Analogous Souls
Dud, dud, dud, dud, dud. Zip. Sniffle.
A little girl sat alone on the curb, wearing down the rubber bindings of her sneakers as they thudded a steady rhythm against the cement.
Dud, dud, dud. Sniffle.
Her threadbare, secondhand clothing was too much in the way of size and too little in the way of warmth. Both the sweatshirt, whose cuffs tumbled past her frail wrists, and the rolled over jeans were filthy and soaked.
Sniffle.
Winter in New York, and the girl was all alone. Most passersby didn’t even so much as glance at her. A few wondered, of course, those who had children of their own. For the rest, it was the holidays, for crying out loud. They couldn’t afford the time to think about some dirty child sitting on the sidewalk.
The ones that did look, the girl did not notice. She kept her gaze on the street, at the cabs and cars that hissed by. Once again, she wiped her nose on her already stiff sleeve. A small smile graced her chapped lips.
She was waiting.
They had told her to stay right where she was. If she was good, they would bring her a surprise. Of course, being seven, a surprise was all the reward she needed to keep on the curb. She hoped it would be a Poptart; she had only ever had one once, but it was definitely worth having more of.
To keep herself occupied, she daydreamed. For today, she was the beautiful princess of a faraway kingdom in…Connecticut, she decided. That was far enough away. Princess Tara, ruler of Connecticut. Her home was a castle, to be sure, a fairy tale castle, not unlike the one Sleeping Beauty lived in. And she had a bed that would fit twenty of her in it, and a bathtub the size of a swimming pool, filled with pink bubbles that smelled like sun-dried strawberries. Finally, millions of Poptarts, enough of them to feed the entire city of New York!
Needless to say, her imaginary world prevailed over her reality tenfold; a castle beat her dingy one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. Princess Tara’s enormous bed and bath were shrunk in real life to an air mattress on the floor, and the occasional shower, when her parents’ water wasn’t shut off.
But reality was a distant concept to her as she sat on the street. Her sweatshirt turned into the finest silk gown, handspun by her own personal servant…
Nearby, a young man of twenty-five strode down the sidewalk. No, not strode. He wasn’t nearly focused enough for his movement to be considered striding. Meandering, more like. Wandering, weaving between the hurried shoppers. His hands were balled up in the pockets of his leather jacket, in an attempt at warming them. His fingers were still chilled to the bone, despite the gloves that covered them.
Long, dark hair spilled into his hazel eyes as he lifted his face to the horizon. Gray clouds stacked on top of one another, heavy with the promise of more snow. They seemed to skirt the tips of the skyscrapers as the wind hurried them into New Jersey, as though they had an appointment to keep with the rest of the northeast. A smile curved his lips. He loved snow.
Someone knocked into his shoulder. He barely registered, simply compensating for the intrusion and continuing on his way.
He was wrapped up in the city. Every time he went into it, he got swept up in the current of energy it circulated. New York was the most exciting and inspiring place he’d ever been, and its vibrancy seemed to emanate from its very core. He liked to tell people he felt “perfectly anonymous” whenever he visited, and he had a sense of being at one with the universe…if you believe in that sort of thing, anyway.
He stumbled suddenly, the horizon dipping and tilting and transforming into sidewalk as he caught his balance. He glanced down and sighed. Damn shoelaces, he thought irritably. I told Josh they were too long. As he kneeled to retie his sneakers, he sensed someone nearby, and glanced up.
A little girl, maybe six or seven, was sitting on the curb not three feet from where he was crouched. She looked cold. Her shoulders were shaking from the temperature; her nose was as red as a fire hydrant and running. But for whatever reason, as she watched cars fly past, she smiled.
The first thoughts that crossed his mind were basic-Why isn’t she wearing proper clothes? Where are her parents? He pondered these as he laced his shoes. Maybe they’re inside one of these stores? Buying her warmer clothes, I hope. He stood, shoved his fists back into his pockets, and proceeded to walk past her.
As soon as he was six or seven steps past her, he stopped, and whether it was of his own will or not, he couldn’t tell: Something compelled him to turn around and sit next to her. So, for whatever reason, he backpedaled, walked out to the curb, stepped down onto the street, and dropped onto the cement beside the girl like it was the most normal thing in the world.
