I don't like that I am this way. Eating the leftovers graciously left behind small diner garbage bins and catching sleep in the garages of affluent neighborhoods. It's unsustainable. So naturally, I'm desperate.

And so I stole an emerald ring. One of a pair.

It was the middle of March in 1977. While humid and cloudy from the rainy day before, the sweet smell of blooming peach blossoms and cozy weather proved too perfect to waste by the people of Meryville, whose money was too perfect to waste by the vendors of Meryville. The best place to see this was the outdoor flea market, where only the best of the best knick-knacks were on display.

I still try to blame the sellers for putting their luxuries out there in the open, but the urge to slap myself in shame told me all I needed to know.

I shivered as I sat in the spacious, near spotless living room that gray afternoon. The type of spotless you only saw in vacuum cleaner commercials, but still cluttered with picture frames and blankets just enough to feel well lived in. Of course it wasn't mine. The apartment belonged to a man named B. Benjamin White. I saw his college degree on the wall.

His hair was short and coily, almost the opposite of my big red hair, and he was dark compared to my pale freckly skin. He wore a white suit that popped against his complexion.

He walked over to the stool across the room, never taking his eagle-like gaze off of me. He sat down and crossed his long legs.

He continued his unforgiving stare.

I pouted.

“What? What do you want?” I spat.

“You're in my apartment,” he said. His eyes looked to the side.

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“I don't have any money. I'm broke.”

“Then, jail's not so bad…”

Benjamin went to the window, a hand in his pockets and another gently splitting the blinds. His brows furrowed.

My body quivered hot.

“Oh, please? Just for the night till the cops go away?”

Benjamin's eyes darted back to me.

“What did you steal?” He straightened his posture.

“Steal?! W-what, you think I'm a thief?”

“Yes.”

His voice was uncompromising. With every right to be too. This was a battle I couldn't win. Huffing with the subtlety of an angry child, I stuffed my hand into my pocket, searching for what I stole.

I held up the ring.

Benjamin's eyes widened. Widened like just discovered a crime scene. He rushed to me, only to stare down the ring as his face of disbelief became… pride? His mouth curled into a smile as he held my hand with the ring. Bringing it up above my head for better viewing.

After several moments of silence, he paced around the room.

The air weighed heavy in my lungs as Benjamin made another lap around the couch.

“You're confident the police are after you?” he questioned.

I squinted my eyes in confusion.

“Yes.”

Benjamin stopped in his tracks. He searched in his pockets. The suit jacket ones, then his pants ones. He stopped.

And held up a dazzling, identical emerald ring.

“Well, they could just as easily be after me,” he said.

My jaw dropped. I went cold with relief. As my smile grew, his nice, white grin came back in step.

Time passed us by quickly. The sun, or what was available of it, had finally set after hours of us talking, with the warm light of the lamp taking over. What happened was a miracle. Nothing compared to the sour but sweet luck that plagued me most days. How lucky I was. I was almost afraid to stop talking, fearing Benjamin would gain a conscience during the silence and, somewhat justifiably, kick me out.

At eleven that night, Benjamin returned to the living room, the matching ring snug on his finger and a plate of sandwiches in his hands. I was still on the couch, but not shaking in my nerves anymore. In his generosity, he had given me two blankets and one of his pillows to sleep with. He even called me by my name: Beckett. Would've preferred my first name, August, but beggars can't be choosers.

I was just grateful my bed didn't smell like gasoline that night.