most likely, but for what? Criminal justice, maybe. And deal with more pansy-ass judges. No. Social work? No. Too much like what I was doing now.
"Would you like fries with that?"
Those slate eyes were twinkling again. Good.
"I have higher goals than that," I elbowed him in the ribs.
"Good. Then I can come stay with you."
I thought about that for a moment, "Yeah. Why don't you do that. Two live as cheaply as one."
Dunkel's eyes widen.
"You're serious."
"Yeah. We've gotten this far together."
"The Bigs are gonna flip the F out."
I smiled. They'd live.
Later I wondered if I was taking the easy way out, taking Dunkel with me. Maybe I was. Dunkel and I had been together for almost a decade. More than half of that spent in this place. It was easier leaving knowing he was coming with me, but I had already made my decision. Maybe this wasn't about me. It was about Dunkel, the King of Eventually. He had nudged, pushed, and sometimes shoved others out that door. Now it was his turn to be nudged.
So Dobie Mackery wasn't my last.
Dunkel was.
"Mouser! Door!"
"You're at the door. Why do I have to come? Oh - Ian! Hey."
Dunkel threw the door open wide, "He brought a plant!"
Ian stood on the threshold with a small purple pot held in both hands. The prickly green mound in the middle had a single yellow flower.
"It's a cactus. I hear they are hard to kill."
I laughed, "Good choice."
I waved him inside. Ian's looks always caught me unawares. Crisp chinos, perfectly pressed shirt, blond hair cut tight on the sides, but longer on top. And he smelled good. Really, really good.
"Nice place. It's, ah..." Ian scanned the off-white walls and wood floors.
"Bare?"
Ian nodded, "Clean. I was going to say clean."
Dunkel offered to take the pot. He put it on the only furniture we owned which was a table currently stuffed into the corner of the kitchen.
It was a small housewarming party, it just being the three of us. Dunkel and I knew a lot of people, but they were former street punks like us. That party was last week and Ian hadn't been invited.
"Are you gonna tell him?" Dunkel had asked me when we moved, "It's been, like, fifteen dates now."
"Probably not."
"Don't he think it's weird, you being called Mouser and all?"
"He thinks it's cute."
"Cute?!"
We'd argued over it for days before Dunkel finally asked me when I was going to stop being a street punk. I called Ian the very next day.
"I'm glad you called."
Ian and I were sitting on the fire escape. Dunkel had left for class awhile ago.
"I'm glad you came," I felt awkward.
Ian sat there. Quiet. Waiting. I liked that about him.
"I, ah," I took a deep breath, "suppose it's time I told you...past time, I guess. About me. And Dun."
Ian shifted against the railing.
"Are you and he...I mean, is this my send off?" Ian's blue eyes were stormy.
"No! No. Dun and I? Never. Noooo," I was shaking my head hard.
Ian closed his eyes and let out a tightly held breath, "Good. I was...concerned."
I continued to shake my head, "No. Dun and I aren't like that. We met when we were thirteen. We were," I paused, "runaways."
I studied Ian's face, waiting for the look that says 'Oh, you're one of them.' Surprise, that was what I got. And sympathy.
"Tell me," was all he said.
So I did.
When I was done, the ugliness of my life spread out in front of him, it was my turn to wait. I had faced down gang bangers, pimps, drug dealers, and bigger, stronger street punks, shaking in my shoes the whole time, knowing that one wrong word or move would get me beat up or shot or both. This was worse. Ian wasn't one of us. He was one of them. The them that looked down on us.
The seconds ticked by.
My hands began to sweat.
"All this time you have been helping people turn their lives around and you didn't think you could tell me?"
I sucked in air.
"Most don't see it that way."
One side of Ian's mouth pulled in a half smile.
"What made you decide to stop, change course?"
I changed position, stretching to get the kinks out of my legs.
No one had asked me that. Not even Dunkel. I paused at the unexpected question. I thought about the words I needed. The words that would help him understand.
"There was this woman. Rosie. She had the kindest eyes I had ever seen. When she looked at you, she really looked at you. Not like the others. The others look at you, but they don't see. They don't see past what they want to see. Rosie was different. She found out where Dun and I crashed and would come by every few days with sandwiches. Checking on us. After awhile she convinced us to come to the halfway house. Even after we were staying at the house most nights, she would check on us. Make sure we were eating. Felt safe. That was her job. She pulled street punks like me off the streets. She was the best. She brought me in. And Dunkel. And tons of others. She had it going on.
"Not everyone she touched was a save. She lost a few here and there, but nothing seemed to faze her. Always knew the right thing to say. The right thing to do. And when to do nothing. Then one day, out of the blue. She quit. Turned in her notice. It was a nothing special day. Same as every other day. Except she quit."
I cleared my throat. It was several seconds before I could continue.
"I begged her to tell me why. Begged. She slipped me her key. I know she wasn't much older than I am now, but that day she looked ancient. It was her eyes. Her eyes looked old. She slipped me that key and told me that one day I would know. That it would be as clear as the sun rising."
Rosie had sat there, looking old, talking cryptic. My hero. I was crushed. How could she leave me. How could she leave all of us. On her last day I had stayed in my room, refusing to watch her walk away. That was the day I took over for her. The day I vowed to do it better.
I sent a silent apology to Rosie wherever she was. I got it now.
I told Ian about the twins and Dobie Mackrey.
"I stared at those two precious little girls. It wasn't the first time I had lost anyone. Wasn't the first violent death. Or the first body I had to identify."
I looked into his eyes. I don't know why, but I really needed him to understand.
"It wasn't the first time I felt bad. Or angry. But it was the first time I didn't cry. I. Didn't. Cry. I was staring at the twins, those adorable little girls. You know, I played hide-and-seek with them just the night before. In my office. Waiting on their dad to pick them up. They had the most adorable giggles whenever I would find them. And now they're dead. Dead. And I have no tears for them."
Ian took my hand. I hadn't realized I was trembling until I felt the steadiness of his hand against mine. He pulled me against him, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, pulling my head down to rest against his. We sat like that for long moments. Just breathing.
When are you going to stop being a street punk? Dunkel's words came back to me.
When was I going to stop being a street punk? When was I going to start trusting again. I had just poured out the worst of what I am and Ian still sat next to me. Still held me. Hadn't judged me. Maybe it was time I stopped judging, too.
I stood up suddenly, startling Ian. He slowly stood up with me.
I stuck out my right hand.
"Hi."
Ian took my hand with his right, brow puckered, eyes puzzled.
"Hello?"
"We haven't met before," that earned me a raised eyebrow, but Ian kept silent.
"I'm Beth."
It only took a second before he got it, "It's a pleasure to meet you...Beth."
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