I hiked around town afterward, looking for a better place to crash tonight. There’s an enclosed mall with bushes all around it, but the police station is real close by and cop cars seemed to be everywhere. And it’s getting dark so early now. My safe zone (the time between school letting out and nightfall) is so short. I’ll try again tomorrow, but tonight I’ll have to go back to the overpass.
Wednesday the 27th
I walked from one end of this town to the other. It’s actually a very boring, generic-looking town. Most of the buildings are one-or two-story stucco or block. Not a lot of trees (mostly scraggly pines that are tilted from standing in the wind). No parks or fountains or green spaces. Just fields and roads and stores.
Before I tell you the big thing that happened today, let me tell you about some of the places I discovered:
Place of interest #1: Cece’s Thrift Store. It was full of total junk, but what made it sort of interesting was Cece, the woman who runs it. Picture piles of scarves and dangly bracelets on a homeless person. That’s what she looks like! She’s totally weathered and tough but dresses like a genie. I’d taken all of three steps inside the store when she growled, “Don’t even think you can shoplift from me.”
“Huh?” I said, because I couldn’t believe anyone would have the guts to be that direct.
“You heard me,” she said. But then she added, “Now if you want to barter, that’s another story.” She nodded at my backpack. “Whatcha haulin’?”
“Uh, nothing,” I told her.
She snorted. “Then you won’t mind leavin’ it here.”
“Huh?” I said again.
“Leave your overstuffed sack of nothing here.” She pointed to a sign that read:
CHECK BAGS, BACKPACKS, AND OVERSIZE PURSES AT THE COUNTER
“You know what?” I said. “I’ll just come back later.”
She laughed out loud, jangled a wave, and turned her back.
Place of interest #2: The library. It’s okay. Almost medium-size. But I’ve never met a meaner children’s librarian. I didn’t give her a chance to snap at me, but the way she treated some of the other kids? Bite their heads off, why don’t you? Never seen anything like it in a librarian.
So I borrowed a paperback (uh, that’s gypsy borrowing). I was trying to avoid the security guard by sneaking out the back door, but instead I ran into a real cop. My heart about exploded, but he didn’t pay any attention to me. He was on his way to City Hall, which is right next door to the library (and, it turns out, right up the street from the police station).
Place of interest #3 (and this is the REAL place of interest): A soup kitchen! I saw a group of bums sprawled on the grass in front of a gray wooden building and thought, What’s this? Why are these guys lounging on a lawn right across from the courthouse? (Which, by the way, is on the other side of the police station, which is why bums hanging around surprised me.)
But then I saw Charlene coming down the building’s ramp. It took me a minute to get over seeing her someplace besides the overpass, but then I noticed that she had food. A sandwich, a juice box, a bag of chips…shelter-style food.
I crossed the street and ran up to her, saying, “Charlene, wait up!”
When she saw it was me, she frowned. “What do you want?”
“Can you get me a sandwich, too?”
She snorted. “Go get your own!”
I let her walk away a few steps but then caught up to her. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a soup kitchen?”
She did a mock inspection of her food, saying, “Soup? Do you see any soup? I don’t see any soup.”
“You know what I mean!” I whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She smirked. “And ruin your healthy diet of pesticides?” Then she laughed and walked away.
I was so steamed I almost shouted, You heartless loser! We may sleep under the same bridge, but I will never be like you! I’m going to make something of myself! I’m going to do good in this world, and be good to this world, and I swear I will never, ever be like you.
I didn’t say it, though. I kept it all inside. Steaming, hot and angry inside.
I found the soup kitchen.
I got my sandwich and juice.
I walked to the outskirts of town, where I sat on the bank of a broccoli field and thought. And thought. And thought. And this is what I’ve decided:
I am not going back to the overpass.
I am going to make a home for myself. I’ve done enough spinning my wheels. It’s time to figure out a way to do it.
I am going to teach myself math and science and history, and maybe even art or music.
I am going to do good and be good, and someday, someway, I will become a veterinarian.
I swear on my mother’s grave, I will.
FORGED
What’s left to take from the broken?
Or…what can the broken repair!
I am the steel
Life is the flame
Time is the endless hammer clanging
What’s to become of me now?
Or…what shall I now become!
I am the steel
Life is the flame
Time is the endless hammer clanging
What final blow will break me?
Or…what will my new form defeat!
I am the steel
Life is the flame
Time is the endless hammer clanging
November 1st
I have been a busy, busy bee! No time for journaling, I’ve been building a house! I’m not kidding! I am so excited I can hardly stand it!!!
First I found a really great place to set up camp. It’s a soft, sandy area with lots of shrubs and tall grasses, and it’s near a wide, dried-up riverbed. There’s not one single drop of water anywhere around here, and from the way things are growing in the riverbed, I think it must have been ages and ages since water flowed through it. The good thing is that I’m isolated but not too far from the soup kitchen.
