I woke up a few hours later, a bit disoriented. Where was I? Oh, I was on a couch. Oh, I wasn't at home. Oh, it was 10 in the morning and I was skipping school.
Well, CRAP.
I considered going back to our apartment, but unfortunately, I still didn't have the key and I knew my dad would be at work by now. He was probably really mad at me; I wondered what he was thinking I was up to. I had never done anything this rebellious before. Not that I was being rebellious on purpose! What was I supposed to do, though? I couldn't go to school in this state. Seriously, I was really really smelly, and my hair was awful, and besides, it was already quite a bit into the school day. My third period teacher would probably not appreciate my being this late, and then she'd call my dad... and he'd think I was skipping... and oh, god, how did I even get myself into this?
I had nowhere to go, but uh, I was kind of still being a bit of an intruder in Ms. Lannes' apartment. So I awkwardly left and shut the door. She was probably asleep. (I just said 'kind of' a couple sentences ago. That still counts. Darn.)
You know how people stereotype girls for just crying when they get in bad situations? I propagated that stereotype at this time. You can just shut up about it, too, because I bet you've never accidentally not come home after not buying your dad a birthday present and not having bus fare. That was a lot of negatives just now. Sorry. But anyway, I debated what to do, and I made a very logical decision and ran up to the roof. I'd been up there a few times to look at the city, with a couple of my friends. But I'd never gone up there to wallow in self-pity. This was new.
I pushed open the door to the roof and walked over to my favorite corner, only instead of looking at the view I dropped down crosslegged and started crying silently. The tears were blurring my eyes, and I had to blink them out in order to see the tent a few feet away. Who lives on the roof? There hadn't been anyone before.
I sniffled once and stopped crying. Then I walked around the other side. A guy was sitting there with a lot of animals. It was like he was a crazy cat lady, except there were lots of animals besides cats. And he wasn't a lady. So I said hi. He looked up, a bit startled. I guess there usually weren't teenage girls running around on the roof. Then he said hi back. I sat down, and we were silent-but-not-necessarily-awkward for a little while, petting the animals and feeling the wind rushing by. After awhile, he started talking.
He wasn't American. I figured this out because he was talking about his 'home country,' which I soon figured out must be Russia. I think he said it was Russia. But he had a very Russian accent, which I kept having to resist the urge to imitate. He told me a few stories about the animals in Russia, and about his house there, and about his brother Something Russian Sounding who once hid his underwear when he was six. I personally wouldn't have told that last story to a random stranger... but I was flattered that I looked that trustworthy.
I sat and listened attentively for awhile. The guy obviously didn't have any food. I shuddered at the thought of him eating all of the animals. That was probably really judgmental and racist of me. Except he was white... country-of-originist? I needed to bring him something to eat, I concluded. He was being so nice talking to me about things I really didn't ask to hear. Not that it wasn't entertaining. I wonder what he was thinking, though. Oh, look! A random hobolooking teenage girl! How about I tell her stories from my childhood? Yeah, that made perfect sense...
He finished a story, and I bid him farewell and left. Ha, I sound so fancy. I've never actually said the word farewell out loud. Point being, I left the roof and went down the stairs. Where to get him food?
Wait, priorities. I was a runaway now. I had to find my dad.
I decided to go to the post office. Even if my dad wasn't there, I could explain to his boss or secretary or something. I won't waste time telling you about my walk over there, except that I did pass a bum who said something that I probably should've known the origin of. Some deep quote or something. But I'm only barely scraping my A in American Literature. So I don't know what it was.
I waltzed into the post office with the nonchalance of a truant. At first there wasn't anyone there, but then this dude with way too much hair gel and an annoying face (you know what I mean, right? Some people just look annoying) came into the room. "This area is for employees, little girl." He glared at me. "Eh, it's okay," I told him. Haughty, condescending people really push my buttons, and I've noticed they really hate it when you pretend like you own the world. Especially when you say 'it's okay' without having any reason to do so... hm, it's hard to explain. "My dad works here." "Oh, he does?" said Obnoxious Hairgel Man. (Hey! That spells OHM!) "I suppose that gives you the privileges of an employee. Well, here's some news for you, miss. You'd better get out of this authorized area before I call the police on you for trespassing."
Dude needed to take himself a chill pill. Like, for realz.
"It's okay," I told him, and watched his face turn redder. Wow, this was fun! "I won't stay long, as much as I'd like to get to know you. I'm just looking for someone to deliver a message to my dad."
"Who's your dad?" he snarled. "He ought to be ashamed of his daughter's cheeky disrespectful behavior. I would caution you to leave before his parenting shows in his salary."
