Chapter 1

Things don’t always get easier.

I’ve gotten myself back into the slice of life story mode again. No major backstory, no definite closure, just a glimpse into the lives of a couple characters as they move along toward their destinies. Though this one takes place over a longer time span than my other slice of life stories. And there’s a road trip along the way too.

Enjoy,
Wax Philosophic

The events and characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All characters are over the age of eighteen, and you should be too if you’re reading this.

I was looking into the downcast eyes of the only person besides myself who still happened to be in the five and dime at this late hour. Yeah, the sign outside really did say five and dime, even though there wasn’t much in here that cost less than a dollar. The sign also said U-Haul rental and Greyhound tickets. I assumed Miss Skinny White Bread With the Sad Eyes was here for the latter.

“Miss?” she squeaked.

“Not now, sugar. This is my jam.” I reached around to turn up the volume on the old transistor radio behind me.

“Honey, you do not interrupt the Five Stairsteps singing Ooh Child, got it? You can talk to me when they’re done.” I turned around and cranked the volume a little more. Miss Sad Eyes just stood there looking at the counter, not saying a word.

I sat down on the stool behind the cash register and began grooving as I sang along. Apparently Miss Sad Eyes didn’t know good music when she heard it, because she didn’t even try to join in. In fact, she didn’t move or say a word until the song wound down.

“Now what is it, honey?” I asked.

“Miss. When’s the bus to Chicago coming in?”

“Ooh child, I think you missed it.” I said and snickered at my own pun.

For a minute I thought Miss Sad Eyes was going to lose it. Her breath hitched once or twice in her skinny little chest and her big blue eyes started to waver. But she kept it together and just plopped her narrow ass down on the tattered plastic-covered seats behind her.

“Is there another one?” she asked.

“Not ’til tomorrow, sugar.”

I watched her shrug off her ratty old army green pack and hug it in her arms. She let out a long sigh and leaned over to rest her cheek on it.

“Huh-uh, you can’t sleep here,” I said. “This ain’t no twenty-four hour bus depot, honey. It’s a five and dime that just happens to sell Greyhound tickets. And I’m closing it up in half an hour.”

I watched her body jerk as she choked back a sob, but there were no tears in her eyes.

“Hey,” I said. “You hungry?”

“Grab yourself a candy bar or something. My treat.” I watched her reach out toward the countertop display and wrap her fingers lovingly around a Snickers bar before tearing into the wrapper and taking it down to half in just one bite.

“Aw, shoot,” I said, “grab a couple more for the road.”

She didn’t say a thing as she used both hands to snag two more. She quickly shoved them into the side pocket of that ratty old army green pack.

“Don’t eat ’em all at once. You’ll make yourself sick.” I pulled a couple bills out of my pocket and rang the sale through the register.

I pointed my rusty old Dodge truck down the sodium vapor-lit Main Street, and cranked up the oldies station. Not that I relished the idea of listening to any more songs by a bunch of geriatric rockers, but like in the store, it was really the only thing this old radio could pull in. Besides, sometimes they surprised me and threw in something good. Just not tonight.

I twisted the knob and the display went dark. I started singing Ooh Child again at the top of my lungs, because why not?

I was idling at the four-way stop down by the park and belting out the chorus when I spied that ratty old army green pack again. It was sitting on a bench with Miss Sad Eyes sprawled out and resting her cheek on it. I pulled over and slipped the shifter into park.

“Listen sugar,” I announced out the window. “You don’t want to sleep here. There’s some creepy motherfuckers that come crawling out of the bars at night, and you don’t want any part of that.”

She sat upright and stared at me through those big baby blues while the old truck gurgled and sputtered. The pack was on her knees now and she was resting her chin on it.

“Ain’t you got nowhere to go?” I hollered. “Go home.”

She just shook her head.

Against my better judgment I reached over and twisted the key to kill the ignition. I shoved my door open with a squeak and it fell closed with a bang. I sat down on the bench next to her. “You really ain’t got nowhere to go?”

I thought for a second and then decided to go out on a limb. “You runnin’ away?”

“Chicago’s a tough town, sugar. You got relatives there or somethin’?”

Damn it. Damn it, I did not need this shit. I had my own problems, and taking in strays was definitely not on my to-do list today. What if she’s an alky? — Or a druggy?

But I didn’t smell anything on her breath, nor did I see any track marks on her arms, and other than being skinny and tired she didn’t seem to have any obvious signs of chemical dependency.

