Anonymity (15 page)

“SAY CHEESEBURGER!” the mother said.

No reaction.

“Actually, it's okay if he doesn't smile. They don't want us to force the children to smile if they don't want to,” Emily explained, but she could tell the boy was on the edge of breaking out a grin, so she said, “Okay, say boogers!”

The boy suddenly showed pink gummy gaps where baby teeth used to live.

“Boogers!” he yelled. “Boogers! Boogers!”

Emily released the shutter and checked her screen. It was a cute shot.

“That's enough,” his mother said to him. “I'm sorry. He's a little hyper today.”

“No worries. He's awesome.” Emily lined his photo up on the identification software and sent it to print. When the printer spit out the creamy card with his smiling face, she handed it to the mother. “Here, take this to fingerprinting next.”

She thanked Emily, took her son's hand and led him away to the table where volunteers would roll his fat little fingers in ink and press them inside ten rectangular boxes on the card for safekeeping. At another table, someone would swab the child's mouth and secure his DNA sample inside two plastic bags.

Unlike the volunteers here, Emily was being paid for her time. Barbara had called in a panic. She had organized this Print-A-Thon as a community goodwill event for a banking client. They were set up under a white tent in the bank's parking lot where for four hours, Emily manned the photo station. Barbara's original photographer had dumped on her and she'd decided Emily was the perfect person to step in to help. It had turned out to be a lot of fun.

Little ones skipped to their parents’ cars with balloons tied to their wrists, white candy sticks poking out of their plump lips. Less enthusiastic parents trailed behind, identification bags in hand. They were trying to push away thoughts of the solemn need for the service—precautions in case their child is ever kidnapped or runs away.

Emily had photographed more than two hundred kids. Even she had tried to avoid morbid thoughts of dreadful things ever happening to any of them. In a perfect world, none of this would be necessary.

By the time the event wrapped that afternoon, her stomach was growling. Barbara offered to buy lunch.

“You go on. I'll meet you in a few minutes. I've got to finish up here and shut things down. Order me a margarita—rocks, no salt,” she said.

Emily stowed her camera equipment in the MINI, then dashed across traffic toward Chuy's, thinking about their thin crunchy chips and amazing green chili salsa. The sun was blinding, and if it hadn't been for her polarized lenses she might not have seen the Doc Martens in the shrubs along the side of Chuy's parking lot. The black boots were ubiquitous to the young homeless.

Emily stood in a dusty parking space wondering what to do. If somebody else discovered this person they might call the police. She decided to go inside, order a sandwich and drink to go, and see if she could get this kid up and moving before the cops arrived.

It was after the lunch rush, so she got the sandwich and drink quickly. She walked back out to the parking lot half hoping the person would be gone, but they hadn't stirred.

“Hey,” Emily said.

Nothing.

“Hey, wake up.”

It suddenly occurred to her that they might be dead. Great. And here she stood, like a dummy, trying to pawn food off on a corpse.

“Hey, wake up,” she said louder this time. She gave the boot a nudge.

There was a groan. Then, “Huh?”

“I've got you some food.”

“Go away.”

Emily recognized the tangle of hair. “Lorelei?”

The girl slowly righted herself. Her head came up out of the brush last. Her hair was matted with scaly strands of cedar spines. One side of her face was scratched and imprinted with the saw-toothed pattern of the brush.

“Emily?”

“Lorelei? Holy crap. What are you doing here?”

“I don't know. I guess I passed out.”

“Here? In Chuy's parking lot?”

“I don't know.”

“Get up.”

“I'm fine. Leave me alone.”

“You're not fine. You're sleeping in a parking lot.”

“No, I'm not.”

She seemed weak, as if her mind were detached from her current situation.

“Don't you have somewhere to sleep?”

“Sure I do.”

“Then how'd you end up here?” Emily leaned forward into the brush and handed her the drink. Lorelei took it with shaky hands and gulped it down.

“What happened to your hands and your face? You're all scratched up.”

Lorelei tried to stand, but tumbled back to her butt. “I'm fine. Don't worry about me.”

Emily suddenly remembered Barbara was on her way. She couldn't let her see Lorelei like this.

“Stay here,” she told her. “My car's across the street. I'll take you anywhere you want to go.”

