I’ll eat and drink, he tells himself as he takes a right down a street he hasn’t been yet. Rest a little while. After that, I’ll walk home.
With a plan in place, his pace quickens. Up ahead, there’s an old man peering into the window of a shop. As Carl gets closer, he sees it’s a bakery. There are still baked goods in the window.
Carl stops and stands next to the man. He’s much shorter than Carl. Thin and frail, with white hair and glasses. They stand there for a good minute without saying a word. Finally, the old man says, “My wife worked at this bakery for thirty-five years. She passed away last year. I haven’t been back since.”
Carl doesn’t know what to say except, “I’m sorry.” Then he turns and holds out his hand. Introduces himself.
“Nice to meet you, Carl. I’m Jerry.”
“Would you like to go inside with me?” Carl asks. “Get something to eat?”
Jerry turns back to the window. Carl knows what the older man is thinking. He wishes his wife were inside, ready to greet him with a smile and a Danish.
They stand there in silence for a long time until Jerry finally says, “Do you think we could get the coffeepot working?”
“There are a whole lot of things I can’t do right now,” Carl replies, “but I’m pretty sure I can do that.”
EMERSON, VINCE, and Hayden sing and dance until their throats are raw and their bodies ache. Mr. Bow-tie brings pitchers of water again and again, but it’s never enough.
They can’t get enough.
Of water.
Of music.
Of life.
When Emerson suggests stepping outside for some fresh air, Vince and Hayden happily agree.
They lean against the wall of the building. The street is dark, but in the sky, the golden crescent moon glows. Emerson takes it all in, her breaths getting slower and deeper. She feels tingly all over. It’s like that moment when you step into the cold Pacific Ocean and feel the water splash across your feet, as the silver-tipped waves toss offshore.
It’s such a good feeling.
Hayden is the first to speak. “Thanks, you guys. That was a blast.”
“Wait until you see what we have planned for tomorrow night,” Emerson says. “Talk about a blast.”
Vince rolls his eyes. “Just ignore her. We’re glad you had fun. And man, let me tell you something. You can sing.” He holds his fist out. “Seriously.”
Hayden bumps Vince’s fist with his. “Nah. I’m nothing special. But I think that was just what I needed, you know? Like, exactly what I needed.”
“Me too,” Emerson says.
“You want to go back in?” Vince asks.
Emerson studies Hayden while he stares at that beautiful moon like it has all the answers to life’s questions.
“I think I might head home,” Hayden says. He turns and looks at them. “It’s nothing personal. I just—”
“It’s okay,” Emerson says. “You don’t have to explain.”
Hayden pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket. “They’ve been good parents. Sometimes better than I’ve deserved.”
Vince wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his T-shirt. “No. Don’t say that. I bet you’ve been a good kid.”
“I crawled out the freaking bathroom window. What kind of kid does that?”
“The kind who’s got a lot on his mind,” Emerson says.
“I bet they’ll understand.” Vince smiles. “They’ll probably cuss your ass out when you get home, but they will understand. Tell them what you did. How much fun you had, you know?”
Hayden puffs on the cigarette as he stuffs the pack back in his pocket. “I’m glad I met you guys.”
“Same here.” Emerson pulls him into a hug. “And just so you know, you have your first official groupies right here.”
“Awesome,” Hayden says with a smile as Vince comes over and gives him a quick hug, too. “Hey, you guys need a ride anywhere?”
Vince looks at Emerson and she shrugs. “Thanks, but we’re good,” Vince says.
Hayden starts humming “We Are the Champions” as he waves and turns to leave.
Vince and Emerson hum, too. And they keep humming, even when they can’t hear Hayden anymore.
“You sure we shouldn’t have gone with him?” Emerson asks as she leans up against the wall again, running her hand through her hair and shaking it out.
“I’m thinking he probably wants to be alone. Clear his head a little bit before he gets home.”
Emerson looks curiously at Vince. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You need some head-clearing time?”
He shakes his head. “Girl, what are you talking about?” He reaches for her hand. She takes it, and he pulls her away from the wall. “We have more work to do, you and me.”
“We do?”
“Yeah. It was good, right? What we did. I think we should do it again.”
They start walking. “You’re right, Vince. It was good.”
WHEN THEY get to Burnside, they head east, toward Waterfront Park. As they pass Powell’s Books, with its big red-and-white marquee that still has author-signing dates up from early August, Emerson says, “I wish they were open tomorrow. Then we could go in there and buy some books with Carl’s money.”
They walk under a streetlight, allowing Emerson to see the funny look Vince gives her. “You want to buy books? Now?”
She shrugs. “Sure. Why not? You know, I always dreamed that someday I’d have a house big enough for my own library. Wouldn’t that be cool? Like, people would come over and I’d say, ‘Let’s have a drink in the library,’ and they’d be all, ‘Wow, you have a library?’ ”
“So it’s not that you like books, you just want to impress people.”
