The Poison Eaters and Other Stories

Page 14

 

  His face was flushed. We bought one big cup of tea with tons of honey and walked in the rain, passing the cup between us. He moved more restlessly than usual but was quieter, too.

  "Tell me some more, Zachary,” I said.

  "I shouldn't have said what I did. "

  We walked silently for a while ‘til the rain got too hard and we had to duck into the foyer of a church to wait it out.

  "I believe you,” I said.

  He frowned. “What's wrong with you? What kind of idiot believes a story like that?"

  I hadn't really considered whether I believed him or not. Sometimes people just tell you things and you have to accept that they believe them. It doesn't always matter if they're true.

  I turned away and lit a cigarette. “So you lied?"

  "No, of course not. Can we just talk about something else for a while?” he asked.

  "Sure,” I said, searching for something good. “I've been thinking about going home. "

  "To your jerk of a foster father and your slutty foster sisters?"

  "The very ones. Where am I going to stay come winter otherwise?"

  He mulled that over for a few minutes, watching the rain pound some illegally parked cars.

  "How ‘bout you squat libraries?” he said, grinning.

  I grinned back: “I could find an elderly, distinguished gentlemanly professor and totally throw myself at him. Offer to be his Lolita. "

  We stood awhile more before I said, “Maybe you should hang with people, even if they're assholes. You could stay with me tonight. "

  He shook his head, looking at the concrete.

  And that was that.

  I told Tanya about Zachary and the unicorn that night, while we waited for Bobby Diablo to come over. Telling it, the story became a lot funnier than it had been with Zachary's somber black eyes on mine. Tanya and I laughed so hard that I started to choke.

  ” Look,” she said. “Zach's entertainingly crazy. Everybody loves him. But he's craz-az-azy. Like last summer, he said that he could tell if it was going to rain by how many times he dropped stuff. ” She grinned. “Besides, he looks like a girl. "

  "And he's into unicorns. ” I thought about how I'd felt when I thought he was about to kiss me. “Maybe I like girly. "

  She pointed to a paperback of The Hobbit with a dragon on the torn remains of the cover. “Maybe you like crazy. "

  I rolled my eyes.

  ” Seriously,” she said. “Reading that stuff would depress me. People like us—we're not in those kind of books. They're not for us. "

  I stared at her. It might have been the worst thing anybody had ever said to me.

  Because no matter how much I thought about it, I couldn't make it feel any less true.

  But when I was around Zachary, it had seemed possible that those stories were for me. Like it didn't matter where I came from, like there was something heroic and special and magical about living on the street. Right then, I hated him for being crazy. Hated him more than I hated Tanya, who was just pointing out the obvious.

  ” What do you think really happened?” I asked, finally, because I had to say something eventually. “With his mom? Why would he tell me a story about a unicorn?"

  She shrugged. She wasn't big on introspection. “He just needs to get laid. "

  Later on, while Bobby Diablo tried to put his hands up Tanya's halter top before her boyfriend came back from the store and I tried to pretend I didn't hear her giggling yelps, while the whiskey burned my throat raw and smooth, I had a black epiphany. There were rules to things, even to delusions. And if you broke those rules, there were consequences. I lay on the stinking rug and breathed in cigarette smoke and incense, measuring out my miracle.

  The next afternoon, I left Tanya and her boyfriend tangled around one another. The cold grey sky hung over me. Zachary was going to hate me, I thought, but that only made me walk faster through the gates to the park. When I finally found him, he was throwing bits of bread to some wet rats. The rodents scattered when I got close.

  "I thought those things were bold as hustlers,” I said.

  "No, they're shy. ” He tossed the remaining pieces in the air, juggling them. Each throw was higher than the last.

  "You're a virgin, aren't you?"

  He looked at me like I'd hit him. The bits of bread kept moving though, as if his hands were separate from the rest of him.

  That night I followed Zachary home. Through the winding, urine-stained tunnels of the subway and the crowded trains themselves, always one car behind, watching him through the milky, scratched glass between the cars. I followed him as he changed trains; I hid behind a newspaper like a cheesy TV cop. I followed him all the way from the park through the edge of a huge cemetery where the stink of the zoo carried in the breeze. By then, I couldn't understand how he didn't hear me rustling behind him, the newspaper long gone and me hiking up my backpack every ten minutes. But Zachary doesn't exactly live in the here and now, and for once I had to be glad for that.

