by Janel Kolby
“My friend Jessiebel. I have a friend.”
“Yeah, she’s my friend.” Jessiebel is already putting on the boots.
King clears his throat. “Where’s he gonna reside hisself?”
“In your tent.” I untuck my book and hold it as a shield.
He lowers it to see my face. “This isn’t a permanent situation. And he’s not bringing that glitter top.”
“Don’t be silly.” Jessiebel picks up his blanket and throws it across his shoulders like a royal’s cape. “I would never.”
19
KING AND I HAVE taken the lead while Jessiebel trails behind. Our hands bump together with the occasional step for proof the other’s there.
“What happened?” I ask. “Where is he?”
“He?” King tugs at his sleeves. He knows who I mean. “Disappeared.”
“Disappeared how?” The way we can disappear, or the way my mother did? I won’t know how to feel until I hear the answer.
“We gotta get home.”
The tension in his words burrows into my stomach. Cook’s not gone.
Jessiebel yawns behind us. King turns to look at him and grimaces.
“Maybe Matisse will find him,” I say.
“Why would she do that?”
I tell him about the phone call.
“You trust her?” He shifts.
“Yes. She wants to help. I think she can.”
His forehead wrinkles. “After we get to camp, I’ll give her a call.”
“I’ll go with.”
Our hands bump together again, and he holds on to mine. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Jessiebel catches up to us and wipes his forehead with his blanket. “Not going where?”
“None of your business,” King says.
Jessiebel looks at me.
I let go of King’s hand. Pretend his words don’t bother me. Not going anywhere. No. I don’t care.
Jessiebel rolls his eyes. “Fine, then can we get to wherever we’re going so I can collapse? I’m hot as hell.”
“Lose the blanket,” King says.
Jessiebel tightens it around him. “No.”
Two silver women with frowns pass us by—their eyes steady on Jessiebel.
“What he’s trying to say,” I tell him, “is you’re half-exposed.”
“Sweet Mary.” He checks his fly. “I didn’t mean to scare those ladies. That’s the thing with pants.”
“No, I mean you’re like half a ghost.” I brush my fingers against the edge of his blanket. “Where we’re going, we’re supposed to be invisible.”
“I don’t do invisible.”
I swallow my own arguments. “You have to if you want to be with us.”
“Like I’m going to be less conspicuous shirtless? Did you see my abs?”
King slips out of his blazer and hands it for me to hold, then pulls off his sky-blue hoodie. My stomach flutters.
He gives his hoodie to Jessiebel.
I shouldn’t look at King’s body, but I’m worried he got hurt. That’s what I tell myself. My eyes ripple over his earthen curves, so much harder than mine. Then he puts his blazer on and buttons it over his chest. He seems okay, but I’m still looking when he catches me. My cheeks grow warm.
I turn my attention to Jessiebel, who’s pulled on the hoodie and rolls his blanket small and tidy before he tucks it under his arm.
We’re headed south.
King and I walk farther apart.
I avoid the pebbles on the sidewalk as I avoid looking at King—along with the bits of broken glass and mysteries. My whole big toe’s come out of my stocking. Another tear has started on the other. I’m sure I look a mess.
“My dad must be worried.”
“He’s fine,” King mumbles. “After you went to that hotel, I went back. Told him what happened. Said you’d be safer there—for the night at least.”
I stub my toe. “You were at the hotel?”
“You were at a hotel?” Jessiebel asks from behind. “What were you doing at a hotel?”
King pulls me along to get me to walk. This time with no tenderness. “What were you not doing there? When I got back, that family was getting in a cab, and you weren’t with them. Ran all over trying to find you. Went down to the water, searched Pike. The last place I thought of was the V. Why did you leave?”
I yank my arm from him. “Why do you think?”
King spreads his fingers. “You didn’t seem to be in a rush at that restaurant. And that hotel—”
“You were at the restaurant? That was you?”
“Didn’t wanna disturb you.” He checks Jessiebel, several paces behind. “You were eating.”
