Gutter Child

by Jael Richardson

  “We came to help,” they sing softly, changing the words, and I close my eyes and listen as the man lowers his voice.

  “Who needs help? Raise your hand if you want help,” the man says, and I feel my arm float up in the air.

  “Can I help you?” a young woman in a red shirt says, and when I open my eyes, I see Healers everywhere, whispering in people’s ears and touching their foreheads as the music floats around us. “We came to help.”

  “Can you take away my debt? Can you take it away if I believe?” I say, and when she shakes her head, sad and perplexed, I just cry into her shoulder, because I realize that more than anything, that’s what I want—this debt off my chest, these scars off my hand, a freedom I’ve always wanted but never had.

  “Ma’am,” she says, when I’ve been crying a long time. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

  I look around at the people raising their hands and singing along. “We came to help.”

  “My son would like a pickle,” I say, clearing my throat.

  The woman smiles and reaches into a pouch, handing me a large pickle soaking in red sugar and wrapped in clear plastic.

  She tickles DJ’s knee, and when she leaves, I lean my forehead into him, tired and overwhelmed as he sucks on the red pickle. I tell myself that everything will be fine and I repeat this over and over. “Everything will be fine.”

  When a bright light flashes, I turn to see a camera pointed at the two of us. But when I move closer, the man disappears into the crowd, clutching his camera.

  Everything will be fine.

  38

  I WAKE TO THE SOUND OF GLASS BREAKING AND FIND GENEVA standing in the kitchen, surrounded by broken dishes. She’s staring at the mess, panting and out of breath, her robe dangling off one shoulder.

  “Geneva?” I say.

  She looks up at me, her face and her eyes red like she’s been crying. “Stay out,” she says as DJ crawls out of our room and into the hallway.

  He smiles when he sees his grandmother and moves toward us with a grin.

  “I’ll grab the broom,” I say.

  “No,” she shouts, so loud and so harsh that I have to pick DJ up quickly to keep him from crying.

  “No,” she says again, this time quieter. “Go down to the Base. Take DJ. I don’t want him crawling around in this mess.”

  “The Base?” I say.

  She presses her fists into her hips. “Rowan is here.”

  “He’s here? Right now?” I say, but what I really want to ask is if he’s here to take us away.

  When I don’t move, when I just stand there trying to figure out what this means, waiting for her to explain, she waves her hand toward the door and shouts, “Go to the Base, Lima! It’s best not to keep a man waiting.”

  ROWAN IS LEANING up against the fence with one small bag at his ankles when I arrive. He’s wearing brown dress pants with a fitted beige shirt and dark sunglasses. When he sees us, he removes his glasses and smiles. His steps are long and slow as he moves toward us while mine feel short and rushed, like I have somewhere important to go and he’s taking his time.

  “Took you long enough to get here,” he says.

  “I could say the same thing,” I say with a smile that fades when I see how this comment seems to hurt him.

  Rowan pauses in front of me, staring and smiling before pulling me in for a hug. He’s more handsome than I remember, and the smell of him and the feel of his arms around me remind me of the first day we met.

  “You look good,” he says, and I feel a shiver down my spine as he places one hand on the curve of my neck.

  “It’s really good to see you too,” I say, blushing and grateful no one’s around.

  “Up,” DJ says as he wiggles in the stroller, hands outstretched, like he’s tired of going unnoticed.

  “Well, look at you,” Rowan says.

  I lift DJ out of the stroller and when I lean him toward Rowan, he reaches out for his father, who holds him out in front of him so his legs dangle in the air.

  “Wow. Couldn’t claim he wasn’t mine if I wanted to,” he says.

  “Is that what you thought—that he wasn’t yours? Is that why you didn’t write back?” I say with a scowl, but Rowan doesn’t respond.

  We start toward the house, and it’s not until Rowan slows down at the first turn that I realize he doesn’t remember the way. I point down Eighth Street. I think about the day I arrived, how everything was new, and I wonder if it’s harder for Rowan to return to a place where the only thing that’s changed is him.

