The woman looked at Lisa and then, in the same drudging manner as when she first started, went back to mopping. Lisa was satisfied; it felt like she had found mark 2. She wasn’t sure. She needed the touch to be certain, but it all seemed to fit. The woman and the place were right, but the sadness of everyday humanity dealing with the labor of cleaning, while wanting nothing more than to leave the floor dirty and be left alone, stuck in Lisa’s jaw and brain.
The woman looked up again and Lisa waved directly at her, then walked on. She needed these people, her marks, to notice her—just notice her now, and how lucky for her she found mark 2 without even trying. The first glance this woman gave her wasn’t enough, she needed the wave. A simple wave to let this woman of such indolence become aware of her—to have at least one detail of Lisa stick in her memory.
Maggie saw the wave, but didn’t wave back. The only detail that Maggie would remember was anxiety. That skinny woman made her anxious. How did she know Maggie was thinking of Frank not waving? She felt anxious enough to want to go hide in the dumpster with the homeless man and lead him in prayer.
Rafael
He liked to spin. He never had a reason for liking it, something in his body said “SPIN” and he did. He could spin until he vomited and then spin again. He knew his mom didn’t understand it, but she wouldn’t stop him from spinning because she didn’t know how and was too tired to try.
The world was buzzing in his eyes. The view of his front yard was nothing more than a quick blur. If he could make everything blurry, then it would be better because blurry made sense. Not seeing things clearly made sense. Rafael wanted his mom to see things the way he saw them, but he knew she would never listen.
In the blur, there was a flash of white. A blinding flash of white blur mixed with the other blurs. He stopped spinning, laid down on the grass, and looked. There was a lady. A tall, tall lady with white hair that matched his perfectly. She could have easily grabbed him and taken him. She could have ignored him as she walked down the street, like many others do. Instead, she handed him a little yellow square. Rafael took it; the lady smiled, then kept walking.
Sitting up, he looked at the yellow square. He sniffed it and took off the wrapper, then shoved it into his mouth. It was candy—fill your mouth with yummy, watery spit candy. It was a little chunk of blurry heaven.
Lisa
Mark 4 found already. Well, almost found. She could have touched him. He was a child and would have allowed it. Children are brave in the dumbest of ways. But instead, Lisa gave him candy and kept walking. He’d remember her with something sweet. He’d see her and think of the candy. The boy would want more candy and that would be her way to touch him, checking to make sure he was a mark.
He was a child and she’d like to make sure, before she tried to talk to him, that the icy itch matched. Children tend to blabber and if she tried to talk to him, inevitably, whatever adult was in charge of him would want answers as to why. Then, that would become a trust building exercise with yet another person and the fewer people knew her the better. The less she pretended to care about their day-to-day lives the better. It was a waste of Lisa’s time and effort dealing with the emotional roller coaster these humans went on every day. To think of emotion when dealing with existence was a path to inefficient choices.
Iggy
Iggy stayed in the dumpster, but he wasn’t sure for how long. It could have been days or hours. Time was not something Iggy took for granted, but it was something that confused him. A day could easily turn into a week. A week could have been a month or a week could have been a day. When the sidewalk never ends, the bugs never go away, and the hunger of street life is always stabbing at the gut, the idea of ‘o’clock’ is up in the air with unicorns and fluff.
Iggy felt the pressure change in the air outside. Suddenly, it seemed lighter and noisier. He could once again hear the constant traffic of cars going back and forth endlessly. Iggy wished for a car. He thought that maybe if he could get a car, he could drive away from the sidewalk and find grass. Maybe a park with apple trees and green grass. If only he could get to that park, he might be able to find his memory again and get back to the human he used to be.
