You Think It, I'll Say It(50)

As I ran errands, I’d wear soccer shorts from high school and T-shirts that I’d have perspired through in the back; passing by the cafés, I’d feel hulking and monstrous, and sometimes, to calm down, I would count. I always started with my right hand, one number for each finger except my pinkie: thumb, one; index finger, two; middle finger, three; third finger, four. Then I’d go to the left hand, then back to the right. I knew this wasn’t the most normal thing in the world, but I thought the fact that I didn’t count high was a good sign. I might have worried for myself if I’d reached double or triple digits, but staying under five felt manageable. Anyway, counting was like hiccups; after a few blocks, I’d realize that while I’d been thinking of something else, the impulse had gone away.



* * *



—

The following week, as soon as I entered the shelter, Alaina jumped up from the hall bench holding a grocery bag and, offering each item for my inspection, withdrew a box of markers, a packet of construction paper, two vials of glitter, a tube of glue, and a carton of tiny American flags whose poles were toothpicks. “The kids can make Uncle Sam hats,” she said. “For the Fourth of July.”

In the last week, I had decided that my initial reaction to Alaina had been unfair; she hadn’t done anything truly strange or offensive. But in her presence again, I was immediately reminded of a hyper, panting dog with bad breath.

“Then we’ll have a parade,” she continued. “You know, get in the spirit.”

“We’re not allowed to take the kids outside.” Not only that, but if our paths crossed with theirs in the world—if, say, I saw Tasaundra and her mother at the Judiciary Square Metro stop—I was not even supposed to speak to them. I also wasn’t supposed to learn their last names.

“Inside, then,” Alaina said. “We’ll have the first annual super-duper New Day House indoor parade. And for next week I was thinking we could do dress-up. I found some of my bridesmaid dresses that I’m sure Tasaundra and Na’Shell would think are to die for. So when you go home, look in your closet and see what you have—graduation gowns, Halloween costumes.”

I thought of my half-empty closet. Unlike Alaina, apparently, I actually wore all my clothes.

I then watched as she walked into the dining room and said, in a loud, fake-forlorn voice, “I can’t find anyone to play with. Are there any fun boys or girls in here who’ll be my friends?”

I imagined the mothers scowling at her, though what I heard were the screams of the kids, followed by the squeaks and thuds of their feet as they hurried across the linoleum floor. I wondered if Alaina thought that winning them over so quickly was an achievement.

In the basement—Karen arrived shortly after we’d gone down—the hat-making occurred with a few hitches, most notably when Na’Shell spilled the red glitter on the floor, then wept, but it didn’t go as badly as I’d hoped. “Great idea, Alaina,” Karen said.

Alaina stood. “Okay, everyone,” she said. “Parade time.” She set a cylinder of blue construction paper on top of her head—of course she had made one for herself. “Do I look exactly like Lady Liberty?”

The kids regarded her blankly. But pretty soon, they’d all lined up. As we left the playroom—I was in the middle, holding Derek’s hand—I heard singing. It was Alaina, I realized, and the song was “America the Beautiful.” And she was really belting it out. Had I only imagined her jittery, inhibited persona from the week before?

We cut through the dining room, where the only person present was Svetlana, the shelter employee on duty Monday night. She was sitting at a table filling out a form, and she blinked at us as we walked around the periphery of the room. By then, Alaina was singing “The Star-Spangled Banner” and Mikhail was blowing a kazoo whose origins I was unsure of. From behind her, I looked at Alaina’s awful hair, her cotton sleeveless sweater, which was cream-colored and cabled, and her dry and undefined upper arms.

Back in the stairwell, I saw that Alaina was going up.

“Hey,” I said.

She didn’t stop.

“Hey.”

She looked at me over one shoulder.

“Those are the bedrooms,” I said.

“So?”

“I think we should respect their privacy.”

“But look how cute the kids are.” Alaina leaned over and cupped Derek’s chin with one hand. “What a handsome boy you are, Derek,” she crooned. She straightened up and said to me, “I’m sure it’s fine.”

I looked at her face, and I could see that this wasn’t about challenging me, that, in fact, I had nothing to do with it. This really was about the parade; something in the situation had made her giddy in a way I myself had never, ever been—utterly unself-conscious and eager. Her chest rose and fell as if she’d been exercising, she was panting a little, and as she smiled, I could see her big front teeth and gums, I could see the mustache of pale hairs above her lip, her uneven skin, her bright and happy eyes. She was experiencing a moment of profound personal triumph, though nothing was occurring that was remotely profound or triumphant. It was a Monday evening; these were children; and really, underneath it all, weren’t we just killing time, didn’t none of it matter?

“Karen, don’t you feel like we should stay down here?” I said.