My mother didn’t care where I was. I had suspected it, but the confirmation was a blow. She was living her life as though I weren’t missing. It wouldn’t matter to her that I was living on the streets.
She just didn’t care.
I brought my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs, watching the sun dip lower and lower. The smell of smoke drifted on the breeze, music and laughter sounding so far away.
I stared out towards the river as the day disappeared. I felt dirty and sticky and I wished I could take a shower. I was starting to forget what it felt like to be clean.
I was lonely. But it wasn’t a new feeling. I realized I had always felt that way. Even when I was surrounded by friends. Even when my mother and I were in the same room.
My heart clinched painfully.
I wasn’t alone with Yoss.
For the first time in my sixteen years I felt as though someone genuinely cared about me. My needs came first. My comfort. My happiness. My safety.
I missed Yoss.
I hated when he was gone.
I hated even more where he went.
I tried not think about the things he was doing. Or with whom. Manny’s army of baby-faced hustlers was common knowledge. I noticed that he moved in on the youngest kids, making them feel wanted. Important. That was why Yoss had lied about my age. Manny knew that the youngest were the most desirable. Not only for the men he sold them to. But it was easier to take advantage of their youth.
He wasn’t the classic abusive pimp. He was much, much worse.
He was…nice.
I had learned that Manny didn’t protect his kids with violence and fists. He wouldn’t have been able to do that. He wasn’t tough. He didn’t have muscles. He couldn’t fight.
Instead he used his charm. His affable demeanor. And he used the money he earned off the backs of the boys and girls he claimed to take care of.
He was the king of our sordid kingdom. No one messed with him because at some point, everyone needed what he could offer.
Food. Clothes. Drugs.
He had it all and he shared it with those that pleased him.
You didn’t cross Manny.
You either loved him or you were left out in the cold.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there as the sun continued to set. Then I saw a familiar figure walking along the bank. He was coming from the direction of town, his head bent low, his shoulders slouched. He had his hands tucked into his jeans and he dragged his feet as he moved slowly towards the bridge. He moved stiffly, as though in pain.
My heart instantly leapt at the sight of him. And then it fell just as fast.
This is what broken looked like.
He was almost upon me before he finally looked up, finding me sitting there on my pile of crumpled rock, watching him.
“Hey,” he said softly and his voice sounded strange. Tight. Strangled.
“Hey,” I said back. I studied his face closely. His eyes were dull. His lips red and swollen. There was a cut on the side of his cheek that bled sluggishly.
“Can I join you?” he asked and I nodded.
I wanted to ask him if he was okay, but I knew he’d only tell me a lie.
And I couldn’t stomach his dishonesty.
“Why are you over here by yourself? Are you okay?” Yoss asked, sitting close, but not touching.
I wanted to tell him everything. About Amanda’s visit. About my mom. About how much I wanted to cry.
But I looked up into his face and I couldn’t.
Here was a boy barely holding himself together. He seemed as though he wanted to curl into himself. I wanted to shield him from everything horrible. Everything ugly.
Just as he had been trying to do for me.
Yossarian Frazier wasn’t an overly complicated person. He was smart. He was thoughtful. He was generous and kind. He was loyal to a fault.
And he was someone who had been forced to make choices that would shatter most people. I could see the fragments being chipped away little by little as he struggled to hold on.
Yet he still sat beside me, with concern on his face, wanting to know if I was all right. When it was obvious he wasn’t.
So I wouldn’t add my baggage to his overburdened shoulders. I couldn’t do that to him.
“I’m fine. Just wanted some alone time. It was getting a little loud over there,” I said with as sincere a smile as I could muster.
Yoss glanced over my shoulder towards where his friends were hanging out and nodded. “I get that.”
We both stared up into the sky—red, orange, purple, vibrant, violent colors.
“Did you ever read fairytales as a kid?” I asked him suddenly.
Yoss frowned and gave me an amused smile. His too red lips stretching uncomfortably. “Yeah, I guess so. Why?”
I shrugged. “I always liked the idea of a happily ever after. That no matter what horrible things happened to people, everything ended up exactly how it should. With the perfect kiss. The fancy wedding. The evil stepsisters being forced to work as maids in the castle.” I laughed self-consciously. “I think maybe now more than any other time in my life, I could use a fairytale ending.”
I startled at the feel of Yoss’s hand on mine. He carefully, so gently, laced our fingers together.
Palm to palm.
“Tell me a story then, Imi. I want to hear a happy ending.”
A happy ending.