Chapter 1
Or how everything went to shit
«Hey, Noah» Alex's voice brings me back down to earth. I turn to my favorite person: their gaze lost in the crowd streaming past us, too absorbed in their own everyday life to notice someone out of the ordinary. Yet, in the end, we've grown used to it.
«Shall we play “guess who”?», they hand me the cigarette.
“Guess who” is our favorite game to play. You basically create a character on the spot using whoever passes by. Usually, it involves absurd stories: just the other day I made a man in a suit and tie into a Swedish spy with a morbid passion for rubber ducks and furry carpets. I’m pretty sure he was just your average Joe, but even if, who am I to judge?
«Sure, you start», I scan the crowd in search of our first target. Alex nudges me, nodding towards a woman on the phone. Our new protagonist smiles as she listens to the voice on the other side, she stands still in front of the fountain right outside the Temple, and looks around from time to time.
«That woman on the phone... she's not from around here. The jeans and long-sleeved shirt she's wearing make me think of a warm country. She's originally from... no, even better! That woman doesn't feel temperature. That poor lady suffers from...», they pause for a second in their narrative to take out the old and battered cell phone, miraculously still working after this winter's storms, «congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis».
«Really?»
«What? Too far fetched?»
«Can you even say it without reading?»
«Who would dress like that in a ninety degree weather? And I see no sweat, do you?»
«No, I don’t»
«No, you don’t»
«’Cause, of course, she suffers from an extremely rare genetic disease».
«You can bet your ass she does. Give me that», I hand out the cigarette.
«We should quit smoking, you know? It's not good for our health», they say taking a drag.
«You know what else isn’t good for our health? Being homeless».
«I mean, is it really? Loads of fresh air, sun exposure, and I know how much you care about your vitamine D intake».
«Of course I do, I’m still growing, I need to.. take it all...», I can’t even finish the sentence, «And besides, it’s not like we're heavy smokers...», I take a deep and long puff. Whatever, we’re all going to die, in the end. My eyes land on a child, about four years old, gazing at the sky. Not far away, a couple keep an eye on him, talking dully. They must be his parents.
«That kid over there. That kid is the apple of his parents' eye, a bourgeois family so normal it's nauseating. All three live in one of those townhouses on Greater Avenue, or Whatever Street. They even have a dog, Lucky, a Corgi, maybe a Pomeranian, one of those small dogs that bark like a squeaky toy, you know? Their life is so boring that the only interesting moment is when the little star pees on them while they change his diaper. And that hasn’t happened in years, okay? The perfect family», I pause for another drag, «and then, once in high school, little Johnny realizes he loves hanging out in the locker rooms with his teammates, and wants something more than friendship with one of ‘em. When he tells Richard and Karol, their world falls apart, I’m talking about ugly crying, shouting, plates smashed against the wall, all of it. So Mommy and Daddy throw him out of the house, and they tell relatives, neighbors, and acquaintances that he’s abroad to study economics or some straight shit like that. Because they have the perfect family, and it must remain so».
The child runs to his parents, and tugs at his mother’s pants to get her attention. We remain silent for a few minutes, watching life pass us by.
«Well, that was depressing. Can we head back, now?»
«Yeah, let's go. I'm starving», I flick the cigarette butt to the ground and stomp on it.
«7-Eleven?»
I nod. As I pass by the statue of Joseph and Emma Smith, I give old Joe a pat on the buttock, as tradition dictates, just to attract a bit of luck and maybe a disapproving glance or two.
From Temple Square to our destination is a half-hour stroll, but I don't mind walking. The sky peeks through the buildings, stealing the show, opening up before us. We stop at the corner.
«All right, what do we need?»
I think for a moment, taking inventory of our supplies, «We're running low on toothpaste and soap. And when I say running low, I mean I had to squeeze that tube like a cop with anger management issues. Let's also get some toilet paper if we can; we're down to one roll».
I lead Alex to the door.
«The usual, alright?» I whisper as they pass by.
It's a hot summer afternoon, and like all hot summer afternoons here, in this part of the world forgotten by God and his friend Joseph Smith, the poor souls in the vicinity seek refuge in a highlighter-colored Slurpee to drown their troubles. I've never tried it, but Alex told me once you can really taste the color. After that, I lost any curiosity in it.