  “Did you get my letters?” I say.

  “I did.”

  “Why didn’t you write back?”

  He shrugs. “How’s my mom? How was she when you left?” he says as we make the final turn down Fifth Street.

  “Strange. But I think—”

  “Strange how?”

  I think about the sound of glass breaking, her hair out of place, her robe and her red eyes. “She seemed upset,” I say, turning to study his expression as he kicks a stone down the road.

  “Rowan?” I say.

  “Not now, Elimina.”

  “It’s . . . it’s Lima,” I mutter.

  “Oh . . . yeah, right,” he says as DJ chats and points at everything that flies.

  “Bird,” DJ says.

  “No, baby, that’s not a bird. That’s a butterfly,” I say with a long sigh.

  GENEVA IS WEARING a long purple dress by the time we arrive, and when she sees Rowan, she opens her arms and he buries his face in her shoulder. When Shirley and Roger show up with all of the girls, Shirley cries tears of joy as she holds her brother for the first time in twelve years.

  I try to feel happy. I try to be glad for Rowan. But all I can think about is DJ and my debt and when we’re all going to the Hill.

  The house fills up with neighbors and boxing fans as news of Rowan’s arrival spreads, and he soaks in all the attention and adoration in the tightly packed living room, drinking whatever people put in his hands.

  He pulls me into his arms and squeezes me in a way that reminds me of our nights in the Fieldhouse, and I feel the same heaviness and need I always feel when we’re together.

  “You remember how you used to wear Pop’s boxing gloves everywhere?” Shirley says.

  Rowan raises his glass and nods.

  “He wore those things everywhere. Drove Ma crazy. He wouldn’t even take them off to go to the bathroom,” Shirley says, laughing and squeezing her brother. “He would call for Ma to go in and help him so he wouldn’t pee all over the floor.”

  “Whoa, whoa, get the story right. Ma had to help me because I didn’t want to pee on Pop’s gloves. I couldn’t care less about Ma’s floors,” he says, and everyone laughs.

  Rowan smiles at me, but I don’t smile back, and neither does Geneva, who stays in the kitchen most of the night like she’s not in a celebrating mood either.

  WHEN THE LAST guest is gone, I place DJ on a flat cushion on the floor, listening through the walls as Geneva and Rowan begin arguing.

  “What was it, Rowan? What the hell did you do?” Geneva yells. “Was it women? Booze? You know what this means, don’t you? You know what this means?” she screams, whacking him at the end of each question, like punctuation. “How could you?” Thump. “How could you?” Thump. Her voice goes shrill and she repeats things over and over. “How could you do this to us?”

  When I step out into the hall and peek around the corner, Geneva is hovering over Rowan, slapping and punching him as he covers his face with his hands. I watch her hit him, her face clenched with rage, and I know that Rowan is back for good—that there will be no Redemption Freedom for any of us.

  “You’re your father’s son. A no-good failure at everything,” she says, her veins pulsing at the temples like she might explode.

  When the shouting stops, Rowan opens the door to his old room and climbs into bed with me. He whispers in my ear and wraps one arm around me, saying my name and kissing e
very part of me, pulling me in tight. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I missed you.”

  I don’t say a word or make any noise. I just hold my breath and close my eyes, remembering the way it feels to be wanted and touched, longing for David and the Hill.

  39

  THE CROWDS IN THE CORRIDOR MOVE SLOWER THAN usual, or maybe it’s just Rowan who’s slowing us down. His shirt is off and tucked into his belt so the “SOSSI” tattoo he got on the circuit glistens across his back. We haven’t talked about the fight with Geneva or what happened between the two of us last night, but I keep thinking about what it means now that Rowan is here for good, how my life feels more uncertain and impossible than ever before.

  The guards watch us closely as we make our way through the marketplace, while Gutter folks whisper and point. I realize that while I’ve spent all my time in the Gutter avoiding attention, especially from guards, Rowan welcomes the feeling of being noticed.

  A bald man with a long gold beard guides Rowan to a table covered in thick chains and brassy rings. “I’ve been following your career. You’re the spitting image of your father, and he was a good one. It’s good to have you home,” the man says.

