A Vagrant Story (29 page)

“Let’s hope all’s finished before that storm gets here,” Rum said.

“Storm?” Sierra asked.

“Old Len warned us there was a storm due. Just look out there at that snowfall, bet my right nut it’s building to something. We haven’t had it this bad in some years.”

“Snow has been a bit sparse over the past years. Come to think of it, it only really snows around Christmas these days, and melts the next day.”

“Tell me about it. Last year they promised nothing but sunshine for Christmas, next day I wake up under a mound of cold white crap. Last time I ever listened to the news for the weather.”

“Come on Rum, they can’t always get it right, especially not on Christmas. Christmas is … special. Snow on Christmas is like a tiny miracle for a lot of people.”

“It’s something special alright. Everyone else gets to stare in awe while it makes our lives hell. People need to start praying for better miracles.”

“Suppose I was just raised to think of Christmas that way.”

“Your old foster father a religious type?”

“Not really. His fiancé, Maria, was sort of into that stuff though. Maybe some of it rubbed off on me. More likely I’ve built a self nurtured fear of God over time.”

“Why fear?”

“Because at some point God decided to make four worthless people and turn them into four worthless bums. If there was any sense in that decision it was nothing but humour. If God laughs at that then he should be feared. It’s not like I don’t think He’s there. I always feel him around, but we never seem to be on good terms. Others might feel Him and love Him. I feel Him and fear Him.”

With a howl, the wind flushed under the bridge, whooshing in with a hail of snowfall. The fire flickered like a wavering spirit vanishing in and out of existence.

Rum dived over to shield it. “Henry! We told you to watch the fire!”

The little man lay slumbering with a discarded takeout wrapper in hand. He must have dozed while trying to keep the fire lit using what litter lay about. He seemed to have put up a good fight against his weariness, but succumbed without realising.

“It is getting a bit late,” Sierra said. “We’ll be up early. You two better get some sleep or you won’t be able to wake up tomorrow.”

“What about you?” Alex asked.

“No worries there. Early to bed early to rise has always been my motto.”

Chapter 21

Sierra yawned with waking discomfort and stood to greet a new day. She at once found sunlight beaming into her eyes but in no way directly. The light merely reflected off snow, magnifying its intensity. It gave the deceiving impression of a warm day.

She didn’t hear any cars driving in the distance or on the bridge above. There was only the clear crisp silence of a pre-rush hour morning.

The others lay fast asleep, individually snoring one after the other. Sierra kicked Rum to rise.

“Hey! Come on, get up. We have to go.” She mumbled it in a sleepy, careless sort of way.

“Fuck off. Too early,” Rum replied with less regard for linguistics.

“I won’t say I told you so. Fine, have it your way, I’m heading off for a bit.” She mounted the ladder up and began climbing en-route back to the street.

“Where you going?” Rum mumbled, eyes closed.

“Exploring my old town.”

“Shopping? You going shopping? Since you’re going shopping bring back beer.” He fell immediately into snorting slumber.

Sierra rolled eyes vainly and climbed up to the sidewalk where she shrugged up against a sudden chill previously shielded by the bridge. A hazy fog hung over the street as if the cold froze itself into a visible substance. It looked something like steam without source, something which could be cut by the hand if only she’d the energy to try.

Snow fell like the last grains in a salt shaker, but last night’s fall didn’t pass without leaving its mark. The path ahead now lay under a few inches of snow. It scrunched as a man came walking toward her. He happened to be passing in time to see Sierra emerge. He gave her something of a nod, showing no wonder as to why she came climbing out from under a bridge. It must have been something of a common sight around here as to attract so little attention. Even in this modern era those same old clichés remained popular abodes for the homeless.

This would all prove to her benefit. At least if bums were a common sight she could tour the area freely with little hassle. She’d like to visit some of the old places she used to know, and wander around long enough till she found those old sites. Shame that’s all they had become.

It actually took her a while to notice them. She’d passed some of those familiar places once or twice without realising, until stopping to clear snow from her boots. They were so easily concealed by more prominent buildings she had trouble noticing those hollowed out hovels. It happened on a glance toward one when she saw a much worn, but familiar sign. She breathed inward, skipping a heartbeat to take it in.

The sign read: Mulvin’s Candy Store. It was her childhood sweetshop. The building lacked doors and windows, which seemed trifle to the caved roof and walls. 

Sierra didn’t know what she really expected to find here. Perhaps she would have liked to see old Mister Mulvin and his wife smiling warmly as they always had, sharing free sweets for those who couldn’t afford, as they always had. Sierra hadn’t seen that jolly grin of his in a long time.

A memory placard for the deceased had been nailed beside the entrance. From her distance she could make out a photo of an elderly couple in one another’s arms. There was another black and white photo of the same couple in their younger selves. They must have been together a long time, whoever they were.

Rather than look closer, Sierra turned around and carried on with her sight seeing. Old Mister Mulvin and his wife must have sold up shop. They got out of this place before the bad things started. In the end they retired some place tropical, living happy lives till the end. So long as Sierra didn’t read the placard her wishful thinking could defeat the fact.

