Callum & Harper (3 page)

Her breathing got deeper.

“
My mom was an only child,” I continued. “My dad had a half-brother who was only ten at the time of my parents passing. He was raised by his maternal grandparents. So,  basically, there was no one to take care of me."

“
Damn, Callum. That’s tragic,” she said, the teasing losing its potency.

   
Suddenly, our attempts at trying to make light of our misfortune lost their charm. I hung my head against my chest and breathed deeply, exhaling acceptance with each blow. I was no longer interested in acknowledging my lot in life. I was in line, begging to stay on a revolting cot, that’d had probably slept a thousand others before me. The worst part was I had no idea if I’d get to have even that.
    Sensing my discomfort, Harper took initiative and wrapped her hand within mine, squeezing reassurance into my heart. I looked over at her and smiled as lightheartedly as possible. She squeezed harder. It’s funny how this total stranger could relate to me better than anyone else I’d ever met. It was as if I’d known her my entire life.
    “It’s like I’ve known you my entire life,” I stupidly admit.
    But she doesn’t rebuff me as I anticipate. No, instead, she says, “I think, in some ways, we have. Only you could know what I’ve been through; the humiliation, the judgments, the unwanted pity and none of it at your doing. We may not have known each other our whole lives but we’ve definitely lived them in parallel.”
    We waited in line for three hours, marking the time with idle chit chat that held no meaning whatsoever, but felt strangely vital to have at the time.
    “Your favorite color?” I asked.
    “Green,” she said. “Yours?”
    “Same.”
    “Liar.”
    “I’m not lying.”
    She eyed me disbelievingly, “Mmm-kay.”
    “I’m not! Seriously, it’s always been green.”
    “Alright, I believe you, I guess.”
    “Favorite food?” I continued, changing the subject.
    “You first,” she says.
    “Afraid of an unoriginal answer?” I teased. She raised both eyebrows. “Okay, my favorite food is Tex-Mex. Good, authentic Tex-Mex though and as you may not know, that does not exist in this city.”
    “Have you ever even been to Texas?” She mocked.
    “Yes, I have, miss. When I was sixteen, I went there for a Latin competition for school. So there.”
    “A Latin competition!?” She scoffs.
    “Don’t make fun!”
    She attempts to straighten her face, “I’m sorry. Really.”
    “Yeah, that burst of laughter your hiding is really convincing.”
    She sobered up, after some effort I’m unhappy to report. “I didn’t even know they taught Latin anymore,” she said. “I thought it was considered a dead language.”
    “It is
not
a dead language! Your language is based in it, Harper.”
    “I’m sorry. I can see that this subject is a sensitive one for you.”
    “Obviously, I’m insane. I’m defending myself as if I was Roman. Listen, I took the language in high school because I thought it would give me a good foundation vocabulary for my intended college major.”
    “Oh, I’m dying to know what major you’ve chosen that
Latin
could possibly create a good foundation for,” she teased.
    I feel the corners of my mouth twist up. “I’m going pre-med.”
    Her eyes bug wide, “Seriously?”
    “I know it’s a lofty goal, even for people who come from money but I’m determined and it’s been a dream of mine since I was small, so...”
She’s staring at me.
    “It’s not lofty Callum. It’s brilliant that you have dreams. You should do it.”
I was taken aback.
    “I wasn’t expecting that,” I grinned. “I mean, my teachers were always supportive but I got conflicting messages growing up. My foster parents constantly told me I’d amount to nothing.”
    “But you didn’t listen to them, did you?” She asked with a twinkle in her eyes.
    “Stop looking at me like that.”
    She shook her head. “Like what?”
    “Like I’m already a physician,” I grinned.
    “What kind of doctor do you want to be?” She asks, ignoring me.
    “Uh...a pediatrician.”
    “How ya’ going to do it?”
    “Well, there’s this thing, see, it’s called a university. You apply...”
    “Very funny. Seriously, how are you going to pull it off?”
    Before I could answer though, a woman came out. Harper didn’t know it, but we were about to get word that we were sleeping outside that night.
    “I’m sorry,” the woman callously announced, “but we’re full tonight!" And with no other explanation, she shut the door behind her. The veteran homeless scrambled to the nearest restaurant dumpsters in hopes of finding new cardboard, resigned to their evening’s fortune. Others stood gaping, unsure of what that exactly meant. I turned toward Harper, ready to speak but instead found myself studying her. She brought her hands to her mouth, her fingers trembled against her lips. She felt lost, I could tell, her tough outer facade was beginning to crack.
    “Come with me,” I said, quickly grabbing her hand, leading her through the dispersing crowd toward my motorcycle.
    “Where are we going?” She whispered.
    “Away from here.”

Tears threatened the corner of her eyes and I caught one with my thumb before it slid down her cheek. I pushed her hair out of her eyes and strapped the helmet to her head without another word, before plopping her small frame toward the front seat of my bike, afraid she was too dazed to hold on to me. I got on and straddled the seat behind her, her lovely back against my chest, kicking on the motor and driving off the curb onto the street.

I leaned in closely to her ear, hoping she’d be able to hear me through her helmet, “You know everything’s going to be okay, right?” She shook her head. “Trust me,” I said. “I’ll figure it out. Promise.”

She slowly nodded her head, but I wasn’t sure she really believed what I’d told her.

I stopped at a nearby gas station, narrowly avoiding a cab who cut me off but it didn’t seem to faze her.

I held the receiver to the pay phone a few inches from my ear, nothing is grosser than a New York City pay phone. It rang three times before I got Charlie’s voicemail.
Hey, Charlie here. Leave a message and I’ll ring you back.

