she slowly pulled it back to reveal her face.
She kept her eyes downcast and ran her tongue over her broken lips. My breathing was held captive in my throat, until she looked up and I released the pent up breath. I could see that she wasn’t as young as she looked. Something in her eyes told me she was near my age, which I quickly realized would make it almost impossible to get her help. She wasn’t underage. I couldn’t make her go anywhere she didn’t want to.
The silence between us became thick and stagnant. I pushed the cup forward to her hand. The girl, regarding the cup like it was a lifeline, slowly reached out and took in her frail grasp. For a moment I thought she might drop the large cup and I steadied the bottom so it didn’t spill.
As my hand balanced the coffee, I could feel the magnitude of her trembling. Placing my coffee down on the ground, I shuffled forward helping her bring the coffee to her lips. As the first taste of the liquid hit her lips, her eyes closed and she took in a stuttered labored breath.
“You okay?” I asked quietly. The girl opened her eyes. Her head tipped to the side, studying my face. She hadn’t heard me. Clearing my throat again, I repeated, “Ar
e you okay?”
The girl watched my lips, and flickering her focus back on my eyes, she gently nodded her head. Helping her rest the coffee on her bent knee, I leaned back, then passed over the bag of food. I realized that she was intently watching my mouth as I lifted the bag and deliberately said, “Sandwiches and cookies.” My cheeks blazed under her attention, and my stomach tightened with nerves. This was the most I’d ever spoken to a girl in my life, and it seemed that she was even more introverted than me.
Lastly, I pulled out the blankets and hoodies. I passed them over to where she sat. Pointing at the wet blanket covering her body, I asked, “Can I?”
The girl froze and her eyes began to narrow. I took the bottom edge of her ruined wet blanket in my hands and held it up for her to see. “This isn’t keeping you warm.” A wash of sympathy ran through me. “It’s making you sick.”
The girl didn’t move. The sympathy I felt quickly morphed into frustration, until she shifted on the floor. Slowly, and what appeared painfully, she lifted her hand and the coffee off the sodden material.
I exhaled in relief. I moved forward until my face was just inches from hers. My heart was thundering in my chest at being this close. And when I looked up, I lost my breath. The girl was watching me so intently. Her dull eyes were flickering all around me, trying to drink in every movement I made, every flicker on my face, every word from my mouth.
Her already labored breathing stuttered with me this close, and this time, I knew it had nothing to do with the cold.
She was terrified.
This girl, this waif of a girl in this alley, was terrified of me. The way her huge eyes tracked me, the helplessness and the sickness I saw in her reminded me of how my mamma was broken on her small bed, and of Lexi when she was ill, too weak and alone, laid up in hospital. It was why I was compelled to stay. That and basic human duty. This girl had stolen from me, taken the most precious thing I owned, but I saw clearly why she did it—this was her life. This damn cesspit of an alley was her entire life.