Next I found a big cardboard box. Don’t laugh. Cardboard works great for protection from wind, sun, and cold. Street people use cardboard all the time, and bum alleys are like little cardboard cities. The houses in bum alleys are just shanties or lean-tos, though. They’re nothing like my house! Mine is deluxe! It’s a big, thick, supersturdy refrigerator box that I found behind an appliance store. I ripped off the tape and took out the big staples, collapsed it, and hauled it clear out here to the riverbed. (It was a small miracle that no cops stopped me, but they didn’t.)
That took me all day. Then for the past few days I’ve been busy building! I leveled the ground (with a flat rock, my hands, and my feet), then went back to town and got some construction supplies (like packing tape and Hefty sacks).
On my building site I laid down a Hefty sack (to keep moisture from the ground from seeping into the cardboard), reassembled the box, and put it on top of the Hefty sack. Then I covered the top of the box with two Hefty sacks and camouflaged the whole thing with tumbleweeds.
I’ve gone back to town a couple of times to get supplies. Cans of food, toilet paper, bottled water, fresh batteries for my flashlight…and right now I’m snuggled up in my sleeping bag, warm and cozy, looking around at this place, and I can’t believe it. I’ve got a house!
A home!
This is heaven!
I’VE GOT MY VERY OWN HOME!
November 3rd
I took the day off yesterday and read my library book. It was pretty good until the end, which just sort of fizzled. But it was fun to hang around my own house and read! It does get pretty warm in here during the day, but at night it’s perfect.
One day off was enough, though. I wanted to get going on learning math and science so I can become a veterinarian! So early this morning I went back to that junior high school, and when kids started arriving, I walked onto the school grounds like I belonged and asked some boy where the science teacher’s room was.
“Mr. Pence?” He pointed. “Right over there
.”
So I went over to Mr. Pence’s room. No other kids were in the classroom yet, but there was a man setting up microscopes on a long table.
Mr. Pence, I presume!
He barely noticed me. Didn’t say good morning or even nod, so neither did I.
I scanned the room quick. There was a big stack of books on a back counter, so I sidled up to them, slid one off, and slinked out the back door.
It was definitely worth the risk. You should see this book! It’s amazing. I read a section about how eyes work. It’s fascinating! It also explained that dogs don’t just see in black and white (something I’ve always thought, but people told me I was wrong). Dogs have blue and green receptors in their eyes (just like humans). The only thing we have that they don’t is the red photoreceptor (which means that they can’t see red, and may see orange and yellow as gray).
So it’s been a really great day, but now I’ve got to get over to the soup kitchen before they close. I’m hungry!
7:15 p.m.
A little information about the soup kitchen:
It’s run by priests and nuns, and the nice thing about that is, they don’t ask any questions. You just get your food and go. I’ve been going in on the heels of somebody I pretend is my parent, but it doesn’t seem to matter. The people who work there don’t really seem to see you, which is perfect for me.
It’s funny to hear priests and nuns argue with each other. It’s just not something you expect, but these do it a lot, and because of that I’ve picked up some of their names:
There’s Brother Phil, who’s paunchy and balding and bossy and doesn’t seem to like anybody. Then there’s Sister Mary Margaret, who is very nice, and Sister Josephine, who’s a hunched-over battle-ax! You wouldn’t believe her. She’s old and crabby and slams her cane around whenever someone (especially Brother Phil) makes her mad.
So from overhearing them talk and argue, I’ve pieced together that they’re from St. Mary’s Church (which is a few blocks away from the soup kitchen), and today I overheard Sister Mary Margaret talking to Josephine about the church’s Thanksgiving food drive. It went like this:
Mary Margaret: I’m worried. Last year at this time we had so much more!
Josephine (muttering): You worry every year, Sister.
Mary Margaret: But this year feels different! This year—
Josephine (still muttering): This year’ll be just like every year. The foyer’ll fill up. The families will be fed.
Mary Margaret: But what if—
Josephine (slamming down her cane, shouting): Sister! It’s only the third of November! Give it time!
See? Isn’t that very un-nunlike? They’re always like that. It busts me up.
Next morning
I woke up with a brilliant idea!
If St. Mary’s Church is having a food drive, maybe I can help myself to some of it when no one’s looking! I’ll be a gypsy squirrel, collecting cans for the winter!
It sounded like they’re just having people drop off stuff in the church foyer….
I’m going to go check it out!
12:30 p.m.
I went to the church. Didn’t see any food at all. I didn’t stay very long because I had a weird feeling being there. I’ll check better later.
There’s a school next door to the church. Kids in uniforms were playing on the blacktop. Squealing, laughing, shouting. I never really listened to the sound of a playground before. It sounds happy. Lively. Exciting.
I don’t remember it that way.
I just remember the fear.
Wait. Maybe way early on it was more excitement than fear, but after we started moving around so much…and then after Mom died…and after the Fisks…fear is what I remember most.
Right now I’m back at Bullfrog Junior High. (That’s not the real name of the school, but it should be.) I don’t know why I came, really. I wasn’t planning to get myself a math book or anything. I’ve barely started on the science.