  Then we came to a patch of woods and I hesitated. It reminded me of where my foster family lived, where the trees always seemed a menacing border to every strip mall. There were weird sounds all around and it was impossible to walk quietly. I forced myself to crunch along behind him in the very dark dark.

  Finally, we stopped. A thick bunch of branches hung like a dome in front of him, their leaves dragging on the forest floor. I couldn't see anything much under it, but it did seem like there was a slight light. He turned, either reflexively, or because he had heard me after all, but his face stayed blank. He parted the branches with his hands and ducked under them. My heart was beating madly in my chest, that too-much-caffeine drumming. I crept up and tried not to think too hard, because right then I wished I was in Tanya's apartment, watching her snort whatever, the way you're supposed to wish for mom's apple pie.

  I wasn't cold; I had brought Tanya's boyfriend's thick jacket. I fumbled around in the pocket and found a big, dirty knife, which I opened and closed to make myself feel safer. I thought about walking back, but if I got lost I would absolutely have freaked out. I though about going under the branches into Zachary's house, but I didn't know what to expect and for some reason that scared me more than the darkness.

  He came out then, looked around and whispered, “Jen. "

  I stood up. I was so relieved that I didn't even hesitate. His eyes were red-rimmed, like he had been crying. He extended one hand to me.

  "God, it's scary out here,” I said.

  He put one finger to his lips.

  He didn't ask me why I'd followed him; he just took my hand and led me further into the forest. When we stopped, he just looked at me. He swallowed like his throat was sore. This was my idea, I reminded myself.

  "Sit down,” I said and smiled.

  "You want me to sit?” He sounded reassuringly like himself.

  "Well, take off your pants first. "

  He looked at me incredulously, but he started to do it.

  "Underwear too,” I said. I was nervous. Oh boy, was I nervous. Mostly I had been drunk all the times before, or I had done what was expected of me. Never, never had I seduced a boy. I started to unlace my work boots.

  "I can't,” he said, looking toward the faint light.

  "You don't want to?” I took one of his hands and set it on my hip.

  His fingers dug into my skin, pulling me closer.

  Why are you doing this?” His voice sounded husky.

  I didn't answer; I couldn't. It didn't seem to matter anyway. His hands—those juggling hands that didn't seem to care what he was thinking—fumbled with the buttons of my jeans. We didn't kiss. He didn't close his eyes.

  Leaves rustled and I could smell that rich, wet, storm smell in the air. The wind picked up around us.

  Zachary looked up at me and then past my face. His features stiffened. I turned and saw a
white horse with muddy hooves. For a moment, it seemed funny. It was just a horse. Then she bolted. She cut through the forest so fast that all I could see was a shape, a cutout of white paper, still running.

  I could feel his breath on my mouth. It was the closest our faces had ever been. His eyes stared at nothing, watching for another flash of white.

  "Do you want to get your stuff?” I said, stepping back from him.

  He shook his head.

  "What about your clothes?"

  "It doesn't matter. "

  "I'll get them,” I said, starting for the tree.

  "No, don't,” he said, so I didn't.

  "Let's go back. ” I said.

  He nodded, but he was still looking after where she had run.

  We walked back, through the forest and then the graveyard, back, back to the comforting stink of urine and cigarettes. Back to the sulfur of buses that run all night; back to people who hassle you because you forgot your work boots in the enchanted forest where you cursed your best friend to live a life as small as your own.

  I brought Zachary back to Tanya's. She was used to extra people crashed out there, so she didn't pay us any mind. Besides, Bobby was over. That night Zachary couldn't eat much, and what he did eat wouldn't stay down. I watched him, bent over her toilet, puking his guts out. After, he sat by the window, watching the swirling patterns of traffic while I huddled in the corner, letting numbness overtake me. Bobby and Tanya were rolling on the floor, wrestling. Finally Bobby pulled off Tanya's shorts right in front of the both of us. Zachary watched them in horrified fascination. He just stared. Then he started to cry, just a little, in his fist.

  I fell asleep sometime around that.

  When I woke up, he was juggling books, making them seem like they were flying. Tanya came in and gave him a tiny, plastic unicorn.

  "Juggle this,” she said.

  He dropped the books. One hit me on the shin, but I didn't make a sound. When he looked at me, his face was empty. As if he wasn't even surprised to be betrayed. I felt sick.

  Three days he lived with me there. Bobby taught him how to roll a joint perfectly and smoke without coughing. Tanya's boyfriend let him borrow his old guitar and Zachary screwed around with it all that second day. He laughed when we did, but always a little late, as though it was an afterthought. The next night, he told me he was leaving.