Without waiting for an answer, Emily sprinted back across the road to the tent. She found her mother shoving the last few boxes into the back of her SUV.

“Hey, Barbara,” she said. “Look, change of plans. I ran into a friend and I need to give her a ride somewhere. Can I take a rain check on lunch?”

“Of course. Stand your old mother up.”

“Next time, it's my treat.”

“Sure. Well, thanks for your help. I couldn't have done it without you.”

“Love you. Gotta go.”

Emily prayed that Lorelei hadn't bolted. The girl was unsteady as she got into the car, but Emily knew enough not to offer help. Lorelei got in, turned toward the window and curled up into herself.

“So, where do you want to go?”

“The Drag.”

“Okay.” Emily pulled out, and Lorelei began to cry. Tears turned into full sobs and sobs turned into simply out of control. Emily found a tree-lined edge of a parking lot and pulled over into shade. They sat in the idling car. Lorelei wiped her nose on a sleeve. Emily searched around for a tissue, but found nothing.

“Did something happen to you?” Emily finally asked. “Did somebody hurt you?”

Tears plopped into the girl's lap.

“No.”

“Are you homesick?”

“No.”

“Then what's wrong?”

She didn't reply for a moment. “I lost my pack.”

“Shit. Did it have all your stuff?”

She nodded. “Everything. I'll never get it back now.”

“You forgot and left it somewhere?”

“No. Some jerk boy took it.”

She was breathing fast, snot dripping. She opened the passenger door and blew her nose onto the ground. She ran her sweatshirt sleeve across her face.

“Sorry,” she managed to croak out.

“Calm down. It's not the end of the world.”

“You…don't…under…stand.” Who was this girl falling apart in her car? What happened to the tough Lorelei who didn't need anybody?

“There's no reason to get so upset over a backpack.”

“It had my clothes…and stuff…stuff I need.”

“Yeah, so? We'll get more.”

“And a library book.”

“That sucks. I guess you have to return that. So,” Emily sighed, “where'd you leave it? I'll drive you wherever.”

This calmed her some. Still she said, “I'll never get it back. Never.”

“You don't know that. Let's see if we can find it.”

“It's somewhere…somewhere you won't want to go.”

“You'd be surprised where I'm willing to go. Where is this place?”

“Some crummy apartments, like Fiesta Gardens or Siesta Gardens or something.”

“I know it. I knew some people there once, but that was a long time ago.” Siesta Gardens had indeed fallen down since the days when her old acquaintances lived there. It was a place she would never go, on an entire street where she would never go.

“Is this it?” Emily asked, hoping the girl would say it wasn't, but Lorelei nodded yes.

They got out at the same time, and Lorelei turned to her and said, “You don't have to go in.”

“I don't mind.” In truth, Emily didn't want to be left waiting and wondering if Lorelei was going to come back out.

Lorelei led the way to an apartment that lived at the end of a long row of sorrow. The door was open and people were talking inside. The smell of weed wafted out the door. Lorelei stopped at the threshold.

“Ah, Fiona's friend. You decided to come back,” some guy said. “And you brought somebody new. Come on in, Phoenix. Pretty women are always welcome.”

The apartment was dark. UT stadium blankets blocked the windows, and nobody had bothered to turn on a lamp. Everybody was focused on a cage in the middle of the room. It took a few moments before Emily made out what was in the cage—a five-foot snake with a lump in its middle the size of a softball.

“They fed it last night,” Lorelei whispered. “Street rat.”

“She never goes hungry,” a guy in a wheelchair said, “although I can't say as much for the rest of these folks.” He waved a bony hand around the room at the skeletal people, their bodies as wasted as their minds. Drugs were one way to take your thoughts off a grumbling stomach.

“I came to get my backpack,” Lorelei said to him. “Have you seen it?”

“Sure, Phoenix. Fiona kept it for you. Wrestled it away from Tweak. Smacked the shit out of him for harassing you. I thought you might come back for it. It's in my bedroom. Under the bed. Fiona's still asleep back there.”

“Passed out you mean,” somebody said.

Emily didn't bother to follow Lorelei into the back. A joint was lit, and it traveled around the room. When it came her way, Emily took it, hit it and passed it on, although she tried to keep from actually touching her lips.

“I'm Lawrence,” the guy said. He started introducing people. They all sounded like cartoon characters. “That's Star, Skittles, Monkey, Tweak and Ajaicia.”