I wound up sitting in the weeds behind the back fence, and I’ve been watching the girls’ PE classes play softball. Softball in November, can you imagine? And you know what else is amazing? None of the girls have acted like sissies. Some of them aren’t very good, but they all really try. And everybody chatters and shouts and cheers when their team does something good. It’s like they’re playing some big game, only it’s just PE.
I used to hate PE at school. Two times a week (oh, that’ll get you in shape!), lame games (you call “duck-duck-goose” PE?), choosing up sides (took up half the class and made you feel rotten for the rest of the day), and no action (like anyone’s going to pass the ball to a kid they don’t know or like?).
Yeah, I used to hate PE, but this kind of PE looks like it could almost be fun. So I’m sitting here wondering what it would be like to be on a real team. To have people rooting for you…to feel like you were part of something…electric.
6:30 p.m.
I didn’t see Charlene at the soup kitchen this afternoon, but I saw Martin, which was much worse. His body’s so covered in snakes that I think he’s become a snake. Maybe he doesn’t have fangs (his teeth are all rotten), but he sure seems to slither around. And you know how a snake’s tongue flicks in and out? Martin looks at things like that. He flicks looks here and there, and I can tell he’s watching, thinking, scheming. It scares me because whenever I catch him flicking looks my way, I get the feeling that he’s coiled up tight, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.
Walking home tonight, I really watched my back.
No one would ever hear me scream out here.
No one would know if I went missing.
Friday, November 5th
I checked out St. Mary’s Church again. No boxes or bags of food in sight. I even wandered into the church and looked around from the safety of a shadowy back pew.
There’s something spooky about churches like St. Mary’s. Any little noise echoes off the stained-glass windows and seems to amplify before it dies out. Voices carry. Everything seems close, even when it’s far away.
There was nobody inside the church besides me, but there was a strange sound. I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from or how far away it was, but the longer I sat in that shadowy back pew, the more it sounded like it was someone gnawing on something.
Then a priest came into the church, looked around, and whispered, “Gregory?” He whistled softly. “Gregory? Here, boy. Come along, lad!” He had some sort of accent. Irish, I think.
I heard Gregory pad through the church, then saw him pass by the aisle. He was the cutest wirehaired terrier, and he was carrying a carrot in his mouth.
I almost burst out laughing. And I wanted so badly to jump out and say, “Oh! Can I say hi to your dog?” But I just watched him join the priest and disappear through a side door.
I stayed in the church a little while longer, but I wasn’t thinking about getting my hands on food-drive donations. I was thinking about getting my hands on a dog. Not Gregory. I would never steal somebody else’s dog! What I mean is a dog from the pound. Or a stray. Or a poor, neglected, abused, chained-up dog.
Maybe it’s finally time to get one.
My heart’s beating fast just thinking about it!
And you know what? I need a dog. Not just so I won’t be so alone, but for the protection. Dogs are great at defending their territory.
They also know how to scare off snakes.
7:00 p.m.
I am so mad! The pound won’t let a kid have a dog unless a parent signs for it. Can you believe that? They’d rather “destroy” (their way of sugarcoating kill) a dog than let a kid have it! I hate adults! I hate them, I hate them, I hate them!
8:15 p.m.
The pound is like death row for dogs, only the dogs haven’t done anything wrong! (Except maybe pee on some old bat’s posies…) I’d rescue them all if I could.
Poor sweet things.
Saturday the 6th
I’ve been trying to read my science book, but
some of it isn’t making sense and my mind keeps drifting. I keep picturing dogs getting gassed. And every time I hear a sound outside, I think it’s Martin. He was slithering around the soup kitchen again today, and after I left, I caught him following me. I didn’t let on. Instead, I led him to the mall, then ditched him. It was easy, but I don’t like having to do it.
And now I’m really thinking that I need some way to protect myself.
One of those softball bats I saw at the junior high would be good.
A nice, heavy metal one.
9:30 p.m.
There’s a whole pack of coyotes howling. It’s so loud I swear they’re right outside my house! I keep telling myself: They’re dogs, they’re dogs, they’re dogs! But I’m still scared. Coyotes kill cats and rabbits and other dogs. What if they’re so hungry they’ll kill me?
How ironic would that be?
Holly Janquell, aspiring veterinarian, killed and consumed by dogs.
If I live through the night, I’m gathering rocks.
And I’m getting my hands on a baseball bat!
November 7th
It’s Sunday, so I couldn’t get my hands on a baseball bat, but better yet, I have made a deadly spear! I scored a broom handle from a trash bin outside the mall (the threads are messed up, but other than that it’s perfect), and I traded a sack of sweaters I scored at the Salvation Army for a knife at Cece’s Thrift Store. (The Salvation Army is real near the soup kitchen, and they were having a warmth drive today. The whole front porch was covered with sacks of clothes, and the woman in charge was so busy yakking with someone else that she didn’t notice me waltz off with one. I picked out a change of clothes for me, then traded the rest for a knife.)