  “It’s good to be back,” Rowan says.

  The man takes a gold chain and lifts it over Rowan’s head, letting it fall so the X-shaped pendant hangs between the curve of his chest.

  “That’s it. That’s the look. You want to look sharp, I’m your man. Tell everybody about me, okay?” he says, patting Rowan on the back.

  “You do the same,” Rowan says, fingering the chain.

  A young man selling brightly colored T-shirts hollers for us to come. “Big Man,” he shouts, and when Rowan heads his way, they hug and slap each other’s shoulders like they’re old friends while I wait.

  “You back here for good?” the young man says.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m back,” Rowan says.

  I bite down hard on my lip because hearing him say this out loud makes my heart feel tight and sharp.

  “Good, good, Big Man. Good to have you. Welcome back to Sossi Land,” the man says, shaking hands with Rowan before we move on.

  At the lemonade stand, Harriet cries over Rowan like he’s her long-lost son. “I knew when I saw your boy’s face that he was yours,” she says. “I used to know your father. He was a good man. You look like him when he was your age. Little one looks just the same. This young lady’s been taking good care of him. She’s quite the Runner.”

  “Harriet, you don’t have to say that,” I say, and when she smiles and nudges me with her elbow, I notice how the spaces between her teeth are all fixed.

  Rowan orders two lemonades, and while Sondra prepares the drinks, Harriet tells us about a fight where Rowan Senior took another boxer out with the toughest left hook she ever saw. Rowan smiles, and when the drinks are ready, he pulls out a large wad of money. He hands a few bills to Sondra and quickly raises his hand as she begins to dig for change.

  “No, no, no, you keep it. That’s yours for being so pretty,” he says, and I watch her cheeks turn red.

  “Just like your father,” Harriet says, smiling with her arm linked through Sondra’s as the three of us walk away.

  “Where did you get all that money?” I whisper.

  Rowan shrugs, puffing his chest out and strolling through the Corridor as two guards with thick necks follow us all the way to the Subsidy Office. On the wall, “SOSSI FOREVER” has already been spray-painted over the Healers’ purple “BELIEVE.”

  “Shirt on, Gutter,” one of the guards says as a crowd begins to gather.

  “Come on, officer. It’s a hot one out. No big deal if I just try and stay cool, right?” Rowan says, turning toward them with DJ perched on his arm.

  “Rules are rules, Jackson.”

  “Oh, you know who I am? Are you fans? Do you want me to sign autographs?” Rowan says, pretending to search his pockets for a paper and pen.

  “Why would we want your autograph? When was the last time you won a match?” the taller guard says, stepping so close to Rowan that Rowan has to lift his chin to stare at his face.

  “The rules are still the same, Jackson. No Sossi signs or symbols of any kind,” the other guard says as the tall one pokes Rowan in the chest with his finger.

  “Not on shirts, not on necklaces, not on walls and not on bodies. You can put your shirt on or you can come with us. It’s that simple.”

  Rowan steps back and slides his shirt on slowly, but when the guards move away, he laughs loudly, like his fear and obedience was all pretend. “I was making them look bad,” he says, flexing his muscles.

  Everyone in the crowd applauds, including DJ, who claps and smiles like he’s proud.

  JOSEPHINE AND WILLIAM are waiting in the restaurant when the three of us arrive, and when Josephine sees Rowan, she looks at me sadly, like she knows exactly what it means to see him here in the Lower End.

  “Rowan! I didn’t expect to see you,” she says in a tone that makes it clear she’s not impressed.

  “I could say the same,” he says, leaning in for a hug. “It’s our own little Livingstone Academy reunion. Too bad David couldn’t be here.”

  “To be honest, I half expected to come here one of these times and find that Ell and DJ had gone to meet you, you know, debt-free,” Josephine says. “At the very least, I thought we’d get news that you’d gone on to the Hill. Isn’t that what you always said, what you always bragged about, Rowan? Didn’t you say you’d be the first one to get it?”