“Disturb me?” My voice is loud, and I don’t care. “Disturb me? I was looking for you. You think I wanted to be there?”
“In a hotel? A real bed? Away from all this? Yeah, why not? You were being taken care of. You were safe.”
“Taken care of?” I hit him with my book. “I was taking care of myself.” I cover my lips to keep the bad things from coming out of them, but the taste of mint slips through, and I wipe it with my fist.
His eyes turn to slits. “They were taking good care of you, right?”
I remember how I bit Carter, and my teeth dig into my lips.
He grabs my arm. “What did they do?”
I shrug him off. “Stop grabbing me. Like I said, I took care of myself. But you should not’ve left. Why’d you trust them? You trust no one. Even me.”
“I saw you with their mom, and . . . just thought—” His eyes search around for the words, but he seems as confused as I am. Why did he trust them?
Unless he didn’t care.
“You thought you could hand me off.” My eyes sting. “That you were rid of me. Another birthday present.”
His mouth drops open. “No.”
“Then why?”
He breathes in and tucks his hands under his arms. “You deserve more.” He lowers his head. “I thought it’s what you wanted.”
Why would he think that?
“And if I never saw you again?” I ask.
His eyes open with his truth.
He pushed me.
To let me go.
I walk ahead of him. Ahead of them both.
Jessiebel clears his throat. “That’s not her world.”
“Jess?” King asks.
“Jessiebel.”
“Right. Jess. You ever been to the curiosity shop on the waterfront? The one with mummies, two-headed animals, and real shrunken heads?”
“A couple times.”
“You ever see them Mexican jumping beans?”
“Uh-uh.”
“They got ’em in tubes at the counter. Only they ain’t beans, they’re worms—not even worms—the larvae of a moth trapped in a seed. It jumps when it gets too hot so it’ll roll somewhere safe in the shade. Gets too hot—dies. That store has them in tubes. Can’t roll when they’re in tubes. All they can do is jump. Makes them lose all kinda perspective. Imagine things.”
I turn around to King. “Are you saying I’m larvae?”
Jessiebel nods his head while King shakes his.
“You’re not larvae,” King says.
“She’s a bean,” Jessiebel says.
“She’s not a bean. Forget I said anything.” King shifts his head from me, and now I’m thinking I look like a bean. A bean trapped in a tube on a counter in a store imagining things. Is that how he sees me? My world is a tube. Right. I turn around and walk again.
They murmur to each other, then pause.
Jessiebel breaks the silence. “I don’t care if you’re a bean. Or larvae. We all have issues. You like stories, right? You’re still carrying that, uh, rag. Well, I have a story. Want to hear? I swear there’s not a single bean in it.”
I shrug.
“I love a captive audience.”
King glares at him.
“Not that you’re captive in a tube,” Jessiebel corrects. “Okay. Here
it goes. One day, a baby was born to a great kingdom. The doctor looked at the baby and said, ‘It’s a boy.’ The king and queen looked at the baby, and said, ‘He has all his boy parts. How lovely. He’ll be the perfect prince.’ And they tucked him in a blanket. Only, he wasn’t so very perfect. For instance, when he walked in the gardens he smelled the flowers too long, and as he walked, he hummed. ‘He’s touched in the head,’ said the head gardener, and all the other gardeners agreed, because he was the head gardener. ‘All he eats are noodles,’ said the cook. ‘Noodles curdle the brain.’ ‘He tosses his blanket on the floor. Every. Single. Day,’ said the maid. ‘I saw him playing with my gowns,’ said the princess. The king picked up his rifle. ‘If he doesn’t like to hunt, how will he ever be king?’”
My feet stop so I can listen.
“The prince sought escape in the gardens. As he wandered, he came across a floating pane of glass. ‘How curious,’ he said, and he looked straight through. There, on the other side, was another boy from another kingdom. ‘How perfect,’ he said. The other boy smiled. They met their palms on the glass, and leaned in to kiss. Only, they didn’t know the glass had been cursed with a thousand whispers. When their lips met, the glass shattered, slicing them open from head to toe. Out from their bodies came serpents. They wound their bodies around each other like garbage ties until they could no longer breathe.” His arms entwine and lock together.