As Sierra left she thought it strange, how all those fond memories of this place came sweeping back. She only lived here for three years, but to her, the people really did make the place. Shame they destroyed it in the end.

She moved on until arriving at another place she recognised, though the place changed so much she arrived without realising. It was one particular housing block with a small park in the middle. All the old houses she knew had been torn down for newer ones. Sierra could point to one familiar location now flattened by two story apartments. It was at one time the home of a go lucky writer, and his naive adopted daughter. It used to be Sierra’s home. Today it had been so renovated as to make it unworthy of further attention.

The park was the only place that remained the same, albeit it did seem larger in her youth. But the changes weren’t all down to adulthood. What was once bordered by pine trees now had a spiked rail fence surrounding the perimeter. Its swings and slides stood rusted, its vibrant flowers replaced with plastic bags, cans, needles.

One little piece of the past did remain relatively intact. It was a band stand placed at the heart of the park. She remembered it used to be painted white, but it had lost its coat and become ravaged by the grace of time.

Sierra allowed herself to be drawn over to it. This used to be her favourite play spot as a child. Her foster-father would often set up picnics here and call it their own little house in the park, leading Sierra to become somewhat possessive of it. Now as she stared at it she failed to conjure up those same feelings of envy. In the bandstand’s time worn state she feared stepping on it should the whole thing collapse.

Sierra shed a tear but not for this old place. She shed a tear for a man, a man she used to know. His name was John, and one time near his end, he bought Sierra a tiny puppy even though he lacked the proper funds to support himself.

Sierra began to remember why she started playing in this park in the first place. This is where she and John walked that puppy. This is where they played together. The puppy’s name was Jess, a Golden Labrador. Before long it died due to the short-sighted nature of its masters. John had bought the puppy despite a lack of funds to support himself. In the end he couldn’t support the puppy either. Jess succumbed to various ailments in its short life but it died on the pinch of a needle.

Sierra only fully realised what happened to Jess when the needle came out and the tiny thing sighed its last. She remembered wanting to shake Jess back to life right after, but succumbed to one of the more abundant grown-up emotions – futility. From that exact moment Sierra did what any child would do, she turned around and looked for someone to blame. John happened to be right there.

She blamed John and didn’t stop blaming. Before either one knew it that blame sunk so deeply into their relationship they each forgot the source of it all. John would be blamed for idle things, for uncontrollable things, for things he didn’t understand. Sierra would in turn be punished for each spout of anger she indulged in. The puppy named Jess became a faded memory in the ever expanding heat of blame.

John was always quite reasonable, something Sierra failed to appreciate at the time. He was always such a placid man, not necessarily kind hearted as willing to take the back seat. In his theistic nature he labelled himself a Buddhist despite lacking knowledge of the basic workings. An onlooker would have classified him a failed Christian, one who handed up one faith for another the moment times got tough. At least that’s how Sierra considered it.

In some ways that religion damned their relationship. Sierra always bore an ambitious streak, while John allowed himself to become more and more docile in his outlook on life. Near to the time of his death, the backseat became like second nature.

Things will work themselves out, everything is as it should be – these were some of his more common sayings. They were minor issues though, nothing but character flaws.

The main gripe arose after Jess died. One day, John came into her room to find her crying on the bed. He took her by the hand and assured her, outright assured her, that Jess wasn’t truly gone. He said Jess would return in another life, and always come back, again and again with no memory of the pain it endured.

Or the love either. The thought of it stung Sierra bad. To think her tiny puppy would come back with no memory of her. She didn’t like thinking Jess would become someone else’s and forget about those days in the park. To her, this was a futile effort to make her feel better. Even still, because she knew Jess was gone and flowery fairytales wouldn’t bring her back.

Sierra froze. A tear snagged her conscience. If she only knew back then how insignificant these qualms really were … things might be different.

She felt like falling down for the futility of those hurtful things said. How they could never be taken back. But Sierra froze on the call of a woman’s voice, a familiar voice.

“Excuse me!” she called with a British accent. “I’ve gotten a tad lost, could you tell me where the subway…”

The woman stopped, and stood staring, really quite awe-struck.

Sierra stood back staring too.

The woman wore a long brown winter coat, hands in gloves. Even in this dire cold morning she looked quite perky and youthful, despite noticeable worry wrinkles and crow feet. It was her hair creating the impression of youth. She had golden blonde hair which even in age never settled for greys, not once in the years since Sierra saw it last.

“Sierra … you’ve come back,” the woman said.

“Maria.”

Chapter 22

Her name was Maria, formerly fiancée to the man Sierra sometimes called dad. Maria broke up with John shortly before his demise. They had argued quite loudly in front of Sierra until Maria stormed off, bringing end to their relationship. That was the last either John or Sierra saw of Maria. In a sense the silence following that door slam stamped a finalising seal on an already broken home. That memory marked the end of happy times.

In this chance encounter with Maria, Sierra thought back to somewhere along that downward spiral. John, Maria, and Sierra all lived together for a time. Considering everything else to follow it might have been a happy memory.

Sierra was living under John’s roof for over a year when Maria entered their lives. John still hadn’t fully recovered from the death of his wife but with Maria he felt a certain pre-destined duty to take her hand, or so he put it.