10/24/12

Kelly Square
By David Macpherson


In the middle of the chaos of Kelly Square, where six roads converge without benefit of traffic light or rotary, Joanna watched as Mike stopped the car in the middle of the traffic and got out. “I’ll be right back.” He mumbled it, like this was something on his to-do list that slipped his mind. He walked quickly toward the curb, near the Vernon, a welfare hotel. Horns started sounding out behind her. Joanna slunk down, but still allowed herself the ability to see what Mike was doing. He walked straight up to the teenage boy who was holding the cardboard sign that read, “Too Young To Be Homeless – Give What You Can.” Joanna watched Mike grab the sign from the kid and turned around and headed back to the car. He stopped. Pulled out a twenty and tossed it to the kid, who did not even move or speak.

He plopped back into the car, pulled on his seatbelt on and put the car in gear as he glided through the congestion of Kelly Square as if he was born with the skill. They were on the relative calm of Chandler Street when Mike said, “Not typical second date behavior.”

Joanna laughed. “No. Not at all. Usually my dates accost homeless kids on the fourth or fifth date. I think you are a little too forward.”

It was Mike’s chance to laugh. “Kinda scary?”

“Yeah, yeah it was. Stopping in the middle of any traffic is nutso, but Kelly Square? Do you have a thing for cardboard signs? If we ever make it to the point where I see your house, will I come across this huge collection of homeless memorabilia?”

Mike put his hand on the cardboard that was resting next to the door. “Sorry. Hell of a bad impression. But I have been seeing this kid for a couple days and this sign just pushed me over.”

“Yeah, still kind of scary.” Joanna was not lying, but somehow she felt safe, enough. She had a modicum of control, she didn’t want to bolt from the car. Not yet.

“It’s what was said on the sign. Too young to be homeless. That’s crap. You are never too young to be homeless. I was living in the back of an Impala one winter when I was ten. Sometimes my mom made it back at night, sometime it was just me. I lived on government cheese and peanut butter. At school, I pretended that everything was fine. My teachers allowed me to lie. I never stood on the edge of any road. That kid today, he was 18, 19. It’s awful that he’s out here. But he’s almost an adult. He made choices at this point. Some of us never had that chance. Some of us.”

Mike made a left turn that got them to the restaurant’s parking lot. “Best Chinese in town,” he said. “Now at this point you can come in with me or you can split. Chalk this up as another crazy masquerading as a good man.”

Joanna patted her bag, “I have pepper spray.”

“Good plan.”

Joanna looked at this kind person who’s company she was enjoying. She looked at the sign. “What are you going to do with that.”

“They have a trash can by the door.”
This would be the time to bolt, she thought. But Joanna shook her head. We are filled with old histories and nagging scars. With impulses that are so close we can’t stop them bubbling up. She took his hand and squeezed. “Let’s have some dinner, and we’ll let the fortune cookie decide for us what happens next. “


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