“
Charlie,” I sighed, “I’m in need of a couch tonight, dude. Maybe you can call me back in the next five? I’m at 555-9876,” I said, eyeing the number on the payphone. “I’ll stick around for a bit. Also, I’ve picked up a stray. She’s cool, you’ll like her, just,
please
,” I begged, “ring me back soon.”

It was hit or miss with Charlie, he was a roadie for a mediocre band and he had mentioned a few weeks back that he’d be going to Japan with them soon. I just hoped he hadn’t left just yet. The phone rang before I even got an opportunity to turn around.

   
I placed my hand on the receiver.
Please, God, let this be Charlie.
I picked it up.
    “Hello?” I asked.
    “Yo, Callum. It’s Charlie.”
    “Oh ,thank God!” I exclaimed a little too loudly.
    “Calm down, dude.” He laughed. “Got your message. I’ve got some good news and some bad news. I’m not in the city tonight.”
Damn.
“And I left my spare key at Cherry’s and she’s doing some waitressing job in the Hampton’s this weekend for some extra cash so she’s nowhere near you
but
if you
want
, you can crash at my studio tonight. There’s a random shower in the back of the shared common space, if you remember, not ideal but all yours.”
    I breathed out an audible sigh. “Thank you so much, dude, seriously.”
    “No problem, man. I’ll call Henry, let him know you’re coming, he’ll let you in, just mention my name.”
    “Thank you so much, Charlie. I can’t thank you enough.”
I hang up, invigorated.
    I turn and slap my hands together. “Okay, Harper Bailey, you’re comin’ with me.”
    “I am?” She said, looking hopeful.
    “Yeah, it’s not going to be ideal,” repeating Charlie’s words, “but it’s going to be better than staying the night outside in this heat.”
    We arrive at Charlie’s studio around eight thirty in the evening. I ride my bike over the curb and onto the sidewalk, next to the entrance. Harper takes her helmet off and I get assaulted by her fragrant hair again and almost lose my balance.
    “Where are you going to lock up your bike?”
    “I’m not.” I smile.
    “Aren’t you afraid it’ll get stolen?”
    “Nah, because I’m taking it inside.”
    “Can you do that?” She asked.
    “Yeah, I’ve done it a million times, all the floors are concrete where we’re going and I always promise Henry, the owner, to keep a mat beneath it to catch any oil.” I point to the second story window above the door. “That’s his apartment right there.”
    “Will he be cool about all this?” She asks, skepticism leaking from her tone.
    “Yeah, I think so. Henry knows my situation. He never lets me stay more than one night, though. I suppose he’s afraid I’ll move in and that’s against some sort of tenant code city thing. He’s not licensed for that and a real stickler for the rules. The city has it out for the rockers, I guess.” I winked, like a dumbass. I immediately regretted the cheese move.
I pressed the buzzer in awe of my total loss of cool. This girl seeped the ‘smooth’ outta’ me.
    “Henry,” Henry announced in a static voice.
    “Henry, it’s Callum. Did Charlie call you?”
We hear another buzz for the door and I opened it. I clicked the buzzer again and hear the other end connect but Henry says nothing.
    “Thanks, Henry.”
    “No problem, Callum. See you in the morning, dude.”
    “And that was Henry.”
    “How old is he?” Harper asked.
    “I don’t know, like thirty?”
    “Cool.”
    “Alright, hold the door for me?” I ask.

She whips inside the covered alcove and holds the door as wide as it will go. I give my bike two hard shoves and it lurches over the step to the alcove and into the building foyer. I lead Harper to Charlie’s studio in the very back.

“
It’s the last door on the right.”

She jumped ahead of my bike and opened the door for me as I wheeled in the bike. Charlie’s studio space is large and it should be, because it costs him a small fortune but apparently it paid for itself when he recorded for random bands when he wasn’t on the road.

Harper let out a low whistle.    

“
Incredible,” she said, turning around.

   
I set my bike up in an open corner of his instrument room and opened one of the only closet doors near the entrance. I pulled out a large rubber pad that Charlie kept inside for my motorcycle and tossed it underneath the motor.
    I turned around and caught her watching me. It reminded me that I was alone, with an unbelievably beautiful girl, and that no one was around. I tucked my hands in my back pockets to keep from seizing this stranger and kissing her until she gasped for air.
    “So,” I said, rocking back on my heels. I grabbed my bag. “Listen, I’ve done this a couple of times. It gets old fast but the one thing I’ve learned is to take advantage of anything you can while you can because you may not have the opportunity to do it for awhile which means I recommend we shower, then take any dirty clothes we have to the laundromat close by.”
    “This isn’t your first rodeo then?”
    “Not by a long shot. I’ll go first, ensuring you’ll have privacy later.”
    I grabbed my towel, something noticeably missing from her “luggage”, also something I plan on addressing later, and head for the shower with my soap and shampoo in hand.

The “shower” was a drain in the floor, a poorly pressured spout, and a thin plastic shower curtain in the corner of what at one time must have been a pre-war locker room. The water was lukewarm at best but better than I’d had for the past two days, which was sponge baths in subway restrooms. Even though the water temperature was crummy, I had never been in such a good mood and was positive it was from meeting Harper. There’s nothing more thrilling than meeting someone new for the first time, especially if that someone new was freaking gorgeous as hell.

I stepped from the shower feeling better than I had in a very long time and toweled off.
Shit,
I thought as I looked down at myself,
I forgot my clothes.
I wrapped my towel around my lower half and trudged along the hall back to Charlie’s studio, already turning beet red at what I was about to do.

As I near the studio though, I can hear loud music trembling through the air and one miss Harper Bailey singing at the top of her lungs. I edged toward the slightly ajar door and quietly pushed it open, hoping to grab my bag next to the wall nearest me and holding my breath that she’d be too distracted to notice me but when I catch a glimpse of her, I become engrossed.