I hold my breath.
“The boy’s parents ran to the garden. ‘What should we do?’ the queen cried. The king lifted his rifle and shot off their heads. ‘For the mercy of us all,’ he said. The bodies slithered away, and the heads were stuffed and hung as cloak hangers.” His arms fall limp.
My fingers dent into the edges of my storybook. “That’s the end of the story?”
He smiles. “What do you think?”
King takes his time as he looks at Jessiebel. “No.”
I loosen my grip and breathe. “No more stories. I want to go home.”
I look around at my giant map with a clear compass—the city, the sky, the streets. “Shouldn’t we be going that way?” I point east to the steep hills.
King blinks away from Jessiebel at my direction. “We gotta go the long way. Through the Winterfolk. West.”
“We can’t. Not through them.”
“Why not?”
“Hamlet.”
“Hamlet?” Jessiebel squeaks. “My vote is with Rain.”
King’s brow furrows, and he looks curious at me. Wants to know how Jessiebel met Hamlet. What he missed.
But he doesn’t need to know everything.
“Hamlet wanted you back home,” he says, “and that’s what we’re doing. What’s the problem?”
“No, he didn’t. He tried to take me to a shelter.”
King stretches his fingers. “He what?”
“We need to go the other way.”
King takes off his cap. “I don’t know what’s up there.”
Jessiebel turns himself in a circle like a spinning bottle. “If you don’t decide, we’re going to walk in whatever direction I stop. This is how I got to Seattle, and how I found you, my fellow weirdo and weirdette.”
King grabs Jessiebel’s shoulders and stops him. “This isn’t a game. I bet Rain didn’t tell you we’re in a situation. You might not wanna stick around. We’re leaving here. Tomorrow.”
“Oh! Well, where to?”
King can’t answer cuz he doesn’t know.
But I don’t want Jessiebel to leave, and I squeeze his hand so he knows as much.
“I’m staying,” he says.
For a brief moment, the three of us are joined through Jessiebel. Until King lets go of him.
“Your choice.” He looks at me. Still holding hands with Jessiebel. He knows I’ve changed—that I need to have a say. “You decide. East or west?”
I pull his hat from his fingers and twist my hair up into it. “Through Hamlet.”
20
AS WE APPROACH TRAIN tracks, a loud bell dings and red lights blink. King’s arm blocks my way at the same time a red-white-striped rail comes down in front of us. I cover my ears, but it doesn’t stop the ringing or the sound of a train screeching toward. Vibrations pound their way through my feet. I back up to get away, but the vibrations still come. King keeps his arm in front of me, though there’s no need. The train is loud all through my body. It’s coming larger now. I’ve always heard it, but I’ve never felt it.
Air pushes at me the moment it comes. I tilt back like I’m a tree flexing in strong wind. King’s long hair lifts like how I imagine a storm waves across an ocean, and it’s so beautiful I can’t look away.
The cars of the train pound past us fast. And we’re still here. All of us. Two steps from finality. The cars still come.
Jessiebel throws his arms out to his sides and yells. Can’t even hear him above the train. He motions for me to join. But I have no reason to scream.
Jessiebel smiles. Oh. It’s for fun.
I make a sound. But it’s not a scream. Jessiebel laughs and shows me again. His fists shake high in the air.
I look over at King, and he shrugs.
I close my eyes. And I scream. I try to make it for fun, but the train chugs and chugs and rips my throat open, and the fun turns to real.
And I scream.
For the tents that will be crushed, the Winterfolk scattered, Dad thinking about the next bottle, blond comb tracks, dancing hamsters, endless beads, and larvae stuck in tubes that can’t roll away. For my Bruces and Evergreens. Mermaids who can’t swim. My rocks. Locked wishes. And for the nothingness they all came from. For being pushed. Let go.
I scream.
The pounding comes and comes.
