Being Henry David - By Cal Armistead Page 0,4
me something, and I’ll give you something. Like maybe a warm place to sleep tonight. Don’t you think that’s worth the price of a hamburger, for chrissake?”
The ten dollars in my pocket isn’t a lot of cash, but it’s enough to buy Jack and me sodas and two cheeseburgers each at a fast food place in the terminal. Judging by the way he stuffs the first burger into his mouth and lets the ketchup dribble down his chin, he’s hungrier than I am or a slob. Or both.
“So what are you running away from, Hank?”
I pull a pickle out of my burger and pop it into my mouth. I can’t remember food ever tasting so good. But then, I can’t actually remember eating anything before this.
“What makes you think I’m running?”
Jack smirks and swipes at his chin with a paper napkin.
“You’re hiding out at Penn Station. Any second, you look like you could either bust into tears or stab a guy in the neck. It’s the look.”
“The look.” I echo.
“Yeah, the one you get when you’re a runaway, especially at the beginning.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I take a huge gulp of soda to wash down the lump in my throat.
“Yeah, you do. You’re scared shitless, but you still figure being on the streets is better than being at home.”
Jack stuffs another bite of cheeseburger into his mouth and pokes a finger at my chest. “You can’t bullshit me, ’cause I’m the same as you,” he says with his mouth full. I’m nothing like you, I want to tell him, taking in his filthy clothes and the dark smudges under his eyes from dirt or lack of sleep. But what if I am a runaway, and things were so terrible where I came from, I blocked them from my memory? My fingers seek out that sore spot on my head under my hair, with its dried blood and goose-egg lump. What happened to me?
“I’ve heard all the stories. Let me guess yours.” He looks me up and down. “Don’t tell me. You’re a foster kid who aged out of the system.”
I shrug, not sure what else to do.
“Wait, wait, I got it,” Jack says. “You did something, didn’t you?”
The lump on my head begins to throb.
“Ah, we’re getting close,” Jack crows. “What’d you do, break into a house? Steal a car?”
Sweat breaks out on my upper lip.
“Oh, I know. Maybe you killed somebody.”
He laughs after he says maybe you killed somebody, loving his own crazy joke, and I try to join in, but my face is frozen. My pulse hammers in my ears and something dark lurches in my chest like a beast waking from a deep sleep. A wave of dizziness breaks over me and I grip the edge of the table so I won’t fall off the chair.
“Dude, you okay?” Jack’s thin face drifts in and out of focus.
A trickle of sweat trails between my shoulder blades. I wipe my upper lip with the back of a shaky hand. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”
“You looked like you were about to have a seizure or something,” Jacks says. “You one of those epileptics?”
I take deep breaths, needing hits of oxygen. “Just dizzy, that’s all.” My mouth is desert-dry, so I grab my soda and gulp it down. Slowly, I feel my heart and breathing return to normal, and I sense the black thing in my chest (what the hell was that?) hunker down and go quiet.
Jack squints at me, but then jerks to attention like a deer smelling a predator, turning toward the entrance of the restaurant. The two transit cops I met earlier are standing there. Their glances sweep the room and lock in on us. They start toward us, and Jack freezes. Red hitches up his pants over his belly.
“You back again, Jack?” asks the cop with the mustache. He smiles, but the grin looks more menacing than friendly.
Jack slouches down in his chair. “Just enjoying a delicious meal, officer, like any other paying customer. No law against that, is there?”
“No, but if you overstay your welcome, we’ll have another conversation. Understand?”
Jack nods, his eyes sleepy. “I most certainly do, officer.”
Mustache Cop’s gaze trails over to me. “You enjoying that book, kid? You seizing the day?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hmm. Yeah, I can see that. Just watch yourself with Jack here. You look like a good kid, and I don’t want his influence rubbing off on you.” His eyes drill into mine, like he’s trying to extract something.
“Yes, sir.”