On the Lips of Children Page 7

  Up ahead he saw reflections of the two bikers, seemingly on the move now, the red taillights bobbing side to side. An ambulance with its lights off and in no hurry had just driven off from their spot. Macon’s legs managed the unsteady and sinking sands of the beach, moved up toward the parking lot, and then felt the comfort of the trail below him.

  The running surface was familiar this time and felt a bit like home, until the freshness of the ocean air faded and a thicker air engulfed him. He wanted his body next to Erin’s and wished he could fast-forward to the starting line tomorrow.

  He reached for the tiny bit of metal in his short’s pockets, reassuring himself that the engagement ring wrapped in tissue paper, tinfoil, and then in a zip lock baggy was still secure in his zippered pocket. Then he untucked his headphones from his shorts, stuck them deep in one ear, half-off in the other for safety, and put his head down, getting ready to run through whatever dirt was up ahead.

  “Icky Thump” by the White Stripes seemed to agree, and he let the music go straight into his eardrums and pound through his blood to make his legs run. Having been down this trail before, the distance went by much more quickly under his feet.

  Up ahead, the bikes had stopped just before the underpass. They lined either side of the trail, and a man stood behind them, looking a bit confused, pacing in a circle. The two bikers had a friend, someone on foot, and Macon slowed. He was ready to run right between them and dash under the bridge when he heard a sickly moan.

  The man in between them had doubled over, his arms wrapped around his gut, rocking up and down gently. Somehow, he was able to keep his cigarette lit through it all. The red hots of a cigarette dangled near the tips of his finger.

  “Hey, Boss. Boss. You still out here? You made it, you made it. A little help. A little help here, Boss.”

  It was Padre-hat guy flagging him down, and Macon felt his own gut ache. Just blow right through them, he thought. Just blow right on by and let them figure this out since he was an outsider anyways.

  “What’s up?” he asked, moving his legs in place.

  “This man. This man’s messed up, Boss. We need ya about now. Look at us. What can you do?”

  Macon kept running in place. He wasn’t ready to invest in this, but took a closer look.

  The man was tiny, skinny, with tired, chocolate skin. The man glanced up at Macon, and by the look on his face, he seemed to agree there was nothing anybody could do. Smoke from his cigarette circled above him, and Macon watched helpless as the man fell to his knees.

  “He needs a hospital maybe,” Macon suggested

  “He just came from the hospital,” said Padre’s sidekick, the burn victim.

  “What’s he doing here then?”

  “They drop them off here,” said Padre. “The hospital drops them off at the beach, because they have no place to go. That’s where we have our meet and greet every morning.”

  “Yep, he got dumped off, you see,” added the sidekick, “dumped off by the hospital. This is where they dump them. Somes we keep safe; somes we feed to the family.”

  “Shut up,” said the Padre. “What he means is we got ourselves an operation here, you see, and we aren’t sure what to do. We got to get this man a little bit farther up the road.”

  “Does anybody have a phone?” Macon asked. “We can call an ambulance. Maybe he has family or someone we can call. Did you ask?”

  “No, no, Boss, you aren’t listening. If he had people, they’d have got him by now. This is where the ambulance took him because he ain’t got nothing. All he’s got is his clothes on his back, some smokes, and a Calfresh card. That’s foodstamps, Boss.”

  The man was bobbing up and down on his knees, as if to rock away whatever pain he was in, but Macon got the sense he had felt this way before. He used one hand to hold his gut, the other to light a fresh cigarette. Macon heard the click, click of the lighter, saw the flame shoot out and the man take a quick drag before turning back to his doubled-over position. It all seemed a circus trick that had been practiced to perfection.

  Macon looked around, not sure what to do, waiting for something to happen and not knowing what to make happen. Taking off running was bubbling up to the top of the list.

  Just then, an animal rustled in the ravine next to them. A critter of some sort, maybe a large opossum, was moving through the brush. Cattails in the ravine were swaying, and then two shadows darted down the path. Macon’s eyes couldn’t focus; the movement was too fast, but then he realized it was the two children, the two shadows from the pier dashing down the trail.