"My dad is Renshu Zheng," I told him. To my surprise, he stopped looking angry and laughed like an evil maniac. (I hate it when people do that.)
"Well, that would explain a lot," he said. "Your father is already pushing around a shopping cart instead of driving his proper mail truck, because he has the same lack of respect that his daughter does. I don't feel that cutting his salary would be enough to teach your good-for-nothing father a lesson. No! He needs to earn back the money for his mail truck repairs. Just as you're going to have to earn your way out of jail for trespassing." He picked up his phone.
Wait, WHAT? I knew this guy was crazy, but-- the hell? My dad was pushing a shopping cart to deliver mail? Why did he have to pay for the mail truck repairs? Uh, oh. He was dialing the phone...
I had to think fast. This guy was clearly an asshole. He was about to call the police on me for trespassing. I was already a truant and a runaway... and also really really mad at him. Like, double really.
So I did what anyone would've done. I gave OHM my best primordial scream and tackled him, full-force. Probably not the most logical thing to have done, but it was incredibly satisfying. He fell to the floor, catching himself as best he could, but still left a very noticeable smudge of hair gel on the tiles. "You little bitch," he hissed. "You're even worse than your father." With an enormous shove, he pushed me off of him and rolled over on top of me, pinning me down. Then he slapped me across the face. I refused to give him the satisfaction of showing how much that hurt. (I am stoic! Hooray!) Instead, I freed my other hand and wait, I had a better idea. I managed to free my leg and kneed him in the balls. His face contorted in pain, and he stood up and ran for his office, and, slamming the door so I couldn't stop him, finished dialing his phone.
I couldn't hear some of what he was saying through the door, but maybe I should've just run off instead of pressing my ear to the door trying. (You know, sometimes the biggest strokes of genius are just a little bit delayed.) He came out of the office grinning evilly at me a minute later, and before I could do anything or even say something to piss him off, he grabbed me and threw me in the copier room. (Well, you know what I mean. People rarely throw people. He just pushed me really hard.) Then he locked the door. That was a little stupid on his part, since that doesn't lock the door from the inside. Idiot. I easily opened the door and came out of the copier room, and I tried to make a break for the exit, but he knocked me down and pinned me again.
At this moment, it occurred to me that I had absolutely no idea how I'd gotten myself into this mess. There's a lot of time for reflection when you're pinned to the floor, immobilized. I know he was being a jerk... but this whole situation had gotten pretty out of hand. I struggled to get up. Nope. I watched as blue lights filled the room. The police car had arrived outside the post office. I was not about to add 'criminal' to my list of sins, so I mustered up (can you say that, or is that not the right use of that word? I mean mustered, not up) all my strength and wrenched myself from OHM's grasp. Then I socked him in the stomach before he could stand up. The police came running into the room just as I delivered a second slightly amateurish punch to his stomach. Uh-oh. This didn't look at all like it was. "GET HER!" yelled OHM. And with that, I ran. I threw open the door and ran down the block, with the police after me. Honestly, I didn't think I'd ever type that sentence when I woke up this morning in Ms. Lannes' apartment. But so it was. I wish I was a runner and not a swimmer sometimes, though. That would've come in handy. I rounded the corner where Castle Apartments stood and took off up the street. I saw the police looking confused for just a second, and I took my chance. I went behind the nearest building and hid. They must have seen me go after all, since they chased me around the back of the building. I saw a door and went through it.
I guess karma was on OHM's side. I went through the door and burst onto the stage at Isabella's Cafe. (Yet another sentence I didn't think I'd type.) There were two very surprised women wearing less clothing than I would've liked them to. Their astonishment was nothing compared to the awkward-looking dudes who'd been gawking at them, though... I guess they weren't too turned on by a chloriney teenager in a T-shirt and jeans. I briefly wondered if they would think otherwise if I was in my swimsuit. So sue me. I do have some shapely hips. I always wonder-- if I had a mom, would she tell me I'm pretty? I always hear about moms doing that kind of thing. All Dad says on the matter is that "I must be pretty, since I look exactly the opposite of how he does." Hilarious.
I realize I haven't clarified why my dad is a short Chinese man and I'm a pretty tall white chick. I'll get to that in a bit, but remember? I was running from the police? Ugh, my attention span is like a goldfish off its ADHD meds.
Right... so... where was I? Isabella's! Of course. There was one police officer actually in the audience, who I wouldn't've noticed except that he ducked theatrically under the table and banged his head. HA! He must've known the guys who were chasing me. I winked at him and shook my hips. I suppose I have a promiscuous side. I wasn't aware of that before, so I made a mental note to try and keep that under control, in case it became a problem.