  Rowan runs his tongue across his teeth, like he’s holding back the words he really wants to say.

  “Yes, well, you know how it is, don’t you? Things never seem to happen quite like we plan. How is David, by the way?” he says.

  “Good,” she says, nodding her head. “David’s good.”

  “He still at the Hill working hard?”

  “Always,” she says.

  “Good for him.”

  In his last letter, David thanked me for all the news about Josephine. He told me about his work and his increased responsibilities, which increased his pay. He also mentioned a few places I might like to live—neighborhoods well-suited for DJ—and I don’t know how I’ll find the courage to tell him that it will be a long time before I get there. If I get there at all.

  Josephine and I climb into the booth with the boys, while Rowan grabs a chair, swinging his leg over the back and tilting it toward the table so he’s balancing on two of the legs.

  “Are you famous?” William says. “I think you must be famous, because your muscles are the biggest I’ve ever seen.”

  “Bigger than the Mainland Guards’?” Rowan says.

  William waves for him to come closer, and Rowan leans in. “Auntie says they’re not really that big,” the young boy whispers. “The uniforms just make them look that way. But I can tell yours are real.”

  Rowan laughs, rubbing his hand on William’s curly head. “For that, you can order anything you want,” he says, dropping a few bills on the table. “It’s on me. And that goes for everyone. Including you, Jose.”

  Josephine looks at the bills and then at me, raising her eyebrows. I try to seem like everything is okay, but my face feels too heavy to smile.

  “Can I get a milkshake?” William says. “I’ve always wanted a milkshake.”

  “Have these ladies been depriving you of milkshakes?” Rowan says, and when William nods, Rowan hands him another bill.

  “Get one for DJ too,” Rowan says.

  “Seriously, Rowan, how the hell did you end up here?” Josephine says when William is gone. “What happened?”

  “Missed my mom and my boy, I suppose,” he says, kissing DJ on the forehead.

  “Not Lima?”

  “I knew she was okay,” he says. “She’s tough. Plus, she was sending me letters, felt like every day.”

  “And did you write back?” Josephine says.

  Rowan scowls and shrugs, and Josephine shakes her head.

  “I�
��m shocked. You’re usually so thoughtful, Rowan,” she says.

  “Screw you, Jose.”

  “So are you going to tell us why you’re really here, Rowan? How are you going to take care of your little family now that your boxing plan didn’t work out?”

  “Look, I didn’t tell her to keep the kid and come here,” he says.

  I press my hand into my forehead, rubbing it gently, while DJ bangs on the table, reaching for all of the cutlery.

  “Well, maybe you should have been a little more careful with your you-know-what then,” Josephine says as William returns.

  “What do you want from me, Jose?”

  “I want to know what the plan is now,” she says, as I hand DJ a spoon for him to suck on. “I mean, are you going to get a job at the factory or something?”

  “I’m not getting a job at the factory,” he says, shaking his head like he’s both annoyed and offended. “And I don’t need a plan. I just got here.”

  “So you’re just going to hang around doing nothing, wishing you were back on the circuit?”

  “You know what, I’m actually glad to be home. You have no idea what it was like for me out there. It feels really good to be here, where people get me,” he says, reaching out and taking my hand.

  When Johnny brings a large plate of meat rolls to the table, along with two giant milkshakes, Rowan grabs one of the rolls and takes a huge bite, closing his eyes and savoring each bite. “Man, I missed these. They don’t make meat rolls like this on the Mainland,” he says.

  Josephine looks out the window, while I help DJ with his milkshake, lowering the glass off the table so he can drink from the straw.

  “You know what, ladies? I’m just going to take another one of these and go,” Rowan says, standing suddenly.

  “Go where?” I say.

  “Maybe Josephine’s right. Maybe I should go find some work.”

  I hand DJ’s milkshake to Josephine and follow Rowan as he heads out of Johnny’s.

  “Where are you going?”

  He stops and turns toward me, raising his hands and his voice. “I’m going to find some work. Isn’t that what you want? That’s why you have Josephine grilling me, right?”