“No. I like books. In fact, I love books. That’s one love Frankie and I shared. Do you know how many times a book saved me from going crazy in my own house?”
“How many?”
She waves her hand. “Honestly? Too many to count.”
“So if you could buy a book tomorrow, only one, what kind would you get?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “A funny one. We could take turns reading it, and make each other laugh. We’d laugh so hard, we’d forget all about the fact that we’re going to die in a matter of hours.”
“Em, I hate to tell you this, but I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who is that hilarious.”
She gives a little grunt of indignation. “Okay, how about a super-suspenseful one? You know, the kind where you can’t turn the pages fast enough because you have to find out what happens.” She pauses a moment. “Like The Hunger Games. I read that book in a single day.”
“Hm. Yeah, I guess worrying about someone else is a way to stop worrying about yourself. Which is exactly why we need to find more people to help.”
They walk past a Vietnamese restaurant with a large GRAND OPENING banner hung above the door. Emerson thinks of the people who worked hard to open their very own restaurant, only to have to close it down because of an impending asteroid. Not from lack of sales. Or food poisoning. Or a pesky ant infestation.
A freaking asteroid.
“Em, it’s pretty late. Are you tired?”
Typical Vince. Always making sure she’s okay.
“Like I could actually sleep at a time like this? No. I’m all right. Thanks for asking.”
They walk for a while in silence, and Emerson’s mind starts to drift. She doesn’t want to let herself get sad. She can’t. It won’t do any good now.
So she asks him the questions she’s asked him again and again since she’s known him. When she needs to feel better about being here, away from them.
“What’s my mom doing right now?”
He doesn’t take long to answer. He never does. Vince is good at this game. He always knows what to say. “It’s after midnight, and normally she’d be sleeping, but tonight, she’s up, listening to a little jazz with a glass of wine.
She’s got the photo albums out, and she’s looking at pictures of you and Frankie, when you were little. You know the ones. Opening Christmas presents in your pj’s. Baking cookies together. Building a snowman in the front yard.” He looks over at her. “That one year when we got a lot of snow. Remember?”
She nods. She remembers. And he’s right, they did build a snowman.
“She doesn’t hate me?”
“No. No way. She’s feeling grateful for the time she had with you.”
It makes Emerson feel better. Just like always. When things get quiet, her imagination creates depressing scenarios as she thinks of her family, going about their lives, absolutely thrilled that Emerson isn’t there anymore to cause problems for them. Vince’s stories help Emerson see other possibilities, ones she wouldn’t come up with on her own. Even if, deep down, she doesn’t believe the words, she likes hearing them. For a brief moment, she can see a happy movie inside of her head instead of a sad one.
“What’s my sister doing?”
“Well, she’s with her boyfriend. The one who loves her a lot and is taking good care of her. They’re chowing down on a big ole pizza.”
Emerson smiles. “Mmmmm. What kind?”
“Canadian bacon and pineapple. Your favorite. She’s thinking about you. Hoping you’re doing well.” He pauses. “You know, Em, you could try calling your mom’s place. Talk to your sister, at least.”
“I know.” She can’t deny it’s crossed her mind a few times the past couple of days.
There’d been so many times she’d wanted to call, but there was one thing that always held her back. What if her mom hung up on her? What if her mom hated her so much, she didn’t even want to know where she was or if she was okay? As long as she stayed out of touch, Emerson could pretend her mother missed her a tiny bit.
Emerson had run because she’d felt unwanted. If she called and felt that way all over again, then what? There was nowhere else to go. She’d be forced to carry that miserable feeling with her until the end.
It seems like the only logical thing to do is to keep putting it off. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“Just remember, tonight’s the last night you can say that.”
“Okay, Mr. Stating-the-Obvious, I’ll remember that.”
He laughs. “You and your ridiculous names.”
“You love them and you know it.”
“You’re right. I do. I’m going to miss them.”
It stops her in her tracks. “Don’t say that,” she whispers.
“Say what?”
She rubs her temples and stares out at the empty street. “That you’re going to miss me. Or something about me. Like, we won’t be together … afterward.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just reaches up and pulls her hand down and takes it. Holds it tightly, trying to reassure her.
They keep walking. They’re almost to the crosswalk that will take them to the park when a big guy with a shaved head steps out from the shadows of a building. It makes Emerson jump. Vince gets between her and the guy.
“We don’t want any trouble,” Vince says.
“Hey, take it easy,” the guy says, putting his hands in the air. “No trouble here, trust me.” He waves at the building behind him. “There’s a party going on, if you’re interested. No one over twenty-five allowed. Through the door and up the stairs, number 209. Got everything you could possibly want, if you know what I mean. I’m just running out to try and find more booze. Go on in if you’d like.”
He takes off, jogging down the street, leaving them standing there, looking at the door to the building.
Emerson nudges Vince. “You should go. I can tell you want to.”
“You don’t?” he asks her.
