Seligman_At the Edge_1st ptg_3P.indd Read online

Ash wrapped the leash tightly around his hand. He was a

  skinny upside-down triangle, with heavy dark blond dreads

  that ran down his back and a single patch of beard on his chin.

  A T T H E E D G E O F T H E H A I G H T

  11

  He had one tattoo, what looked like a loop of string, in the

  crease of his right arm.

  He handed me the end of a bottle of Wild Turkey and

  headed off toward the shelter. It was edging colder, and the

  sun was dissolving into thin layers of pink and blue on its

  way behind the trees. I didn’t see anyone I knew. They would

  be at the shelter, bunched up in line, waiting to get a bed, or

  disappearing back into the park. I headed around the corner

  to an empty flat where someone had jacked open a window

  last week. Word got out. We knew, even if we didn’t stay there,

  because you never knew what you were going to find in a squat.

  There were already six kids on the cracked concrete steps

  out front. I held up the bottle of Wild Turkey and sat next

  to the one guy I’d seen before, Serenity. He sold the same

  weed as everyone, except he named it after himself. People

  remembered and they came looking. He smiled and passed

  me a joint. I tried to turn it down, but he narrowed his eyes

  in disappointment and I took it, inhaled deeply, and handed

  him my bottle. My head was spinning because I hadn’t eaten

  anything since breakfast. I leaned back and looked at the bright blue apartment building across the street. It had what looked

  like real gold trim along the roof and windows that curved

  out over the sidewalk. A man on the top floor inched a pot

  onto a table. Steam rose up and started fogging the window. I

  imagined going over there for dinner, eating whatever was in

  the pot. I would be sitting across from him and it would be like

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  K AT H E R I N E S E L I G M A N

  every other dinner he had. Except for me. I was set to wave if

  he looked out, but he didn’t.

  Serenity passed me the end of the joint and I took a hit. He

  put an arm around my shoulder and led me up the stairs to the

  front door, which was cracked and looked like it had been glued

  back together. I let myself unwind the tiniest bit. The front room had a stained couch, a metal lamp bent in half and boxes of

  what looked like rusted nails. The carpet was rolled to one side.

  I sat on the couch, put my head back, tried not to think about

  the guy in the park, and closed my eyes, hopefully signaling that I would be out of contact for a while. I was drifting, buzzed

  from the weed, when the jamming started, first Serenity on his

  harmonica, then a kid with a banjo and someone drumming

  on a plastic bucket with chop sticks that made a hollow, sharp

  sound. Another kid danced around the room, working his hips,

  pawing the air with his hands. Someone brought out cups of

  crusted lentils that the Civil Food people had handed out in

  the park in the morning and cans of Red Bull from the guy who

  drove around in a car shaped like a giant soda can. You’d wave

  at him and he’d toss cans out the window. He didn’t care how

  many times you waved. I sipped the sharp sweet liquid to force

  down the cold lentils. It was pointless to try to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I would see that kid laying in the park, just on the other side of living who knows what kind of life.

  C H A P T E R 3

  Most of the time I could shut out everything else and talk to

  myself like I was another person. The first time I cut school I

  looked in the bathroom mirror. “Maddy,” I said, taking myself

  in, “what are we going to do?” And I knew I would go to the

  beach, hang out, walk by the house I used to live in, which is

  exactly what happened. But sitting on the couch, still speed-

  ing on Red Bull and fear, I could not force the conversation.

  I made myself stare up at a hole in the ceiling, right above me.

  With both eyes open it was an egg about to drop, but if I closed one it was a far-away star. Fixing on that kept me from thinking back on what happened. Maybe the kid in the park had gotten

  up and walked away. How did I know? I hadn’t gotten close

  enough to touch him.

  Near morning the room was quiet, but my brain felt like

  someone was in there moving furniture. I was jumpy and sweaty

  when I heard a knock on the door. Through the crack I could

  see Ash and Root, his nose wedged at the bottom of the door.

  Ash’s dreads hung in a wet clump down his back and his eyes

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  K AT H E R I N E S E L I G M A N

  were red, but at least he’d gotten a bed last night. They opened the shelter every winter, but there were always too many of us.

  We lined up if it was cold or rainy, even though we all felt the same way about the rules. If you got a bed, you had to be inside before eight at night, no coming and going, and leave at eight

  each morning. They said they wanted you looking for work

  or going to school or attending to your future, which was not

  sitting around in there doing nothing. So mostly we hung on

  the street, at the park or the library, as soon as it opened since they had to let you in there.

  Root ran at me and jumped up, reaching to lick my face. I

  hugged him and then told him to get down. Ash followed me

  into the living room. People were asleep all over the floor and

  Root roamed the room, smelling everyone, first around the face

  and then getting more personal.

  “Root, off,” I whisper screamed when he stuck his nose on

  the half-naked butt of the guy who’d been dancing the night

  before. He rolled over and pulled his shirt down over his

  sagging jeans without opening his eyes. Ash laughed, until I put my hand over his mouth.