“Yeah, man. We know each other,” Star said.

“We do?” Emily had thought she remembered a couple of the kids from somewhere, but they all tended to have that same unwashed, scraggly appearance. Then reality hit her. These were the kids she and Travis had rescued from the flood. They looked much different dry. The girl in particular had taken on an air of authority that was surprising in contrast to the shivering girl Emily had helped to save.

“Look what I swiped.” Star opened her messenger bag and pulled out a blue plastic piercing gun like the ones used at kiosks and cheap jewelry stores in malls. “I stole some earrings too. Who wants something pierced? How about you, Emily?”

“No thanks.”

“She's not street,” Monkey said. He had festering snakebites on his bottom lip. Emily remembered him now, the metal vibrating with the chattering of his teeth. Emily had kissed a few guys with lip jewelry, but never labrets.

Lorelei finally reappeared carrying her pack.

Star clicked the piercing gun and everybody oohed.

“How about you, Lorelei? You want a nose ring or another hole in your ear? This thing'll do cartilage like butter.”

“I don't care. I'll do it,” Lorelei said. Monkey gave her his chair. She sifted through the earrings and selected a silver hoop.

“Where you want it?” Star asked.

Lorelei pointed to her right nostril. “Okay, but it's easier to do your lip.” Lorelei shrugged as if she couldn't have cared less. She pinched her bottom lip between two fingers and pulled it forward, exposing the thin vein-threaded flesh inside. Star positioned the device on either side of her lip and held the gun like she was ready to put a bullet in Lorelei's head.

“Stop!” Emily blurted. “Don't do that. I mean…I mean, I know you guys are bored and all, but shit, that's not sanitary. I mean, those piercing guns aren't even sanitary in the mall. How many people has that thing been used on?”

She was met with blank stares, as if the message didn't register.

“You know?” she continued. “Hep C? HIV? AIDS?”

“Look, Miss Buzzkill. Mind your own business,” Star snapped.

So much for gratitude
, Emily thought.

“You guys have to think about this. Shit, throw that thing away.”

“She's got a point,” Lawrence said. “I wouldn't do it.” An unexpected voice of reason.

“Shut up, Lawrence,” Star said. “I've seen you share dirty rigs, so just shut up.”

Lorelei let go of her lip and leaned back, clearly having second thoughts.

“We're leaving now,” Emily said. “You guys do whatever you want. Nice to meet you Lawrence. Thanks for keeping Lorelei's backpack for her. That was real nice.”

Emily walked toward the door, fully expecting Lorelei to follow. It never occurred to Emily that she would want to stay, but when she looked back, the girl was still in the chair.

“Lorelei,” she prodded. “Come on, let's go get something to eat.”

“Yeah, Lorelei, your mommy's calling you. You better go now,” Star said.

“I'm about sick of you, Star,” Lawrence said. “Why don't you get the fuck out of here?”

Star turned her rage on Lawrence.

“Why? ‘Cause I don't bring you ice like your druggie girlfriend?”

Trash talk flew.

Lorelei silently slipped out the door behind Emily.

They drove toward downtown. Emily tried to talk, but Lorelei was somber. She balled up into herself again and leaned against the passenger door, pressing her forehead to the window, staring out, focused on nothing.

“Lorelei, I've never seen you like this. What's wrong?”

No response. She seemed hollowed-out, flat, emotionless.

“If you're mad at me about the piercing gun, too bad. I can't say I'm sorry. Who knows what sick person she's been poking with that thing?”

“That's not it,” she said as if she were so tired she could hardly form words. “You can't possibly understand.”

“So try me.”

She turned soulful eyes to Emily, and a single tear ran down her cheek. It made an optical illusion, as if the bird on her skin were weeping.

“Oh, more tears. Look. We got your pack back. Buck up.”

“Whatever,” Lorelei muttered.

This girl was so confusing, so hard to reach. Was this what parents had to deal with, unexplainable mood swings, bad judgment and derision?

“Look, maybe I don't understand. But I'd like to. Explain things to me.”

Lorelei sighed and rubbed her eyes so hard that Emily was afraid she would hurt herself.

“It's just that sometimes you don't really care what happens to you,” Lorelei said. “You don't care about anything.”