  And next to him, the burned-face fellow reached down, grabbed some stones, and started flinging them.

  “Little fuckers. Sewer rats.”

  “Let them be,” Padre said and grabbed him before he could throw any more.

  “Come on, man. We’re going,” said the Padre. “Sorry, chief. Gots to be going,” and he put one hand on the poor man’s back, who didn’t even flinch.

  “And you, you better follow us. ’Kay, Boss? Follow us.”

  “Don’t want to be fodder,” said the burn victim. “This one… this one’s enough for now.”

  They got on their bikes, feet ready to pedal. Macon was ready to go too, to be rid of them all, but the poor chocolate-colored skeleton was still on the ground.

  “Can I do anything for you? Can I do something?” Macon bent down toward the ailing little man.

  There was no response from him, not even a glance up. He remained doubled over, as if he’d been punched in the gut and curled up in a near fetal position right there in the trail. Can’t intervene in this whole economic system down here, Macon decided, especially with all the momentum it’s already gained. What could he do?

  “Better follow us,” said the Padre again.

  “Don’t want to be fodder,” his sidekick echoed.

  They started pedaling down the trail, and Macon ran after, leaving another poor soul behind. He tried to forget about the man—just an innocent bug stuck in a spiderweb. There are much worse tragedies, like innocent children born of undeserving heart defects.

  Macon gave one last glance backwards at the smoking man. Somehow he had risen from his knees and begun a saunter down the trail. Something still pulled the man forward. One hand was stuck on his gut, the other still smoking a cigarette. His appendix was about to break, he had a gun shot wound, he had cancer of the pancreas, any number of things, but something was terribly wrong.

  Macon was flanked on both sides by the bikers and ran underneath the underpass. If there was anybody under the bridge trying to snag his leg this time, he wouldn’t have known it, nor would he have seen them since he was cushioned by these two travelers. Once they came out the other side, both the bikers sprinted ahead, and Macon was finally alone.

  The trail was fresher now, with nobody at his side, so he put his headphones back on. Time to tune out the world, stay in his zone, stop being so distracted, and get back to his family. Up ahead, the two homeless bikers cruised on their expensive Kestrels, like little scouts, and he followed, not on purpose but just because they were there. He’d follow these men back to their tent city, past the one-armed man, and back to his waiting family. Erin was certainly getting ready to run by now, and Lyric wanted to swim.

  Chapter Eight

  Lyric’s chest hurt. She was strapped so tight in the buggy that she couldn’t move, and something wasn’t right. She tried to will herself to move, to test her magic and make the jogging stroller turn around. She wanted to see her mom, who seemed to be in trouble, but she couldn’t. She strained her head, felt shadows moving at the corner of her eye, but couldn’t see a thing.

  The plastic clickers of the belt were tough on her fingers, and she had never been able to undo them before. There was one that made her chest stay back and two others that strapped her from side to side. They were snug and tight to keep her safe, but she didn’t feel safe.

  When the little boy looked at her, she thought he was a monster. He had b
lack skin, but not like black people she knew, but dirty and nasty. She could smell him better than she could see him. And as soon as she saw his face, his sister popped up by his side.

  Lyric didn’t know what to do. No, she didn’t want to play like they had asked, but she didn’t want to answer them. They stood there staring forever, so she gave out a little wave, but that didn’t’ seem right either. Their necks craned closer into her in a way that reminded her of the dentist leaning down to look into her mouth.

  She wanted her mom; her mom was behind her somewhere, but she couldn’t see where.

  She reached into her pocket and clutched onto the plastic toy. It was a little, plastic Buzz Lightyear from McDonald’s. She wasn’t sure how old it was. Why didn’t they give out Jessie? She’d rather have Jessie.