  “Will you just shut it for a minute?” I said. “Except for him,”

  I pointed at Serenity, curled in a corner next to his pack, “I have no idea who these guys are. How’d you know where I was?”

  “He knew,” he said, pointing at Root, who was trying to

  jump on me again. It shouldn’t have surprised me because every

  particle in the universe left notes for him to follow. “I figured you’d be here. Where else were you going to crash?”

  A T T H E E D G E O F T H E H A I G H T

  15

  He was right. Anyone could know where I was. I looked

  around at the windows and hal way, thinking which way I’d go

  if the man from the park showed up.

  “He missed you last night,” said Ash, patting Root’s head.

  “Barked his ass off at some cop who came by asking about a kid

  who got carved up in the park. He wanted to know if anyone

  knew him or saw what happened. And then I remembered how

  you came booming out of there yesterday.”

  “I never saw that kid before yesterday,” I said.

  “Maddy, what the . . .” Ash’s voice trailed off. “You knew him?”

  “I didn’t know him,” I said. “But I might have watched him die.”

  Just saying it out loud, I knew it was true. It made my heart

  jam again, like my chest was splitting open. It was strangling

  the air out of me. I started panting and I could barely see Ash

  or Root.

  Ash took my arm and pulled me down the hall into the

/>   kitchen. He looked for a cup but couldn’t find one, so he

  scooped his hands under the faucet and brought them to my

  face. I gulped, half of the water dripping down my chin. My

  breathing settled, enough to notice the wreck in front of me.

  Paper plates with crusty noodles and pizza crusts sat on the

  cracked tile counter. Sacks of trash were pushed up against the

  sink. The smell of rot and the clutching inside my chest made

  me gag.

  “Hey,” said Ash, leading me to a stairwell at the back of the

  kitchen. “What happened?”

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  K AT H E R I N E S E L I G M A N

  I told him how Root had run off into the bushes where the

  kid was lying on the ground and we’d walked into the man who

  was standing there, almost like he was waiting for us. I could tell Ash wasn’t sure if I was telling it straight. It’s not like I didn’t make stuff up, Ash said. I put my hand flat on his chest so he

  would get it, I was serious. I told him how the man yelled he

  knew where to find me and how he looked not all there. Maybe

  Root had watched it all happen, but I’d only seen the body.

  “That is so fucked up,” said Ash.

  “You’re sure the guy who maybe killed him didn’t just show

  up at the shelter?” I said.

  “He said he wanted to know what happened. Why would

  some dude who stabbed someone pretend to be a cop and then

  go out asking about it?”

  “I don’t know. So he can take care of me, like he did with

  that kid?”

  “That’s twisted, even for you.”

  I knew how the undercover cops dressed and how they

  watched us on the street. It wasn’t a big secret. They would

  stand on the corner, try to talk to us. How you doing? You’ve

  looked better. What happened to your shoes? One used to wear

  a leather hat and reflector sunglasses so big you could check

  yourself out. We’d walk by, say hey, and he’d stand there, a statue taking it all in. Then last Christmas he brought a bag of peanut butter sandwiches and new socks and left it on the corner for us.

  We never saw him after that. I couldn’t tell anymore who was a

  cop or who wasn’t. Everything had changed after yesterday.

  A T T H E E D G E O F T H E H A I G H T

  17

  We walked down the street and Root pulled on his leash,

  trying to get back to the park. We could hear the creaking of

  metal gates being rolled up, a bus beeping as it pulled over to

  let people off. The fog was starting to melt but it still threw

  the street out of focus. The mural on the corner was a blur of

  yellow and red roses, with giant letters, LOVE, floating in the

  middle. Ash picked up a piece of cardboard from a trashcan

  and stuffed it under his arm. I thought about sitting on the

  sidewalk with a sign, NEED BUS $, so I could go back to Los

  Angeles, somewhere so big that no one saw you. I could get

  myself into beauty school like everyone told me to, and forget

  about the guy who was after me. I could apologize for going

  away, for thinking I could figure everything out on my own.

  C H A P T E R 4

  I pulled off my sweatshirt and dropped it on the pavement

  for Root, who circled a few times and then col apsed on top.

  The sun was still trying to break through a thin paste of white

  clouds. We sat in front of the empty sneaker store that used to

  be full of brightly colored shoes parked in rows like cars at a lot in Los Angeles. The manager would tell us he was going to cal

  the cops if we set up outside and then he’d flick his fists open and closed so we would think about police lights. People used

  to line up all night and sleep on the street for their big events.

  Then a guy would toss the first pair of shoes, free, into the crowd in the morning. People shoved and jumped to get them because

  someone famous had signed his name on the side. Ash said one

  time a kid who’d caught a pair got shot, but he’d stood up and

  walked away, cradling the shoes in his arms. A few weeks ago,

  the store closed and now no one cared if we sat in the doorway.