The dumpster was disgusting; this much Iggy knew, but he didn’t care. Iggy was disgusting. He also knew that, but didn’t know how to fix it. Deep in the very back of his mind there were flashes of his mom putting him in a warm bath. There were bubbles and soap, the smell of strawberries and lavender lotion, and the feel of his mom wrapping him in a large towel. The towel was heavy and soft—it felt like safety. Wrapped in the big heavy towel was the safest Iggy had ever felt. Nothing could ruin those moments—even the madness didn’t touch them. The thoughts in his brain, that made him forget everything, couldn’t get past that big heavy towel. He had always wished his mother would leave him in that towel. Let him spend his days walking around burrito-style in a bath towel. Maybe if she had done that, his brain wouldn’t betray him with thoughts that never have a conclusion or a beginning—thoughts that take over every second and every breath Iggy has. He couldn’t stop them; he could only accept them. He accepted this endless parade of thoughts the way he accepted that he was disgusting, like the dumpster, because the thoughts wouldn’t allow room for bathing.
Iggy remembered when the thoughts started. He remembered not sleeping as a teenager and spending his nights hidden under his kitchen table because the thoughts needed to be near the apples. Iggy’s thoughts liked apples and sometimes, staring at an apple for endless hours was the only way to make them hush.
Iggy would secretly take the applesauce from the refrigerator and smear it on his face. If the thoughts could feel the cold of the apple sauce and sense the smell of it, they would let him sleep for a couple hours. He tried to listen to what his teacher said and understand what the other teenagers were doing on the school playground. Iggy couldn’t play a game of soccer with the other kids though; the thoughts were too busy telling him to lay in the field and try to eat the grass.
When his mother didn’t buy apples, Iggy’s thoughts fought to take over. They pounded the doors of his brain and smashed his body into walls. Iggy fought back; he wanted so badly to be like the other kids. He wanted to get his homework finished and kiss a girl. But, if there were no apples then the thoughts turned angry and the anger wouldn’t let Iggy eat or sleep or do anything, but bury his head in bath towels and wish Disneyland wishes that the thoughts would die.
He stuck his fingers outside the dumpster and felt the air. It felt safe. Slowly, Iggy crawled out and immediately hid behind the dumpster looking for the lady. The air felt different and he couldn’t see her. She had left, but Iggy knew she was close and would be back.
Iggy crawled out from behind the dumpster and started walking down the street. He tried to walk super-fast, but not so fast that people would notice him. One of the most important things about being homeless was to learn to be invisible—make sure you didn’t get people’s attention too much. If they didn’t notice you, then you could spend the night in safer, warmer places. If they did notice you, then the cops would come and tell you to leave. Iggy learned to be invisible. He learned that if people ignored him, it was better; they wouldn’t notice him eating out of the trash can; they wouldn’t notice him sleeping under their car in the rain. He was the background of everyday life… like clouds and air.
Craig
Craig saw the homeless, dreadlocked, filth bucket around all the time. The man didn’t bring up any sympathy in him, or any feeling really. Dreadlock Guy, as Craig affectionately called him, was just part of the background of Feline Street—nothing interesting about him, he was just always around. Except today, today Dreadlock Guy was hauling ass down the street. Walking with a purpose you rarely see in animals or the homeless. If an animal walks with purpose in a direction, then it’s for a reason… there’s danger. If a homeless person walks with a purpose, it’s almost the same… there’s danger—sometimes to themselves and sometimes to others.
Dreadlock Guy was definitely following animal instinct and trying his best to avoid danger. Craig sat down with his beer. Sadly, watching Dreadlock Guy saunter down the street was the most interesting part of his day. He thought he should try to go watch a game or the news. Something, anything, to stimulate his thinking. Something that would make the dull throb of nothing smashing against nothing in his brain go away.
Craig couldn’t get himself off his porch. It wasn’t even a nice view. Feline Street was nothing but old houses, ghetto apartments, and strip malls that were half abandoned. If anybody, or anything, came to Feline Street to be saved, they’d end up suicidal.
