Shelter

MY SHIFT STARTS AT FOUR, SO I’M OUT THE DOOR AT 2:30. It’s not a long walk, but I want to stop to buy cigarettes, and I have to make it up to Rusty. I pull my hoodie strings tighter, more because I like the way the fabric feels against my face than to protect me from the rain. Also because I’m freezing. I remember Karim telling me I wouldn’t be so cold all the time if I weren’t so skinny. He said he’s never met a guy whose wrists are small enough to wrap his fingers around. I told him to stop talking, hold tighter.

Marv can’t help but say something when I walk up to the counter.

“That’s two days in a row, kid,” he says.

“You’re welcome.”

He shakes his head, and maybe the concerned look he gives me makes him feel better about himself, but $7.65 is always good for a pack of vices.

There’s a knack to keeping a cigarette lit in the rain. I’m on to my second one by the time I reach the amusement park, and I inhale it as I mindlessly let my feet take me down the familiar path to the ditch behind the Ferris wheel. It’s a good spot because you can still see most of the wheel from here, but no one can see you unless they bother to look down. They never do.

Rusty’s curled up in the mud. I hold my cigarette out of the way, and sit down next to him. “Wake up, buddy,” I say, scratching him in that place behind his ear that always gets his attention. He moans softly and nuzzles into my hand. “Come on, you old mutt. I have stuff for you.” I take a final drag of my cigarette and put it out in the dirt. I grab his face with both hands and scratch a bit harder. “You want food? I brought food.” He lifts his head toward me, his interest piqued. I unzip my backpack and pull out the half a burger and fries I saved from the diner last night. Rusty gives my hand a lick as I slide the food in front of him. “So you forgive me?” I say, watching him go to town on the burger. He grunts, not to be distracted. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday,” I tell him, lighting another cigarette. He sacrifices a second from his meal to give me a sideways look. “Or the day before. I meant to come. You know I did. I got held up.”

I pull my water bottle and the Tupperware out of my bag, and pour him some water. “Take a break, buddy. You’re gonna make yourself sick.” He’s still working on the burger, so I move the fries out of the way for now. “Don’t give me that look. Take a drink first.”

He gulps down the last bit of the burger, and sticks his face in the Tupperware. When he finally pulls away, the fur around his mouth is wetter than the rest of him. He puts his paw on my knee expectantly, and it leaves a muddy mark on my jeans. “Calm down, they’re right here.” I toss the fries at him one at a time, because he can’t be trusted to pace himself, and he catches most of them in his mouth. He’s still pretty lively for an old man, at least when it comes to food.

At 3:50, I stuff the trash into my bag, but I refill the Tupperware and leave it for him. I tell him I’ll be back soon.

I choke on American Spirits on the way to work. The front door jingles when I open it, and Dana greets me with an eye roll and a “You’re late.”

“By two minutes.”

“And you still have to change! Go around the back, will you? You’ll track mud all over the restaurant.” I want to tell her people call this place the Dirty Diner anyway and a little mud isn’t going to make a difference, but I keep my mouth shut. “Hurry up,” she says as a family of four scurries toward the entrance under a giant umbrella. “This is your table.”

I take the trash out of my bag and throw it in the dumpster on my way to the back door. I change quickly, but spend a couple extra minutes in front of the mirror in the bathroom. I splash some water on my face, run a comb through my hair, and decide this is as good as it’s gonna get.

Work is the same as always. Since we started serving beer, we can expect the usual nightly regulars to come in for a Corona and a BLT. Most of them are already drunk when they get here. The worst is when they try to have a conversation with you.

“That’s an interesting name,” an 11:30 regular says, pointing at my nametag. “Jett. I like it. ‘s nice.”

“Thanks.” I put his drink on the table. He already reeks of beer.

“Whassit mean?”

“I don’t know. Nothing.”

“You never asked your mama why she pick that?” I shrug. I don’t tell him my mother didn’t name me, or that I couldn’t ask her about it if I wanted to.

“I think it’s ‘cause you’re such a pretty boy,” he slurs. “Precious. Like a precious gem.”