  Someone had spray-painted a tree on the window and the words

  HAPPY CHRISTMAS in bright red, even though it was just past

  Halloween. It was an invite to draw on the tree, so people had

  A T T H E E D G E O F T H E H A I G H T

  19

  scribbled words, added a ring of black roses and a tiny man with his tongue hanging out. I’d made a picture of Root with his nose up in the air, except no one but me could tell what it was.

  Ash handed me a bagel from a sack he’d found outside

  the grocery store down the street. I broke it in half and Root

  swallowed his piece fast while I gnawed on mine. People walked

  by like it was another normal day. The world hadn’t jolted to a

  stop and thrown everyone off the surface and into space. Ash

  said it would be stupid to go back to Los Angeles. He’d hitched

  down there once and it was worse. Everyone was all pumped up,

  about to go over the edge. No one cared what happened to you.

  He took his cardboard and laid it down on the pavement

  while he wrote. HOMELESS ANYTHING HELPS. His signs

  were always straight up honest. He was the most no bullshit

  guy around. BUY ME A SLICE. $$ FOR BEER. Not something

  like KARMA STATION, or showing up with a pan, as in, we get

  it, panhandle.

  Even without a sign, people would still drop coins on the

  sweatshirt in front of Root. They figured poor dog, he was

  hungry, which he wasn’t. He ate more than we did. Ash said

  he was going to get a dog, or a kid, so people would give more

  freely. He was sitting next to me, knees crossed.

  “Dough, dough, dough for burrito,” he sang out. “I don’t

  smoke crack.”

  A woman with a bob of curly white hair and a small gray

  poodle smiled at Root. She leaned down and put a dol ar on

  the sweatshirt.

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  K AT H E R I N E S E L I G M A N

  “See what I mean?” said Ash. “It’s better not to be human.”

  I was still in a daze from the lack of sleep and the weed and

  my worn-out nerves. I hugged my knees and looked down at

  Root, sleeping. Dogs could turn it on and off. No why did I do

  that last night? What will happen if I do the other thing? Who

  is out to get me? He half barked and kicked his hind legs in his sleep.

  “Hey,” said Fleet from behind me, grabbing a chunk of my

  hair and twiddling it in her fingers. Her tattered sweater hung

  down to her knees. She had pulled her coarse strawberry blond

  hair into a bun. The gauges in her ears were the size of quarters.

  Her nails, caked in dirt, had an inch on them. There was a

  time when I would have minded them in my hair, but now I

  wasn’t that picky. She sat down next to me and put her arm

  around my back. She smelled of weed, beer, eucalyptus trees,

  and stale sleeping bag. It was probably the same way I smelled

  but didn’t notice until I got a whiff on someone else. I know

  people looked at me when I walked into the library or went to

  the coffee house down the street that let us use the bathroom. I knew they were seeing my knotted hair and beat-up jeans, but

/>   they were also following my smell.

  “Where is Tiny?” I said.

  “With his father,” she said. “Custody thing.” Then she pulled

  him out from under her sleeve.

  I forced myself to smile. There was a world outside my head

  and I had to try to live in it.

  “Hey, Tiny.” I put a finger on the top of his head.

  A T T H E E D G E O F T H E H A I G H T

  21

  Fleet looked bent. She could drink a handle of anything and

  still be walking and she’d try whatever was around. I liked her

  quiet presence, the way she would slide over and check up on

  me. She would give me her last money, even though she didn’t

  expect me to pay her back. She never expected anything, not

  after her parents split up and fought over who was going to

  take her. They left her with friends and someone called Granny,

  who wasn’t, until they lost custody. She couldn’t remember

  what they looked like. The thing was, Fleet could go home if

  she wanted. Her foster mom kept a room for Fleet even though

  she kicked her out a few years ago when she’d turned eighteen,

  saying she was turning off the faucet for her own good. But

  Fleet still called her Mom and would go over to the other side

  of the bay and stay a few days, until the two of them started

  fighting. She said her mom had a nose like a dog that smelled

  for drugs at the airport and she’d come near and start sniffing.

  Last summer her mom posted signs around the Haight with a

  picture of Fleet from years ago in a blue shirt, her hair in neat braids. LOST AND AT RISK, it said, under the picture. Fleet

  had ripped down all the signs, said she wasn’t her real mom

  but she acted like Fleet was her private property. She could

  go where she wanted. “And really, lost?” she said. “Am I lost?”

  She opened her eyes wide, the way she did when she wanted to

  make a point. “Hello. I’m here. If she fucking wanted to know.”

  We sat there, our heads together, not talking, when Hope

  walked up and slammed down next to us. Her spiky black hair

  looked like it could cut you open. It’s not that she didn’t have

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  K AT H E R I N E S E L I G M A N

  a sweet side. She could turn it on when she needed to and she

  knew exactly when that was. She said her parents had called her