He wrapped his skinny arms around his equally skinny legs and looked at her.
“Hi,” he said, with a smile forced by a feeling he looked ridiculous.
She barely acknowledged him, her shoes still tap, tap, tapping against the curb. Her bright russet eyes were trained on the traffic. Perhaps ten seconds had passed after he greeted her, she spared him a sideways glance and a cordial “hello” before reabsorbing into her daydream. Since that compulsion to be with her still gripped him, her disinterest didn’t deter him in the least.
“I’m Frank,” he continued. “What’s your name?”
The girl seemed to realize that he wasn’t going to leave, so she returned to reality and turned to face him.
“I’m Princess Tara. How will you serve me?” Frank feigned shock, his lips forming a perfect “o” as he scrambled hastily to his feet.
“Oh, Your Highness, please forgive me! I had no idea I was in the presence of such royalty!” He ducked into a deep, theatrical bow, purposely overcompensating so he would tip forward. Tara giggled.
“You may sit, Sir Frank,” she told him, pulling her sneakers toward her so she was sitting cross-legged. He returned to his spot on the cement with a lopsided grin on his face.
“So, my lady, where are the king and queen? Off on official royal business?” To his surprise, Tara shrugged.
“Maybe. They didn’t tell me where they were going, they just said to sit here and not move.”
Frank frowned, eyebrows drawn together. That didn’t sound quite right.
“When are they going to be back?” Again, she shrugged, almost as though it was of no importance to her.
“Soon.” Suddenly, she broke into a wide smile. “But guess what?”
“What?” He was still trying to fathom how and why you would just leave your child sitting on a New York sidewalk in winter, with no idea of where you’d gone or when you’d be back.
“Mama said that if I’m extra good and don’t bother no one, I get a surprise!” She bounced a little. “I hope it’s a Poptart. I love Poptarts. Have you ever had a Poptart? They’re yummy!”
The excitement in her voice was almost too much for Frank to bear, because he had at last realized her parents’ intent.
They weren’t coming back.
How had he realized it? His parents had given him the same spiel, almost verbatim, when he’d been a little younger than Tara. They had been hard-pressed for money for as long as Frank could remember, his father trying his hardest just to keep his job at a gas station in Hoboken, and his mother cleaning house for a friend. As he was too young for school, she took him with her most days.
They had gotten along, living in mediocrity, of course, but they had survived. It was the only way of life Frank had ever known, so it didn’t bother him that they lived in poverty. In fact, he hadn’t known they had lived in poverty at all, until his mother took him to work about a month before it happened.
She held his hand tightly, like she always did. Walking wasn’t her favorite mode of transportation, but it was a necessary evil; after all, Frank did work farther away than she did. Still, the traffic made her nervous. Frank Jr. was barely five and took after his father. He was very small for his age. It would be too easy for him to get caught in front of a car.
“Mama, what’s snow made out of?” Her son’s voice pervaded her thoughts. She glanced down at his curious little face and smiled.
“Water, baby. See how when it melts, it makes your shoes wet?” He nodded fervently.
“Why’s it cold?
“It’s frozen.” Like her fingers, which were numb. She had no gloves. By the time she got to Donna’s, she was sure the handle of her bucket would be stuck to them. “Are you going to play with Tyler and Josh today?” she asked her son. He shrugged.
“Tyler’s no fun. He calls me and Josh babies, just cause we’re littler than him. Mama, I’m not a baby, am I?”
“You’re my baby,” she told him, bending down to kiss him. He squirmed and rubbed at his cheek when she pulled away.
“I’m too big for kisses, Mama. Josh said his mama don’t kiss him no more, cause he’s too big.”
“[/i]Doesn’t kiss him anymore, baby.” They were on Donna’s street now, so she let Frank run out in front of her to ring their doorbell. “Remember your manners,” she called to him. He stomped up their porch steps a few houses down. His mother wriggled her fingers, making sure they were all still there, and switched the bucket from one hand to the other.
“Frankie!” she heard Josh, Donna’s youngest, shriek after the slam of the screen door. He was only a year older than Frank, so he didn’t mind playing with him while she cleaned. “What’re you doin’ here?”
“Guess, stupid,” Frank replied. She pursed her lips, and reminded herself to give him a talking to about not using that word. “Are we still playin’ Pirates?”