  The boy cocked his head. He had bigger cheeks than the girl, but both had stick arms and legs and tiny eyes she could barely see. The boy moved closer and reached out his hand. She watched and wondered. Is this something they are supposed to be doing? Maybe this was part of the trail, like a ride, but where was her mother?

  The boy was right in front of her and smelled of a moldy ocean. His hand touched her leg, poked it really. She flinched and didn’t know if she should scream or cry, so she held her breath. Up closer, she could see that his skin was scaly, but not smooth-scaly like a snake. It was more like a dried piece of mud.

  His finger poked at her again, this time at her face, and he touched her right on her cheek.

  She gasped, flinched, and pressed so hard at the buckle of the strap that one of them finally snapped and came free. Now she needed to get the other ones and swing them around her head.

  “Momma. Momma,” the two children said.

  Lyric wanted to say the same thing; she wanted her momma, too.

  “I found her first,” said the girl. “I get her first. Me—I get her first.” The two kids started bumping into one another and pushing each other aside. Lyric waited for the stroller to move and to feel her mom pushing her, but instead, a shadow of a strange woman appeared.

  “Stillness. Be still. It’s okay, sweetie dear. It’s okay. You’re safe with us.”

  The voice was older, with a little accent, but the woman seemed nice. Long, dark hair hung over her face that could have been pretty, but instead it was dirty and scaly too. She knelt down in front of the stroller, and Lyric looked into her eyes. They were grandmother eyes.

  “Name. What is your name, little angel?”

  Lyric remained quiet.

  “Name… you can say. What’s your name?”

  She talked to Lyric like she was three years old or a baby or something. Lyric tried to say something back, but her voice wasn’t working and her lips trembled.

  “Shhhhhh.” The woman raised a finger to her mouth. “You don’t have to say your name. You are the angel-child.”

  The smell of this family was all around her now. She could hear the water bubbling down by the plants and wondered if this were the ocean with shells and starfish or just some kind of sewer. And what about the beach? And her daddy?

  The woman leaned over to help Lyric with the straps, but Lyric didn’t want that, so her fingers moved fast. She grabbed the snap super hard, not caring if it pinched her finger and made her cry like so many times before, and used her magic. Snap! She was able to click it off herself. With her new power, she did the next one too.

  She wanted to stand, to not be trapped in front of these three people, and then to be with her momma.

  The woman picked her up out of the stroller and carried her with scaly arms. The arms were skinny but also felt strong and solid, like they were made of nothing but bone. The boy walked on her right side and the girl to the left. They surrounded Lyric like she was a bride, a princess, or a prisoner.

  “Cave, just a cave. We explore. Your mom’s already down there. Come on.”

  They went into the grated opening by first stooping down and then walked for a while with tiny, baby steps. Lyric couldn’t see anything because it was dark and the woman had Lyric’s eyes partly covered. Momma wasn’t there like she said, but Lyric couldn’t see anyways because when she tried to move the woman’s hand away, the woman just held onto Lyric’s fingers.

  No Momma yet, but this black-haired, scaly woman was better than the two children, who were the kind she wouldn’t want to be friends with. They gave her that feeling in the pit of her stomach as though she was hungry, like they weren’t nice and she should stay away and not play with them.

  Walls were all around her. She couldn’t see them in the dark, but could just feel them, like she was a bat. She shuffled her feet on the ground, which was smooth for a bit, but then they had to dip into another part of the cave. This part was more rocky and not made of cement.

  “Safe. I got you. I got you,” the woman said to her.

  It was really dark, and Lyric felt a cry inside of her start to bubble up. It welled inside her head behind her eyes. This has to be over soon. As long as I don’t cry and can handle the smell.

  The tunnel kept getting more jagged and dusty and went downhill a little. Lyric glanced side to side. The only light was from the two childrens’ flashlights that cast shadows all over the place. Lyric shuffled her feet, wanted to turn back, but the mother was holding her hand and guiding her along.

  “Da-da-do it like this. Do it like this,” the boy was walking in a weird way on his knees down the cave, but shuffling along fast.