The store kind of reminds me of the Kwik-E-Mart from The Simpsons. It has a flat, cartoonish appearance it doesn't even try to shake off. Alex heads to the canned goods section, while I go straight to the hygiene products. And there it is, the toothpaste I've been longing for this morning. I look around, making sure I'm not being watched, and I nonchalantly open the package, grab the tube, and slip it into a pocket I sewed inside my pants. I put the box back in its place and move on. A flat bar of soap? Perfect for slipping under my shirt. I turn the corner and meet Alex, who's holding a bottle of juice. I grab a pack of toilet paper, and we head to the check out counter.
We place what we have in hand on the counter. Alex leans over to ask for a Slurpee. What comes out of the machine is condensed blue ink; there's no other way to explan it. I wrinkle my nose as the cashier hands it to Alex, who pays the bottle of juice and toilet paper. I give my favorite person a disapproving look.
«July 11th, free Slurpee day».
Before we can turn and head towards the exit, the cashier grabs me by the sleeve.
«What's that?» he points down on my shirt. A stain, right where the toothpaste should be. Too busy judging Alex for their choice, I didn't notice the tube must have been squeezed. But the cashier did.
I snap my head up, and I free myself with a tug. We make a run for the exit, the Slurpee spills its guts on the floor. We split up at the intersection; Alex goes straight, and I slow down a bit to act as bait.
The poor cashier stands indecisive for a moment. Who to follow? As planned, he chooses me. I run for my life, glancing back once in a while to make sure I'm still being chased. I run across lawns, leap over fences, dodge guard dogs and bored cats. It's not my first chase, my body is used to it.
The hideout I choose is a small church, one of those that goes unnoticed if you don't already know it’s there, because from the outside it looks like a house. I can't say I'm a church-lover, but in times of need I'm not picky. I close the door behind me and take refuge under the window, hoping the cashier won't put two and two together.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Should I scream "sanctuary" or would it be too late-fifteen hundreds northern France? I'm not sure it even applies to evangelical churches.
I cling to the window sill to peek outside, trying not to stick my head out too much: the guy is standing in the middle of the street, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath. He spins around, stops someone, raises a hand to his nose level. The man he stopped shakes his head and continues on his way.
Dejected, the cashier heads back.
«What a strange way to pray, yours», I turn abruptly.
A man in a black shirt and white collar smiles at me from the middle of the pews. His hands are clasped behind his back, and he smirks. I hate people that fake complicity.
«I'm no one to judge the ways in which one communicates with the Lord», the pastor adds with his low voice, «but what do you say if we try a more comfortable approach?»
He points to the empty seat next to him. Cautiously, I get up from the ground and accept his offer; I search his peaceful smile for any movement, any twitch that might betray him. There's none.
«Thank you», I say, taking the seat.
«God's house is always open to those who seek refuge».
«And what if I'm not seeking refuge?» The pastor's smile doesn't falter.
«Then you might find something you need. Napkin?»
I refuse his offer, and try to hide the stain on my shirt. The pastor looks me up and down, holding his peaceful aura.
«Are they still out there?» he asks. I continue to stare at him, and he keeps smiling. Even sitting down, he towers over me.
«You know, at your age, I ran away more than once. Angry people, angry dogs, bullies. You name it, I picked a fight and then run».
There it is, the speech: what adults say to troubled kids to lead them on the "right path," thinking they have all the solutions to our problems. They don't. They knew what it was like, but they forgot. When you reach round numbers, you forget what you felt the day before. He, for sure, doesn't have the solution to my problems. And I swear I'll get up and leave if he even suggests...
«But then, I encountered the word of the Lord, which illuminated the way and showed me my mistakes».
The tale of a petty criminal saved by faith and turned into a pastor. What a cliché.
I’m a man of my word, I clear my throat and get up.
«Thanks... but no, thanks», I say, approaching the door.
«The Lord cares for all his children, he welcomes everyone with open arms...» I chuckle sarcastically.
«Yeah, right. Everyone, uh-uh... Listen pastor, I don’t wanna be the kill joke, but I sort of have beef with the Almighty. It's kind of his fault that I'm in this situation. So, thanks, but I'll decline the offer».
I open the door, stopping on the steps.
«Anyway, have a nice day... and thanks for not blowing my cover».
I don't wait for a response. I head straight home, checking in the window panes to make sure I'm not being followed. I don’t know if that cashier is still around, it's been about five, ten minutes. I can’t get caught. I just can’t.
