Vacant(3)

I crest the hill on my street, nearly completing my three miles, and see her setting out the trash. New girl is looking around nervously, probably in hopes of going undetected since she's barely dressed in her tiny shorts and tank top. It's not leaving a whole hell of a lot to the imagination, and my mind wanders as I catch a glimpse at her ass. I see her throw a couple of empty boxes to the curb then turn and rush inside. I'm close enough that I can see the blackened bottoms of her feet as she scurries inside, then wonder how often she goes without shoes.

A few days pass before I see her again as I return from my run. This time she's leaving a few plastic grocery sacks out for the trash. Once again, she's dressed in the same tank and shorts she wore on Sunday. After my cool down stretch, I make my way inside and gather my things to shower. Only then does it occur to me that I haven't heard the water turn on in neighbor girl's unit at any point since she moved in, not even a toilet flush. The only sound I hear from her side of the wall is the crying each night. I recall her statement about not having electricity. I'm guessing she doesn't have the water turned on yet, either.

A knot forms in my stomach.

Don't get involved. Keep things simple. Take care of yourself!

I can't help it and walk out my door, knocking on hers seconds later. It takes a moment before I realize I'm only wearing my shorts, but it's too late. She opens the door a crack and eyes me.

"Ethan," she greets, and then opens the door a little wider, looking around cautiously.

"Emily, right?"

"Yeah. What's up?" She's smiling again, just like when we met.

"I noticed that you, um...don't have electricity yet, and you don't have water either, huh?" She bites the inside of her cheek nervously.

"No." Her reply is so small, just like she is, and I can tell she's embarrassed.

"Come on," I say, motioning for her to follow me. "You can shower and wash your clothes at my place. I pay a flat fee for the water, so you using it won't cost me any more money."

Don't get involved. Keep things simple. Take care of yourself!

It's too late, though. I'm already involved. It's no longer simple, and for the first time ever, I'm offering to care for someone other than myself.

We sit in silence for quite some time, and I can tell she's nervous about telling me what's going on. I don't want to force her. When she's ready, she'll let me know. As I wait, I realize it's the first quiet night I've had since she moved in.

I really don't want to make assumptions because things aren't always what they appear. However, as I sit playing protector to this girl, scenarios run rampant through my mind. She has very few clothes. Irregular bathing does not bother her. She is careful, but trusting - not at all shy. She's young and alone; she has no furniture and no utilities. All evidence points to her being parentless and homeless.

I can relate.

Don't get involved.

Keep things simple.

Take care of yourself!

_

Don't get involved.

Keep things simple.

Take care of yourself!

_

Don't get involved.

Keep things simple.

Take care of yourself!

_

No matter how many times I recite the mantra in my head, it's useless. This life isn't suited to girls who are alone, no matter how equipped they are to deal with the shit life flings at them. Women are taken advantage of in the blink of an eye when the opportunity is given. I make a mental note to be sure Emily doesn't suffer the same fate, particularly by my hand. I'm sitting on Emily's mattress, my head against our shared wall. She's leaning into my side, quiet, in what I hope is peaceful sleep.

After thinking this situation over for a while I shake my head, realizing I've already talked myself into this, into helping Emily; I find it nearly impossible not to now. Eventually, I drift off with determination and the realization I've opened a big-assed can of worms... for both of us.

Hours later, my inner alarm clock wakes me. There is a little drool on my shoulder and it's kind of gross. I lay Homeless Girl down on her bare mattress and make note to bring over an extra set of sheets. Who knows where she even got the mattress? I'm sure it's infested with who-knows-what. I may be poor, but I like clean. There are some things that shouldn't be bought in used condition. Shoes, underwear, and mattresses quickly spring to mind.

During my run, I think about the upheaval I'm getting myself into, and the reality of the situation is weighing heavily upon me. As a kid, I was lucky enough to be moved to a safe place where all my basic needs were met. I never had to fend for myself in the physical sense; emotionally, though? That was another story. I run an extra two miles trying to process everything. I decide this is my chance to pay it forward. I ignore my mantra as it only serves to confuse me further at this point. The fact remains I've already gotten involved, and I try to rationalize how much trouble one small girl can really be. Part of me feels like it's none of my business what her personal situations is, but if I'm going to help her, then I want some basic information. She doesn't have to tell me her life story, but I need to know her circumstances.

After I get home from work and knock on the bedroom wall, I chuckle to myself thinking it may as well be a shower curtain for all the privacy the thin, flimsy wall provides. I yell, telling homeless neighbor girl I've ordered pizza and she should come join me for dinner.