  “No, I do it better, see?” The girl dragged one finger, touching the wall and kicking her feet.

  The mother’s hand was flakey from dirt, but warm. Her fingers wrapped around Lyric’s hands, and she knew her own mom must be close. Mothers stick with mothers. This had to be. This was how they do things in this California. “California’s different,” her mother had told her. They have numbers on the menu that her dad said was calories. They have traffic that zooms, then stops; zooms, then stops; and some people drive with a fake person in their seat so they can go in the commuter lane.

  Shadows kept moving all around from the childrens’ flashlights. They wouldn’t stay still. “The dark. I know the way in the dark,” the mother whispered to Lyric, sensing she was afraid they’d get too far away and it would all go black. Finally they stopped and came upon big rocks, or cement pieces, next to a big wooden plank, and right by it, a ladder went down. The two children plopped down, one and then the other, and the mother lifted Lyric so she barely had to touch the ladder before she landed below.

  This area seemed bigger than the tunnel part. She could make out walls like it was its own regular room. On the floor she saw a brown wrapper with blue letters, and it looked like a ripped-up Snickers wrapper. With her head to the ground, she counted more of them: Milky Ways, Hersheys, Twix bars. Her foot kicked an object that went tussling across the floor. She was worried she spilled something, but then saw it was just an empty Spring Mountain water bottle.

  “Is my mommy in here?” she asked.

  Nobody answered. She felt a scrape on her leg from the cave rocks, but didn’t want to say anything. It could even be bleeding, but she was scared to let them know she was afraid, so just clenched her insides tight and her lips even tighter.

  This woman would help her. She was a mommy. Mommies help, right?

  She wished she had a flashlight. The children carried them in their hands and were running around shooting the light everywhere. She could hear the pitter-patter of their running feet.

  “I’ll beat you,” the little girl said, but the boy was already running off. They both ran down a dark tunnel leading from the other side of the room. She could hear the noise of their feet bouncing off the walls until they got far enough away that the noise disappeared. She thought about Max and wondered if she would have been faster than him. Mommy said she’d see Max some day in heaven and would point to the sky.

  But Lyric felt very far from the sky deep in this place. The air seemed like a cold cloud, and it made her feel dirty all around. The
children don’t live here, do they?

  Maybe when her mom comes here, it could be fun to explore. Mom would put Lyric on her back, and it would be like one of their hikes. She always felt safer on Mommy’s back instead of being pushed in the stroller, with its plastic wheels that made it hard to hear her mommy and impossible to see anything except what was in front of her.

  Then she heard the two kids come running back. The boy was first, but Lyric knew that was because he didn’t run as far as his sister did. He had turned around early and ran back. Their feet sounded like little hands smacking against a wall.

  “Wa-wa-wa. I won,” said the boy, who she now realized had a stammer, and he sat down right in the middle of the room.

  Lyric didn’t want to sit by the boy, but the mommy was holding her hand and brought her over next to him. Lyric moved along and sat down. The ground was cold, and she could tell it was incredibly dirty.

  The mother set a lantern in the middle of the room, and it shone in a yellow circle. On the outskirts of the room little tables were set up. Jugs of water, buckets, and piles and piles of big-people’s dirty clothes were all over. Rope was in a pile on the floor, and a white, plastic grocery bag hung open so she could see a bunch of batteries inside. The middle of the room where they sat was lined with blankets and pillows, and it looked like a camp. There was a table in front of them, and they were building some kind of puzzle out of dinosaur bones. Lyric put one hand in her pocket and thought about pulling out the Buzz Lightyear toy, but was worried they would take it from her.

  The little girl kept staring at Lyric, sitting on her knees, but then getting back up to stand and then sitting down again. Her green shirt had a design of something on it, but Lyric couldn’t make out what it was. The boy sat next to her with his legs crossed like two sticks, but he was so excited he couldn’t keep them still. Every time he moved, it made her smell the stink. It reminded her of when her daddy took her fishing and the worms were yucky and slimy, but she touched them anyways.