I have to make sure Alex made it. The plan dictates that in case of escape, we regroup at home as soon as possible, and if more than an hour passes from the moment we split up, we scrap what money we have and prepare to bail the other out.
The stain on my shirt has dried, leaving a faint mark. I enter the gate and go to the duck pond, our meeting point. Exactly, the duck pond. It's easy to get lost in eighty acres, like those in Liberty Park, so we need a reference point to find each other quickly. I mean, it's still the second largest park in Salt Lake City. We have everything here: a restroom, a place to eat, a pool, several tennis courts, basketball courts, and even bocce, for when you feel old.
Living in Liberty Park is a bit like living in one of those ultra-luxury estates in California. The only difference is that our house is public, so it's not exactly legal to sleep in it... but we have a Ferris wheel, can Bill Gates say the same? I don't think so.
Point for us.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Alex waiting for me on the pond.
«Everything alright?» They nod, watching a basketball game taking place on the nearby court.
«The record store was open, I hid behind a vinyl racket. Did you know the new Imagine Dragons record is already out?»
«Why do you look at vinyls? We can’t afford ‘em, we don’t even have a player».
«Vinyl records aren't just made to be listened to. Okay, that also, but mainly to be admired. There's something mystical about holding a vinyl in your hand, as if you could touch the music and the effort the artist put into it», they say, their eyes lost in contemplation of an imaginary record between their hands.
«I told you smoking that much weed would have long lasting effects».
«Oh, thank God I subscribed to the GFY insurance plan»
«The what?»
«Go fuck yourself»
«You’re such a lovely company».
«A distinguished gentleman».
«Let's go to the restroom; I smell like a melted mint Popsicle. It’s disgusting».
We quickly grab our backpacks, hidden by the Ferris wheel.
The public bathrooms aren't the cleanest, or the most functioning, but we have to make do. Alex closes the door and leans their back against it to block the entrance while I change.
«Why did it take you so long to come back?», they comment, watching me wash the shirt in the sink.
«That guy was relentless».
«We need to be more careful next time. Did you know there were cameras?»
«Are you sure?»
«They must have everything on film. Even our faces» There, they're starting to panic. I squeeze the shirt.
«They might recognize us, Noah. We're doomed, we'll end up in jail. And they'll call social services and send us to another foster home, and we'll all be back to square one», their voice rises an octave. I put down the shirt and look at myself in the mirror.
«Even if they have our faces, they can't recognize us, we're not in the database. Not in Salt Lake City's, at least. Everything will be fine, it won't happen again, okay?» I say reassuringly, shifting my gaze to their face.
«What if they check Riverton's?»
«Why would they? Everything will be fine. Trust me, calm down», I go back to wash the shirt; silence falls between us.
I didn't see the cameras; I should have been more careful. I hate stealing, and hiding, and putting others in trouble. Most of all, I hate putting Alex in danger. They're only fifteen. I'm the grown up here; if something happens, it's my fault. I have to be more careful, more attentive. I have to think. I don't want them back in foster homes. I won't allow it.
I'm brought back from my thoughts by a comment from Alex: «They're opening a new homeless shelter».
«I thought you didn't want to go to a shelter anymore, not after we risked being reported to social services».
«This is different. It's a shelter for the LGBTQ homeless youth», they pronounce the acronym with the ease that only habit can give. I wring the shirt to remove the water residue.
«Maybe, if we explained our situation, they might be able to help us...»
I turn around and lean against the sink, folding the damp shirt haphazardly.
«I don't know, Alex... I'd rather keep a low profile for a couple of days, just as a precaution. I'd like to avoid spreading our names around, you understand?» Alex doesn't argue, staring at me imploringly.
«When will the shelter open?», a smile.
«Tomorrow, on Milton Avenue».
A moment of suspense before the verdict. Alex opens their arms impatient, gesturing for me to decide. «Okay, we'll check it out... it’s not a definitive yes, understood?»
«I knew you'd make the right decision. Come on, let's get out of here. No one in their right mind should spend more than five minutes in a public restroom, I can feel the e-coli bacteria climbing up my legs».
«Last one there buys a slurpee?», they propose.
«I don't want a slurpee»
«Who said you'd win?»
They give me a shove and start running to the Ferris Wheel.