Lost and Found (Chapter Three)

 

Nervous, like any child on her first day at a new school, Rosemary was a flurry of questions as I drove her to school that first Monday morning. After assuring her that I had bought everything her teacher requested, and her actually checking that all of her notebooks were one and a half inches thick ("Miss Talbot will never know the difference Rosemary, I don't care what she says. And if she gives you any trouble, or tells you to stay after school, tell her she can talk to me first.") she asked the question she had intended to ask all along. It was the question all the others were to cover, the question they had all been building up to. And when she asked it, it was as if it had been the only question she asked all ride.

 

"What if they don't like me?"

 

"What is there about you that's not to like? They will love you, I promise. I love you, and they would have to be half retarded and dropped on their heads at least half a dozen times not to love you too." This was the first time I had told her I loved her but I had been sure she had known it. Why would anyone do the things I had done for her and us if not for love?

 

Hearing the words calmed her more than I could have imagined. For the rest of the ride she sat in the seat beside me, hands folded in her lap, grinning and humming a tune that was both familiar and unknown to me. I, myself, could hardly hold my own happiness to a mere grin as I made my way back to the school.

 

I parked the car in the turnaruond area in front of the singular red brick covered block that was the elementary school.

 

"Ready?" I asked Rosemary. Though by her hurried excitedness the answer was an obvious yes. She turned, the almost too big Hello Kitty bookbag she had begged for was hanging low on her back and she teetered uncertainly over to the passenger's side window of the car, her head nodding vigorously. She leaned in the open window, carefully balancing so that the over bearing weight of her bookbag wouldn't tip her over and into the window.

 

“Goodbye, D...... D...” she stumbled over the name Dean like a very nervous child who was prone to stutter. Then the words came in a burst.

 

“Bye Daddy.” Clearly embarrassed and slowly turning a shade of carnation pink, she turned and ran to the front door of the schoolhouse, almost tipping straight over at one point and wobbling into the arms of a lone Mr. thirty something who I could only assume was a teacher.

 

I pulled off with a laugh as he walked her inside for her first day at school. Seven thirty-nine read the clock on my dash as I pulled out into traffic and away from the school. I only had a half hour to get what I needed to get to make dinner and then get to work. Deciding it wasn't enough time, I made a note to go to Walmart when I got off work and before I cam e around to pick up Rosemary. This would unfortunately kill quite a bit of the time I had set aside to mingle with the high school students but it would be worth it. Tonight I would go all out. Tonight would be a celebration.

 

I would've had plenty of time to shop and even take the refrigerated goods home before work if it hadn't been for Rosemary. It took her nearly forty-five minutes to decide what to wear on her first day. Which is far too long considering she only has two pairs of pants, five shirts, and a jacket. S**t, that means she'll have to wear the same shirts every week and one pair of pants at least three times. There was no way I had the money to buy her more clothes. I had already advanced my first check and the next was nearly three weeks away. At the same time I couldn't afford to be constantly running back and forth to the Coin Laundry every two days. Come to think of it I wasn't doing much better myself, clothes wise. I had about eight to ten shirts because I had had the sense to put on layers before I ran away, hoping to save my body from the cold Colorado nights. But I only had three pairs of pants, One of which was stained with mud from sleeping outside in the rain, then later that same day they were ripped in a fight with a homeless man who had stolen my ipod while I was sleeping. Unfortunately for him, a hobo with an ipod listening to screamo sticks out like a sore thumb. Actually, I think the pants also have a blood stain from that fight.

 

Arriving at work about ten minutes early I tried to conjure up a way to ask Arnold to give me a loan. I couldn't ask for another advance, I would need that money to Pay next months rent. Lucky I don't have to pay utilities. I sipped the fresh coffee, Arnold must've made it before I got here. Where was he anyway? Coffee in hand I walked out into the back car lot to find him waxing his new looking Grand Cherokee.

 

“Arnold? I need to talk to you.”

 

“You're early.”

 

“Got an early start this morning. Wanted to get some shopping done for tonight's dinner before I came in but Rosemary took forever to get ready.” I stared at my feet nervously, glancing up just long enough to notice that he hadn't averted his gaze from the waxing. Maybe he won't notice how nervous I am.

 

“Girls will be girls, I suppose.” He said, still not looking up from his work.

 

“I need to ask you for some money again.” Even I was taken aback by my bluntness. He stared at me, trying to decide if I was a troubled kid that need his help, or a sweet faced con man.

 

“What for?” His eyes were inquisitive, as if he was giving me his own form of lie detector test, but his eyes showed that, so far, he trusted me.

 

“Rosemary and I, having to run like we did, we don't have much in the way of clothes.” I wanted to go back to staring at my feet but as his eyes searched my face for truth I could not turn away. His inquisitive gaze was almost hypnotizing.

 

“You need money for clothes?”

 

“In the four days I've been working here, this is the third time I've worn these pants.” The pants had an ink spot on the pocket area. Surely he'll recognize it, I hoped silently as he looked me and the pants up and down. Finally I saw his eyes relax. He had his answer.

 

“What's your waist size?”

 

“What?”

 

“My son was about your age when he went away for the military. He had the smallest waist, but you look pretty slim yourself. You might be able to fit his old clothes.”

 

“I'm a twenty nine.” I paused. Taking his son's pants while he was off fighting a war? That couldn't be right. “Are you sure he won't mind?”

 

“Might thirty work?”

 

“Yeah, I could manage that.” He hadn't answered my question. Maybe he didn't think he had to. Maybe he didn't want to. He opened the passenger door of his Jeep, gesturing me in as he had done at his house.