Then Craig saw her… and saw her wave. The flash of platinum blonde hair, the pouty lips, and a small wave. She was across the street - all the way across the busy highway so Craig had no idea whether she was waving at him, a fly, or another person. Anything goes with crack heads, thought Craig dully.
And, this girl was definitely a crack head. “Yes, crack head for sure….” Craig said to the porch. Honestly though, he wasn’t sure. He just couldn’t imagine a normal woman walking around Feline Street waving at him. There had to be something very wrong with her. “There’s something very wrong with this place and something very wrong with me.” Craig told the porch, “So, there has to be something very wrong with her.”
Craig waited, but the porch wouldn’t answer. He knew the porch, like the house, was judging him. The porch was the eyes to the outside world for the house and would sooner or later tell the house how Craig once again disappointed them. Once again, Craig managed to keep it empty and cold.
Thinking about the situation and talking to himself, he realized that he never waved back and she walked away. He should get up and go look down the street to see where she went. Maybe there was the possibility of catching her eye and waving back. Maybe he could pretend to walk down to the corner and see her.
But, Craig knew better and stayed put. There was no use in chasing a woman that wandered the streets. They might stay for the night—stay for a warm bed and a meal in exchange for a night of playing house—but once the morning coffee was gone, once they had used his shower and taken whatever money they could from him, they would go back to the street. The street was more appealing than a lifetime with Craig.
Lisa
The human male is simple-minded, yet very complicated. Lisa wasn’t sure she’d ever really understand the way they perceived their world. The way they go about their daily lives was rumored to be logical. And yet, when left to their own devices, they did things that defied logic. They did things that the female would either find annoying or intriguing. Lisa felt neither.
To be annoyed, she’d have to care about the outcome of the male in any given situation. To be intrigued, she’d have to find the male interesting and Lisa did not find him interesting.
The wave had worked on her other mark, but not on him. This was not annoying, only a problem to fix. She had expected to give mark 1 a small wave—a gesture of, “I see you, do you see me?” Clearly, he had seen her. Clearly, his eyes met her eyes. Yet, he did not respond. He did not make any attempt to acknowledge her. Why?
‘Why’ always seemed to be the problem with people. Why they did anything in any capacity was what kept her thinking. It was what kept her watching them like a confusing movie whose plot you just could not understand. Watching people go about their daily lives was what Lisa did best. She watched and made notes, trying to find a pattern. Trying to find logic and reason in “the how” of people. There was never any logic and the reason was always blurred. Reason seemed fuzzy with people. Rational reason was not how humans existed. That, to Lisa, was a waste of resources; It was a waste of time; Most of all, it was a waste of resources and time together.
Maggie
Maggie was staring out the window of the donut shop where she spent 80% of her life, or close to it. Working at the laundry mat and the doughnut shop, her attitude towards both were stained moldy green. The windows were dirty—smudgy, dusty windows with yellowed posters spread all over them. The windows made Maggie sad. The fact that people went into the donut shop day-after-day, never noticing or caring about the windows, upset her. She wasn’t really sure why it upset her, it was just a representation of the people that surrounded her.
These people she saw daily in her neighborhood. These people who come and get coffee every morning. These people… thought Maggie, accept crap. Crap is okay. They see the yellow posters and accept them, instead of wanting to see something bright and clean. They inhale the dust into their bodies without question, without even asking for clean air—not even expecting a choice of clean air. ‘These people’ see the smudges on the windows and do not question why they are so filthy.
Maggie was angry now. She was often angry at her situation. A lifetime of being ignored as if she were a part of the furniture. A lifetime of accepting the face, body, and life she was given. She knew no beauty. She never tasted delicious. She never felt the pain of love. She existed like an earth worm. She knew this about herself and it made her angry that she just took it without ever fighting for herself. It made her angry that ‘these people’ did the same. They accepted that life was what it was and nothing more. Maggie knew in the deepest pit of her gut that there was more out there. What pissed her off was why she hadn’t been given some of the ‘more.’