“No.”
“Nothing you want to do? Nothing you’d regret … not doing?”
She knows what he means, even if he doesn’t say it. “Vince, I don’t want my first time to be with a stranger. Maybe it’s hard for you to understand, since it’s different for guys. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
“Yeah.” And that’s all he says. He stands there a long time, looking at her.
“What?” she asks, nudging him again, trying not to get annoyed. “I’m sorry I don’t want to go. But it’s fine if you want to. I can meet up with you later. I mean, whatever you want to do. I don’t want to hold you back.”
“Em, I don’t want to go without you,” he says. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want anyone but you.”
A shiver goes down her spine, even though it’s not the least bit cool outside. She bites her lip. “I, uh—”
Although it’s dark, there’s just enough light from the streetlamps to see that he means what he says. His eyes are full of warmth and kindness.
Maybe more than that.
Wait. Definitely more than that.
The question is, does she feel the same way? Although, maybe at this point, it doesn’t really matter.
For the first time, she’s not thinking no. She’s not telling herself she can’t let it happen because she can’t ruin things between them. Instead, she’s thinking maybe. She’s wondering, Why not?
Why the hell not?
Confused, she shakes her head just slightly, but he takes it the wrong way.
“Forget it,” he says as he turns to go. “Come on.”
She doesn’t say anything more. Just follows him. Like always.
THE FIRST time
Emerson saw Vince,
he was standing on a corner,
playing a guitar,
singing the words
to a sad, sad song.
People rushed by
too busy for empathy.
What a sad, sad world.
She stood back,
listening,
and when he was done,
she walked up
and put a quarter
in his case.
He seemed insulted.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
“I didn’t leave home with much.
But you’re good.
Really good.”
He smiled at her.
The first smile
intended just for her
in a long, long time.
“You like to sing?” he asked.
She nodded.
And with that,
he started playing
and they sang together,
a happier song this time.
So happy together.
Until his guitar got stolen
a week later.
That’s when Emerson
realized
living on the streets
is basically
one sad, sad song
after another.
CARL AND Jerry ate a dozen or so stale pastries between the two of them and emptied an entire pot of decaffeinated coffee.
As they ate and drank, they shared their happiest memories. The best food they’d eaten. The best books they’d read. The best trips they’d taken.
Jerry has only been on one real trip his entire life. “There’s just so much to see in Oregon,” he’d explained. “Every time Mona and I talked about going somewhere else, we decided we should spend the time exploring the state we love the most.”
“So where’d you go? When you finally did leave, I mean?”
“Alaska,” he’d said with a smile. “We went to Alaska. For an entire month. Had the time of our lives sightseeing and, then, fishing for a week. Sent home coolers full of salmon that we ate all year long.”
He sounded like a poet as he described it.
Towering glaciers. Majestic wilderness. Glistening waters.
As he’d shared more and more about the trip, Carl found himself wishing he could go to Alaska. He’d been to lots of places. Hawaii. Mexico. Even Italy.
But never Alaska.
Why not? he wondered, feeling a deep pang of regret.
He hated that feeling. It was the one thing he’d wanted to avoid at all po
ssible costs.
“I shouldn’t be so sleepy,” Jerry says now. “But I am.”
“Do you have a car? I could drive you home, if you’d like.” Carl means it when he says it. But he’s thinking about the possibilities, too. Maybe he could take Jerry home and then drive himself home. After all, Jerry probably wouldn’t need the car for anything else.
“Yes. I have a car,” Jerry says as he stands up. “But I think I’d like to rest here. Just for a little while. I’m so exhausted, I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
Carl didn’t tell him about trying to get home. He hadn’t wanted to burden the old man with his problems. It didn’t seem right.
“Okay,” Carl says. “I’ll nap a while, too.”
“You don’t have to. You can go, if you have somewhere to be. I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask about your family.”
“No. It’s all right. My plan was to eat something, and then rest. I’ve been awake a long time.”
And so, with that settled, Jerry heads for the door that leads to the kitchen. “There’s a small room with a cot back here,” he explains. “The napping room, my wife called it. She could catch a few winks in the early morning hours while waiting for a batch of goodies to bake.”
While Jerry gets the napping room, Carl gets the cool, tiled floor. Before he lies down, he goes behind the counter and crumples up a bunch of paper bags to use as a pillow.
It’s not the best, but it will do.
Carl goes to sleep thinking about fishing for salmon in Alaska. Regret is a hard thing to shake.
EMERSON TAKES a seat on a bench and looks out, past the streetlights, to the dark, dark water of the Willamette River. Vince sits next to her, his leg nervously bouncing up and down.
“Em?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry. If I came across too strong. Or whatever. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s fine.”
“Fine? What do you mean, fine?”
“I mean,” she says, “it didn’t bother me. So don’t worry about it.”
Vince is quiet for a moment. Then he says, “I can’t help the way I feel.”
“I know.”