The police chased me across the stage, hence the aforementioned ducking man, and out the front door of the establishment. Did this count as a second trespassing incident? I wasn't sure. Should've paid more attention in civics, although I'm not sure they cover being chased by the police and how to handle it. Honestly, I'd probably have stayed awake if that was our topic of discussion...
That's not the point, though. I wish to file an official complaint against the city for having bad curb-cuts, since I tripped over one at this time. Skinned my knee up, too, but I wasn't really worried about Band-Aids or Neosporin right then. I couldn't really have put a Band-Aid on anyway, since my hands were now handcuffed behind my back. (I feel like "hands" and "handcuffed" make that sentence redundant. Ugh.)
Well, bummer! Understatement of the year, really.
I rode back to the station in a police car. The little part of me that is a four-year-old boy was very excited to be in a real police car. The bigger part of me that is a fifteen-year-old girl was really scared and honestly kind of (crap! there I go again!) puzzled as to how I'd become so... so delinquent this morning. Although I felt like a badass. And the little voice in my head that says what my father would went something like this: "You did WHAT?"
I had to stop them from calling my dad. They couldn't know I was related to him. And I didn't want to be arrested, either.
I took a deep breath and did another rebellious thing. Funny how contagious it is, being rebellious. Like, honestly. I've never been drunk, I don't know what pot smells like, and I've never kissed anyone. But I can guarantee you I was the first one in my friend group (except maybe Elise) to ride in the back of a police car. And even if not, I was certainly the first one to open the door with my foot and jump out when the light turned red. I guess they don't have a lot of experience arresting people... don't they usually lock the back of police cars? They didn't notice until the light turned green, either. By then, I was gone.
The closest building now was the orphanage. (I laughed a bit at this, since I was actually adopted from that very same orphanage. By my then-18-year-old dad. For some reason, people always think it's funny that I'm white but have an Asian dad... it's normal the other way around, though. Weird.) I ran into the building as fast as I possibly could, ignoring the sharp pain coming from my bleeding knee. I didn't want anyone to ask me what I was doing, so I reverted to my feminine instincts. That is, I went straight for the bathroom.
No sooner had I flung open the door than I ran into the sink with the gracefulness of a hippopotamus and fell... into a hole in the floor. Right on top of a girl who had been climbing out of the hole.
We both screamed and fell about fifteen feet into the dark. I landed on top of her and yelled a bunch of profanity. I didn't want to have killed her. On second thought, I hoped she wasn't too young, because that little outburst of swearing was a bit strong...
"Shit," said the girl I was now on top of. (Never mind about my language, then.) She freed one of her arms, and, with a clicking noise, made a really bright light appear in my face. Oh. I guess I could stand up now. And not dig my elbows into an invisible stranger's stomach. (Stupid handcuffs were still on my wrists.) She wasn't invisible now, though. She was pretty tall, like six feet, and from my terrible age approximation was about two years older than me. Also wearing a headlamp. I guess I was just gawking, though. She glared at me.
"What the hell? We just fell like five yards. I could actually be hurt right now, you know." Mystery Girl brushed herself off and stood up, too. Maybe it was the shock of having fallen into a hole in a bathroom floor, and maybe it was the stress catching up to me from my chase scene, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything. "Why were you in such a hurry, anyway?" She seemed determined to talk to me. I still didn't say anything. I'm the world's most gregarious person, and I didn't say anything. "What is your freaking problem!?" she said.
I probably looked like a deer in headlights at that point. Or, more realistically, a girl in a headlamp. Her face went from angry to exasperated. "Okay, okay. I'm not being very polite. What's your name?"
Well, that was easy and probably not rhetorical. "Xiu Li," I said. Just like the rest of the universe, she misheard me. "Well, Julie," she said, "I'm Annalisa. I'm sorry for being all pissy at you." She sighed. "Most people in the orphanage don't even know about this tunnel."
Tunnel?
I looked around the dark cavern and sure enough, there was a tunnel heading off to who knows where. It felt like a freaking movie or something. No one has secret tunnels.
"Why is there a tunnel here, anyway?" I had to know.
"The workers use it to fix the electrical cables from underneath the city. It's only been here a few years, actually. But that's not what I use it for."
You know when people say a sentence and it's beyond obvious that you have a question to ask? Yeah. That was one of them.
"What do you use it for?" I inquired. So original.
"I live here," she said. "There's a nice nook in the wall about a quarter mile down the tunnel, and I sleep there and store my stuff." I kind of (darn!) wanted to ask her about how she'd come to live in the electrical tunnels under the city. That's really not normal. I was going to ask, even! But I was interrupted.