“You got a plan for when you get there?”

“Must be really bad at home, huh?”

I stood up and walked back to my truck. I gave the passenger side door a yank and it grudgingly opened with a squeak and a groan. “Come on,” I said, “before I wise up and change my mind.”

She jumped up and trotted over. I stood outside and helped her get the stubborn old door closed. The way her eyes lit up I think maybe she thought I was picking her up for a date or something.

I piled into the driver’s side and pulled the door shut with a groan and a thud. I looked over at Miss Skinny White Bread sitting there on the passenger seat. I couldn’t really call her Miss Sad Eyes anymore, because — well — she had actually perked up a little.

“Put your seat belt on, honey.” I watched her set the ratty old army green pack on the floor and reach up over her shoulder to grab the buckle. “You ain’t got no drugs in that bag, I hope. Otherwise I’m dropping your ass off at the next corner.”

I reached over to twist the knob on the radio. She wasn’t much of a conversationalist and I needed something to calm my nerves. I still felt a little like I was bringing home a stray.

Shit definitely gets weirder on the oldies station as the night wears on. The tinny little truck speakers erupted with sounds of guitars droning on and Alice Cooper bitching about being eighteen. I looked over at my lost puppy of a passenger with that thought on my mind.

“You ain’t jailbait are you?” I asked. “I don’t need no cops getting the wrong idea about us.”

“OK, good,” I said. “Just another mile or so.”

She sighed and settled back into her seat. By the time Alice Cooper had his crisis wrapped it up and AC/DC came on, I think she was asleep. How anybody can sleep while Bon Scott is playing the bagpipes, I have no idea.

“You want somethin’ to eat?” I asked as I propped her up on my couch, “I can fry you up some eggs or something. Really nothing else in the fridge, except ketchup packets. I usually eat take-out.”

“Oh my god! She speaks!” I think I may have scared her with my boisterous comment, but she got over it and I watched a grin slowly crawling over her face.

“I can make it,” she said. “You don’t have to wait on me.”

“Go ahead and relax, sugar. I’m always a little wired up after work, and no offense but you look like you’re about ready to drop.”

“Thanks.” She smirked and looked at her feet. “For the eggs I mean. Not for the comment about me being ready to drop.”

A few minutes later I walked over with two mismatched plates in my hands and set them on the coffee table. “Think of it as a pepper and egg sandwich,” I announced. “Without the peppers. And with regular old white toast instead of good Italian bread. And no olive oil. And no garlic.”

“You want some ketchup? That I’ve got.”

She shook her head. “I’m Lena,” she said.

“Lena.” I smiled. “Pretty name. That Polish?”

“Nice to meet you, Lena. My name’s Jordan.” I stuck my hand out in her direction and she shook it. “You may not have guessed this, so let me just lay it out there for you. I’m not Polish.”

Lena laughed for the first time since I met her. It wasn’t much, just a little snort and a smile, but it was something. She didn’t say much other than thank you after she plowed her way through my egg and toast sandwich creation.

Lena’s power of speech seemed to have left her again and she just shook her head, so I collected up our plates and returned with a couple glasses of water.

“Sorry, it’s all I got unless you want instant decaf.”

She shook her head. And when I sat down on the couch she leaned over and rested her cheek on my shoulder. “Thanks,” she said and brought the glass to her lips.

In my mind I told myself that I ought to be a good host and get a pillow and blanket for my little stray. But it had been long enough since I’d felt the warm touch of another human being — not just the casual handshake, but a real honest affectionate touch — and I was a little reticent to get up.

I think Lena may have been in the same boat, either that or she had fallen asleep again. She was awfully quiet.

“Hey,” I whispered. “I’m going to get you a pillow and a blanket so you can get some proper rest. There’s not much in the kitchen, but whatever you can find is yours if you get hungry again.”

“OK,” she said and slid over onto her side.

By the time I returned, Lena was out. I pried the empty glass from her fingers and tossed the blanket over her skinny little body. I watched her chest rise and fall a few times before I decided I could probably lift her head and stuff the pillow underneath without waking her.

Lena wrapped her arms around the pillow and snuggled into it, letting out a long sigh as she did. She looked so peaceful. I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

“Good night, Lena” I said and padded off to my bed.

I rubbed my eyes and looked toward the sound.

“Jordan. Sorry to wake you, but do you have another blanket? I’m freezing.”