And I’m out of screams.
But the pounding still comes.
The train screeches.
I open my eyes, and King and Jessiebel are looking at me. Worried and serious. But then a train car passes:
WINTERFOLK
King turns to the train cars, and there are more of them. The rhythm of a drum speaks through the rhythm of the train.
WINTERFOLK
WINTERFOLK
WINTERFOLK
WINTERFOLK
WINTERFOLK
WINTERFOLK
WINTERFOLK
And then they’re gone.
The close-up pounding stops. The red lights turn off. And the rail goes up.
King stares off after the disappearing cars headed into the city of people.
“Winterfolk?” Jessiebel says.
King turns to me. “What did you do?”
I step up to the train tracks, metal bands over wood, and touch my big toe that’s out of my stocking to the fresh run-over steel. It burns powerful. “You think people will see?”
He pulls at his cuffs. “It won’t change nothing.”
“But they’ll see?”
“Who did it?” he asks.
But that’s less important than the question of why. That’s what he really wants to know but won’t ask. Cuz the why is about whether we leave or stay.
I cross the tracks, and he follows. Doesn’t ask more questions.
All around are squatty buildings in gray concrete and brick. The trains are long gone. And these parts are wordless.
“They look thirsty,” I say. More thirsty than the rain could give.
“Supposed to,” King says. His eyes are somewhere I can’t see—a glance back to the city. “This is an industrial park.”
Doesn’t look like a park. No swings, and not many more trees than in the middle of the city. But these trees are young, not naturally grown. They line the streets in neat rows. Some cut by endless lines of power above us. Compared to the city, this place is deserted. No people except us, with hardly a car going by.
From a distance, freeways rush like flooded mountain streams, planes roar louder than a bird could ever sing, and that train still screeches high—metal on metal on metal, carrying a word.
We’
re close to home.
Jessiebel looks up. “Is that an eagle?”
And it is. A giant bird glides in a wide circle.
King snaps back to us. “There’s a dump nearby. They go there like all the other birds. Doesn’t matter he’s an eagle.” He glances at Jessiebel. “He still eats garbage.”
Jessiebel turns to King. “People throw away the greatest things.”
I walk between them. “No one lives here?”
“It’s all factory stuff. Closed on weekends. See there?” King points. “That building’s for holding frozen chicken. Those trucks bring them to sit in freezers until someone wants them. A whole building of frozen chickens. Thousands, probably.”
Waiting. Frozen. Asleep forever.
“Over there, surrounded by barbed wire, is the state’s evidence building. Anything police think they need to put someone away is in there—drugs, guns, blades, paper with names and fingerprints. Everything. All sitting there. Waiting to be used.”
He nods south. “That way over there is a mail service, and the other way is another one. Packages going back and forth from all over the world. Anywhere you can imagine. What were those places you wanted to go? India, France, Italy? They come here. In these blocks of space.”
I look around. But the buildings are still thirsty.
Jessiebel yawns. “Can we sit a minute? I need a break.”
King’s eyes stay on Jessiebel a bit too long. “She hasn’t seen any of this, and her time’s almost over. I don’t care what you need.”
Jessiebel holds up a hand. “What do you mean her time?”
King thumbs west. “Back that way is the biggest food store around. That’s what I’m told. Got to have a card to get in and buy stuff. Like a library. But I hear you can’t buy just one loaf a bread. Three of them stuck together in a bag. Can’t separate. Everything in quantity.”
“Hello?” Jessiebel says. “Are you going to answer me?”
I shake my head at Jessiebel. “Why’s everything so big?” I ask King.
“Maybe Jess can tell you. I’m sure he’s been there.”
Jessiebel stares at King. “Sure. Okay. Let’s get this over with. If you could buy a jar of peanut butter as large as your head, would you?” He looks at me. “Would you?”
I think of our shoebox at home, the one my boots came in. Now with one apple, two cans of tuna, and a loaf of white outlet bread. Peanut butter would be good. “I’m not sure it would fit in my box.”