She felt heavy thinking those thoughts and feeling her anger, while she sat smiling at the high school kids roaming in after school for nachos, sweet teas, and old dry donuts. The pretty young girls with the athletic boyfriends came in being too loud—trying too hard for attention. They were already gorgeous, why ask for more attention? Nothing but greedy little cunts was all Maggie could think while handing them their tea. Life has already given them beauty. Life has already given them love and yet they want more, they always want more.
Maggie wanted more, but she was given nothing to begin with, so why? Why do others get everything and she nothing?
“Quiere no es logico es animal.” Surprised by the sound of another’s voice, Maggie looked up and saw her. Maggie’s eyes met Lisa’s and instantly the breath was sucked out of Maggie’s lungs. Her heart shook. The lady looked nice. The lady looked normal. The lady seemed to know Maggie to the marrow of her bones, but Maggie didn’t know her. ‘Es animal?” asked Maggie.
“Si, es instinto,” said Lisa. “It is the animal in us that controls greed. It is the animal in us that doesn’t know when we’ve had enough. An animal has to evolve into a human to say enough and not always grab more. But, in some people, there is too much animal…they can’t control their inner beast.” The lady took her potato chips, smiled, and said, ‘Thank you’ before walking out the door.
Maggie felt slapped, but didn’t know why. Why did she feel insulted? This white-haired woman came in and answered the question she was thinking in her private thoughts; in her private grief. This lady raped her brain, then seemed to call her stupid. She called humanity animals. ‘These people’ and now ‘this lady’
Lisa
Lisa tossed the potato chip bag in the trash. She didn’t like them; they were just the easiest thing to grab while speaking to mark 2. Lisa knew in her core that the woman in the donut shop was mark 2. How else could she read her so easily? How else could she sense her anger and frustration? There was no other explanation for the immediate connection. She was going to be a challenge, though. Her thoughts were mixed up. Her brain was running at high speed while she had the demeanor of a depressed turtle.
She was going to be an effort. The others seemed easily reeled in, but not mark 2. Not her… she was going to fight. She was going to resist Lisa at every turn—which made her interesting, but also made her time consuming.
Rafael
His mother watched him eat dirt. He was sneaking it in the backyard. She watched him lick his finger, put it in the dirt, and then lick the dirt off his finger. Every motherly instinct she had was screaming at her to stop her child from eating the dirt, but s
he wasn’t really sure she was a mother after all.
She had tried to mother him when he was a baby, but the sadness wouldn’t stop. The sadness was a constant thud in her chest that she carried with her everywhere. She fed him and changed his diapers, but he was just a job, a responsibility, not a soul to love.
Then, the sadness faded; day-after-day and night-after-night of carrying the sadness in her chest, it had finally started to lift. Little-by-little, it felt a tiny bit lighter—just a pinch lighter…until it was gone. It was then that she woke up and realized the baby was now a toddler; but, the toddler wasn’t behaving like a toddler. Her toddler sat still and silent for minutes, then hours. Her toddler had no interest in giggling. Her child did not laugh.
At that point, she should have known her child was empty. The daycare ladies gave her papers to fill out and things to read. She should have gone for help, but she was working two jobs and she was tired. Instead, she would lay on the floor next to her toddler and stare at the walls with him. Sometimes, she’d hold his little foot while he sat there, and sometimes not.
Eventually, the toddler started to talk, but his words were babbling gibberish. So, she learned to nod and sit with him, pretending that this child—her child, that lived in her house—was speaking to her like a normal child.
The child grew, learned how to open doors and go outside. With outside, came the spinning. Spinning in circles for hours until he vomited or passed out in the grass. She would watch him sometimes, then stop him, but most of the time she let him spin. Why not? There was nothing in there to mix up. If spinning gave him satisfaction where there was no other, then let him be. She was always too tired to fight it anyway.
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