“You wanna hear the soup of the day?”

“Like a precious, jet-black gem.”

“I’ll come back.”

I take another table’s order, and Julia comes up to me as I put it in the computer.

“Sorry you got stuck with Craig,” she says.

“Better me than you, I guess.” The girls always have it worse here at night.

“I’m not sure in this case. He’s always eyeing you. I wasn’t surprised when he requested you this time.”

“He requested me?”

“Yeah. Should’ve been my table. Did you look at the chart?”

“Mm.”

I finish putting in the order, and I think Julia is still talking, but I’m not listening anymore. I glance over at Craig, thankful his back is to the kitchen, and wonder if he knows I went home with the guy from table twenty-four the other day. I feel a knot form in my stomach. It was supposed to be a one-time deal, but things get around.

“All set?” I say.

“’Nother beer, Jett, if you don’ mind.” There’s a sloppy grin on his face, and I wonder if I’d find it as suggestive if Julia hadn’t said those things. The knot tightens. I think about the greasy bills in his wallet.

When I return with his drink, he says he doesn’t see what he wants on the menu.

I open his beer for him, slide it toward him, lean in. My hands gripping the edge of the table, hips stretched out behind me, I ask, “What can I do for you, then?”

#

Karim gently holds the ice pack to my neck and says it could have been a lot worse. “You can’t do this anymore,” he says. “You’re going to get yourself seriously hurt.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m serious. What were you thinking?”

I shrug. “Easy money.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” He scoffs and takes his hand off the ice pack as he moves off the bed.

“Don’t get mad.” I pick up the ice and press it to my neck.

“What the hell am I supposed to be, then? Happy?”

“I need a cigarette.”

“I swear to God, Jett—”

“You don’t get to do that!” I burst. “You don’t get to judge me for anything. You’re the one leaving. You get to leave.” I wait for him to say something. He doesn’t. I tell him what he knows, what neither of us has said out loud: “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Aren’t you still with Tracy and Paul?” I shake my head and brace myself for Karim’s response. His voice is quiet and controlled. “You told me you were still staying with them.”

“I’m eighteen. I’m not in the foster system anymore.”

“You said they were letting you stay there.”

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“So you lied to me?”

“I need a cigarette.” I start to stand, letting the ice pack drop.

“Sit down!” The severity of his stare pushes me back onto the bed. Then he softens, sits next to me, lifts the ice gingerly to my skin. “Where are you staying?”

“There’s an empty apartment a couple blocks from the amusement park.”

“You’re squatting?” I nod. “You should have told me. You could have stayed here. Where’s your stuff? You can stay here.”

His words are empty and he knows it. There’s no way his parents will let me live here, especially now that their son is leaving for college in a month. Still, the ice feels cool on my neck, and for a minute, I can appreciate empty promises.

#

It takes longer than usual to wake Rusty up today. The Tupperware is overflowing with rainwater. “I made you a sandwich,” I tell him. “It’s peanut butter. You like that.” He looks at me with sleepy eyes as I rip the sandwich into little pieces to make it easier for him to eat. He takes each piece carefully from my hand and chews slowly. “You haven’t been drinking,” I say, nodding toward the Tupperware. “You should drink something.” I dump the rainwater onto the dirt and replace it with Poland Spring. Rusty takes a few licks, then rests his head on my thigh.

“You know, I never asked if you liked the name Rusty.” I scratch behind his ear as I talk. “I don’t know why I started calling you that. I guess it just seemed to fit you. And you didn’t have a collar or anything…”

We’re quiet for a bit, and I look to see if he’s fallen asleep. His eyes are closed, but I think he’s awake. “Hang in there, Rusty,” I tell him. “I’ve been saving up, and I’m gonna get a car soon. Not a nice one, but good enough. Just hang on till then.” I take a long drag of my cigarette, and it burns my whole chest. I close my eyes and rest my head on the wall of dirt behind me.

“We’re gonna get out of here. Me and you. We’re gonna get out.” I scratch behind his ear until we both fall asleep.