“Nah, Tyler said he didn’t wanna play no more. C’mon, I got Legos we can play with!” As she climbed the steps to the front door, she saw Frank disappear with Josh into the house. She caught the door just as it was about to crash shut and pushed it open again.
“Donna? It’s me, Linda,” she called, setting her bucket down near the stairs. She turned to go into the kitchen and found Tyler leaning on the door, watching her with those preoccupied blue eyes. He had a book clutched in one hand: PETER PAN, it said in plain black lettering on the cover. At the elementary school, he was cast as the title character in their play. Remarkable, since he was a boy, and typically it was a girls’ part. “Hi,” she greeted with a warm smile. “Got your lines down yet?”
He flashed a jack-o-lantern grin and nodded. “Yup. Now all I gotta do is practice my singing.” That wouldn’t be difficult for him. The boy was more talented than most adults she knew.
“That’s terrific, Tyler. I’m proud of you.” She dug through her bucket for window cleaner and a rag; she would start with the windows near the door. “Are you going to play with the boys?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Mrs. Whittaker, I’m almost ten. I’m way too old to be playing with the little kids. And besides, I’ve got to work on my solo. An artist’s work is never done.” She smiled to herself.
“Suit yourself. Now, get out of here. You need to practice, and I need to work.” He nodded and ran out. She turned to the windows and sprayed cleaner on one, then took the rag to it.
There were some heavy steps down the stairs. “Linda?” came Donna’s voice. She sounded surprised.
“Hi, Donna. I know I’m a little earlier than usual, but Frankie was eager to see the boys.” She turned from the windows to speak to her properly, and was surprised to see her unsmiling.
“Linda, I…I thought Frank told you,” Donna stammered, stopped halfway down the stairs. Her hand went to the necklace she wore. Linda lowered her rag and frowned, her eyebrows furrowing.
“Told me what? Donna, what’s wrong?” Donna swallowed and lowered her gaze.
“This is exactly what I wanted to avoid,” she muttered, so Linda had to strain to hear her. Donna drew her lips into a thin line, and looked back up. Her eyes had filled with tears. “Linda, I won’t need you to clean anymore.”
Frank’s mother stiffened. “What?”
“I just…ever since Don passed away…I can’t afford it anymore, Linda. I’m sorry.”
Linda drew a deep breath and forced herself to speak. “Oh.” She wiped the rest of the window off and tossed both the rag and the bottle of cleaner back into her bucket. “Well.”
Donna hastily dismounted the stairs and grabbed her friend’s hands, gazing at her imploringly. “Please, Linda, try to understand. I didn’t realize how expensive raising sons by myself would be. Tyler’s play alone is four hundred just to participate! My mom’s making his costume, but still. And Josh wants to play soccer come September…” Donna closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry, Linda. Really, I am.”
They looked at each other, empathy exchanged for a few silent moments before Linda finally pulled away.
“I could try to get you a position at the Laundromat,” Donna offered.
Just then, Tyler sprinted down the stairs, crying indignantly as he did so, “MA! Josh and Frank won’t get out of my room! And they’ve got their stupid Legos everywhere!”
Donna sighed. “JOSHUA! FRANK!”
There was a scuffling sound, and then both boys were at the top of the stairs.
“What?” they asked in unison.
“Take your Legos out of Tyler’s room, please. Josh, you know he doesn’t want you playing in there.”
“But Ma,” Josh whined.
“No buts. Do what I told you, mister, or those Legos are going in the trash, you hear?” Immediately, Josh and Frank disappeared.
“Frank, come on back. We need to go,” Linda called halfheartedly, knowing her son would be disappointed.
“Mama,” Frank moaned.
“Now.”
She heard him give Josh a glum “bye,” and then stomped down the steps without so much as an angry glance at his mother. She took his hand anyway, and as she was opening the front door turned to look at Donna.
“Thanks, but we’ll find a way.” The last thing she saw was a confused Tyler just forming his mouth around the word “why.”
His mother getting fired was the beginning of the end for Frank.
Not three days later, his father’s job at the Mobile station was cut. As the month progressed, Frank finally began to understand what it meant to live in poverty. It meant your father coming home and weeping on the sofa because he hadn’t found a job that day. It meant your mother falling on her knees in front of the long empty pantry, begging God to save her baby, because she couldn’t. It meant lying awake at night, listening to your parent’s desperation channel itself into anger, at each other, at the world.
