Take Me With You(2)

You're not like other people.

These people don't know pain. They don't know loneliness. They might know fleeting discomfort, but they don't know the persistent agony of being an outsider. People like them have made me who I am.

I remember when I first spotted Vesper Rivers. It's an odd name, I know. Her mom is—was—a hippie. I wasn't hunting for anyone when it happened, though I always keep my options open. I was at the grocery store after a long day of work. Covered in sweat and muck, my clothes stained with paint and tar, I just wanted to grab something fast, and I was too tired from a week of prowling nights and working days to think about much else. That's when I saw her, walking through the cereal aisle. She had on a tiny top: a rust-colored halter with strings that wrapped around her neck. It was short, the waist of her shorts going just above her belly button so that when she moved, I'd see hints of her tight stomach. Her cutoff shorts barely covered her ass and made way for long, shapely legs. Her brown hair with hints of gold was long and feathered—a lot like that Farrah poster everyone has pinned up these days. But this girl, she was far more beautiful. Like an undiscovered gem just sitting in a pile of rocks and dirt. A long, elegant arm sloped down to a small hand. A boy. He must have been around eight. He couldn't be her son. She's too young.

“You like that one, Johnny?” she asked, bent at the waist to be at his level. Her voice, it was extra sweet for the little boy.

He nodded. His arm was crooked, one of his legs bent in awkwardly, and his mouth was contorted. He was different. Handicapped. And she was so kind to him. Maybe she wasn't like the others. Maybe she was something in between people like them and people like me.

That's when she felt me staring. I'm usually discreet. I've mastered watching people, hiding in plain sight, but she stunned me. She looked over, catching my eyes for a millionth of a second before I turned away. I couldn't let her see my face, and I was grateful it was covered in dirt and tar, hiding its subtleties.

I hastily went to the register with whatever was in my hands so I could get to my car before she got to hers. I waited for another fifteen minutes until she emerged from the store, a bag in one hand and the little boy dragging his feet holding the other. He was smiling. I don't understand how he could have been happy. I know how cruel this world can be to those of us who wear our imperfections on the outside.

She got into a white Grand Prix, looked like a '73. I later learned my hunch was off by a year. I took note of the plates. I watched her leave. Then I followed far enough behind for her not to notice me.

And here I am in her house a couple of weeks later. It's not my first time, either.

I snatch a picture I don't think she'll miss much as it was mostly tucked behind another. In it, she's sitting on a log, a lake as a backdrop. She's laughing, of course, her head thrown back to show her white grin. A necklace glints at her throat.

They'll smile at you then laugh behind your back.

I glance at the clock on her nightstand. It's embedded in this porcelain unicorn statue, and I hope for her sake that it's another remnant from her younger days. I need to get out of here. I don't want to cut it close and blow this one. Besides, I have a date I need to prepare for tonight.

I open up a small jewelry box, covered in multicolored rhinestones. There's a few pieces intertwined inside, but I notice the gold crescent moon attached to a necklace. It's the same one as the picture. It's mine now.

Like my last visit to her home, I have something for her. I pull out a roll of twine and place it under the seat cushion of the chair that holds her teddy bear. Patience.





“I'm doing some last minute shopping for the trip. Keep an eye on your brother. He's inside watching TV,” my mother says as she walks to her car parked on the sidewalk. It's a hot, sunny day, so I've decided to wash my car in our driveway. My stepdad is paying for my school, but daily living comes out of my pocket, and I save money in every way I can, including car washes.

“Sure, mom,” I reply unenthusiastically. Not because I don't love watching Johnny, no, he's my world. It's because he doesn't seem to be hers. I know all about that. I've pretty much raised myself, but Johnny has handicaps. He was born with his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck and, as a result, has cerebral palsy and a few other issues. He needs her. But she just came back from the Caribbean two weeks ago, and now it's off to Egypt with my stepdad for another two weeks.

She's oblivious to my tone, or she just doesn't care because she's already driving away. I drop my sponge and go inside to see how Johnny's doing. He's sitting crossed-legged in front of The Electric Company, bouncing up and down, and moving his good hand to the rhythm Easy Reader's signing. Johnny moves his lips, but nothing comes out. He's almost entirely mute. Sometimes when he's angry or elated, incoherent sounds escape his throat, but for the most part, he's silent.

“Johnny. I'm washing the car outside. Do you want to help?”

He either ignores me or is too enraptured by the show to hear me. “Hey,” I say, walking in front of him to block his view. “Did you hear me, sweetie?”

He leans to the side to look past my legs. Clearly I am an annoying distraction. “Okay. Well, if you need anything, I'll be right outside. Okay?”

He nods without making eye contact, still rocking to the song. I ruffle his hair up, open the curtain so I can see into the living room from outside, and head back out.