"So, what brought you here? You're not from the orphanage."
How did I even begin to explain this?
"I'm a newly initiated juvenile delinquent," I told her. "I may have escaped a cop car." I turned around so she could see the handcuffs. I'd almost forgotten about those.
"What'd you do?" she asked.
"I was in the authorized area of the post office, because my dad works there, and this guy got really mad at me... he was insulting me, my dad, and everything. So I decked him."
"You were arrested for attacking a grown man?" She looked skeptical.
I nodded. She looked like she didn't believe me, but didn't say anything else.
I'd been so busy falling on people that I had completely ignored the problem at hand. I didn't want my dad to know about my run-in with the police. He's a nice guy, and all, but, I mean, he kind of grounded me once for staying out an hour past curfew. I didn't think I'd ever see the light of day if I went home. But I couldn't just abandon him. He was probably wondering where I was already.
I made up my mind. I wasn't going home. Even if I didn't tell Dad about the whole police thing, they'd probably recognize me, and I didn't want him to be associated with my tarnished name. (Tee, hee! I have a tarnished name!) But the least that I could do was to make it up to him somehow. OHM had mentioned my dad having to pay back his broken truck money. Maybe I could get the money somehow and pay him back.
Annalisa watched me cautiously while I thought, and spoke when I looked up. "Let's get those handcuffs off of you," she said. The best idea since sliced bread. Except that I don't actually know who thought of sliced bread. They actually probably weren't that smart, since it doesn't take a genius to figure out that it's more practical to slice the loaf of bread. Anyway, Annalisa went behind my back and did something with her hairpin. The handcuffs were on the floor in less than a minute. I pretended like I wasn't that impressed. "Thanks," I said. But it was time to talk practical matters.
"So, how do you get your food and money and stuff if you live under the city?"
She blinked. "I have a job at the shoe store."
I felt stupid. Sometimes people have legit reasons for stuff. I vowed to remember that in the future.
"Is there any chance I could get a job there, too?"
"Probably," said Annalisa. "We don't have a specific opening, but we can ask my boss. Wait, though. Where do you live?"
"I live in Castle Apartments. But I can't go home now. Not after today."
She looked like she was going to say something, and didn't. I hate it when people do that. It makes me want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them and yell WHAT WERE YOU GOING TO SAY? (Unfortunately, my fifth grade teacher didn't like that explanation.)
"Well, I guess you can stay with me for a little while, if you want." Wow, the enthusiasm was killing me here.
Even though it was midafternoon, Annalisa agreed to take me to her boss. We exited the tunnel through a manhole on the corner of Benson Street. Her boss was pretty chill, honestly. I started work that afternoon, which wasn't really worth commenting on, since all I did was be the checkout counter girl. I shuddered to think this was my future, but I had a mission. Annalisa told me to come back to the tunnel whenever I finished, and promised me she would try to get something for me to sleep on. She was being quite the hospitable hostess.
Anyway, I left around seven o'clock with 22 dollars and fifty cents. It was only when I glimpsed the grocery store on the way back to the tunnel that I remembered my promise to myself. I ducked into the grocery store and bought a loaf of bread, an orange, and a half-gallon of milk, and went to go see the guy on the roof. I went into Castle Apartments and up the stairs like a ninja, in case anyone saw me. (In case you're wondering, going up the stairs like a ninja is kind of like regular going-up-the stairs, except that you take them by twos and stick to the wall.) It's good that I'm in shape... t'was a lot of stairs.
When I came out on the roof, the guy looked kind of surprised to see me. I gave him the food, and he nodded gratefully and thanked me. Then he told me another couple of stories, almost like he owed me something for the food. I managed to figure out that his name was Dmitri.
After my little storytelling detour, I went back down the stairs and found the manhole on Benson again. I followed the light at the end of the tunnel (ha!) towards Annalisa's headlamp. "How was work?" she said absentmindedly. I blinked. We were standing in her little house-nook. There was a bed and a dresser, and even pictures hanging on the wall. It was ridiculous, and made me wonder exactly how long she'd lived there. Somehow, she'd acquired a sleeping bag for me (I tried not to think about where it had been or how she'd gotten it), which I crawled into gratefully. Ugh. I could smell myself. I really needed a shower. My knee seemed to have scabbed, though, so at least that was okay... I just hoped it didn't get infected or something.
As I fell asleep, I thought about my day. I was a delinquent girl now. I hoped Dad wasn't too worried. I promised I'd deliver the money for his truck as soon as I could. I hadn't planned what I would do after that.
Ugh. What a long day. I fell asleep on the hard tunnel floor as if it were memory foam.
No comments:
Post a Comment