The last straw for their little family was when their house was evicted. Frank was told that they were moving, but he had never seen anybody cry so much because of a move. He didn’t know what FORECLOSED meant, but it was slapped in red letters across a sign on their front yard. As they drove off to the motel they were to stay in that night, those red letters were all he could see, no matter where he looked.
He remembered most vividly the day they left him in that playground in Belleville. His mother had made him pile on clothes, claiming it would be colder than Antarctica that day. He was all too happy to comply when he discovered they were going to play in the park for a few hours, and as soon as they got there, he hopped on a swing.
“Frankie, come back here a minute,” Mama called, her voice wavering in an unfamiliar way. He sighed, but did as he was told. Once he had tottered up close to where his parents stood, hand in hand, she bent down to his level. “Baby, we’re going to go find Daddy a job. We’ll be back soon, okay?” She pushed his dark hair out of his face and stared deep into his eyes.
“Okay, Mama,” he replied, almost without thinking about it. They would be back. He didn’t have to worry.
Alarmingly, her soft brown eyes filled with tears as soon as he said that. She let out a quiet sob. “Oh God, what am I doing?” she asked nobody in particular. Frank’s eyes went wide and he quickly wiped the tears that escaped from the corners of her eyes with his jacket sleeve.
“What’s wrong? Mama, please, don’t be sad,” he pleaded, worried. She looked up at him, and proceeded to take him in her arms. As she cradled the back of his head, she sobbed, louder than before.
“My poor baby, oh God, my poor little boy…” Frank coughed as the air was squeezed from his lungs.
“Mama…you’re squishing me…” He squirmed as his oxygen supply ran low. At last, she put him down. Since she still looked miserable, Frank piped cheerfully, “I love you, Mama!”
This seemed only to make her sadder, as she began crying with gusto and turned into Daddy’s shoulder, moaning as she did, “Frank, we can’t do this, we can’t just leave!” Daddy put and arm around her shoulders.
“Linda, we have no choice. I hate doing this just as much as you do.” She turned away from him, walking a short distance away to a bench where she sat and bent over her knees, bawling.
“Daddy?”
He looked down at the waiting Frank Jr.
“Is Mama okay?” Daddy bit his lip, and then lifted Frank into his arms.
“Yes, buddy, she’s okay. She’s just sad that we have to leave you for a little while.”
Frank nodded. “Hey Daddy?”
“Yes, Frankie?”
He thought for a moment. “Can I have a yo-yo when you get back?”
Daddy didn’t respond, only hugged Frank tighter to him and sniffed. “Of course,” he said after awhile. His voice was tremulous, poised on the brink of a sob. It scared Frank a little; why were both his parents even more sad than usual? “A bright red one. Like the one you wanted for your birthday this year.” His voice broke as he held Frank even tighter. “Oh Jesus. Forgive me.”
Frank stayed quiet, if only for a little while. “I love you, Daddy,” he whispered.
“I love you too, Frankie. Be a good boy, okay?” He put Frank back onto the ground and walked over to Mama, saying something into her ear as he gently touched her shoulder. She stood, wiped her eyes, and strode to where Frank stood.
“Don’t cause any trouble, okay, baby? Be good. And if anybody asks you where we are—“she put a slip of paper into his pocket—“tell them to call this number.”
“Okay.” He nodded, for emphasis. Mama stared at him with red-rimmed eyes before hugging him again.
“I love you, Frankie. Don’t ever forget that. I love you, and…” She sniffled. “Be good.” She hurriedly let him go and stood, stumbling back over to Daddy, who hugged her tight as she bawled against his chest.
“It’s okay, Linda. He’ll be okay.” And with that, they both turned and started to walk away.
“Bye, Mama, bye, Daddy!” Frank called after them, waving with all his strength at their backs. He watched as they joined the traffic of people on the sidewalk. As soon as they were out of sight, he ran back over to the swing and jumped on, pumping his legs to go higher, higher, higher…
Part One of Two. Comments/concerns/cookie dough?
*devours cookie dough*
I feel like crying but that's a good thing because that means your that good of a writer haha, nice work.