 

“Get in, I'll take you over to my house and we'll get you some pants. Maybe some shirts too. Do you need any shirts?”

 

“I could use some of those too. But what about opening at nine?” I had to show up an hour early to get the machines warmed up, but no one else working here would be here until nine. He shrugged.

 

“Guess they'll have to wait.”

 

Being my second time in his house I almost immediately realized why I had been so comfortable before. What I assumed were his sons nicknacks were still all about the house. I also noticed that his son's things still lay on tables all about the house as if they had never been put away. This was curious considering how immaculate his den was.

 

He led me up the stairs situated between the living room and den and into a room that looked as if it had once

been a study. It still had a stately rosewood desk and matching bookcases filled with books. Yet, the room looked as if it had been converted into an informal living room complete with all sorts of electronics. Must've been set up by his son.

 

The electronic collection continued into his room, but what surprised me most about the bedroom was that it was decorated in a way I could imagine I would decorate a room, except perhaps a little more subtle. I almost thought his closet was the only upstairs room devoid of gadgets until I saw the boxes that were stacked, almost neatly, in a ring around the closet floor. I found myself even more shocked as I looked through the pairs of pants I had preparing myself to hate.

 

Leafing through the jeans I found many things I could imagine I would buy. Hell, if this closet were in a store I'd go broke every week trying to get all the pants in it. Most of the jeans were subtly faded in a natural worn sort of way, complete with double pocketing and more extras than I could notice as I quickly looked them over. Extra stitching and elaborate embroidered designs abounded, and from the looks of the brand names they were mostly somewhere in my “if I won the lottery” price range. Even the pants that weren't at all faded were so dark in color as to be different from regular jeans. Arnold's son didn't simply wear jeans, he was a denim connoisseur.

 

To my continued surprise, he even had a few over the top punk staples like bondage pants and jeans that were so ripped up as to look unwearable, as well as a few pairs of super-tight skate pants. Or were they girl's pants? I grinned as I looked these over, but didn't pick any of them, not wanting to make a bad impression on my new boss. OK, so maybe I did get a pair of the über slim skate-pants, he'll never notice them out of the pile of seven pairs I had greedily selected. Feeling bad for getting so many I asked if it would be okay to get seven, and he nodded, “sure, get more if you want.” But I decided it would be be best to move on to shirts.

 

The design work on the shirts was by no means as subtle as the pants but it was equally intricate and elaborate. Wearing any of the shirts was like wearing a work of art made be a master graphic artist yet somehow it did not feel as if you were wearing a painting or a billboard. Most of the shirts that really caught my eye were made from concert posters new and old, mostly sporting several bands I'd never heard of, but, the bands I did know I liked so I decided to make an effort to check out the others. After picking out seven (I couldn't just stop at three) I piled them beside the pants on the bed.

 

“This isn't too much, is it?” I asked Arnold tentatively.

 

“No that's fine, I'm sure he wouldn't mind.” He looked my old and slightly dirty clothes up and down before continuing. “Maybe you oughta change before we go back to the car wash, the bathroom's down the hall and to the left after you leave this room.”

 

I walked out with a set of new clothes in tow, and entered the almost plain bathroom to change. Looking myself over in the mirror I realized I really needed a shave. My razor had been among the things stolen by the homeless in Gram Square park.

 

It was the day after we had gotten off the train that had taken us out of Colorado. Rosemary and I had spent the night in yet another city park. Rosemary had been unusually cheerful waking up that morning, especially considering everything she had been through the last few days. Maybe she thinks of this as an adventure.

 

I, on the other hand, was grumpy as all hell. I had been forced to use my bag as a pillow and I could still feel my laptop through all of the clothes stacked on top of it inside the bag. My state of grumpiness was made even worse when I realized the ipod I had been listening to the night before was gone along with a few other choice items I had taken out of my bag because I had found them impossible to sleep on. None of them were particularly important to me, though some of them had been a few to the nicer do-dads I had stolen during my escape and was planning to pawn for quick cash.

 

But it was the ipod's disappearance that had really really pissed me off. I left Rosemary in charge of our stuff as I charged off angrily in search of my lost friend.

 

It didn't take me all that long to find the only homeless man in Gram Square Park with an ipod. And to top it all off he was listening to the band Solace, a local group from around Denver. They had only released one Ep before breaking up and it was hard to find inside Colorado, so what were the odds this guy would've found it outside of Colorado. And two, this guy smelled like mildew, like he had been sleeping in the rain for at least a few weeks. He was a genuine hobo, not just some panhandler who was out to make a few extra bucks during the day and then go home to wife and kids. How would a truly homeless man charge, much less put music on, an ipod?

 

As I approached him I got more and more angry, but I was able to control myself. At first.

 

“All right, fun's over, give the ipod back.” I almost had to yell to get him to hear me past the clear lyrics and driving bass. Definitely Solace.

 

“What?” His eyes showed a glint of fear and sadness as he turned his head. He had been caught, we both knew it, and he was afraid. It was obvious that he was an inexperienced thief. I had known a few kids who had made their living rolling sleeping drunks for their wallets and cell phones. They would have put as much distance as possible between themselves and the target lush after the score was made. This man had stayed in the park all night, plus only a fool would walk around showing off his stolen goods.

 

“That's my ipod, and I would like it back. Please, before things get ugly. I realize this is your first time stealing and I know how respectable that is living on the street and all, but you've been caught, just do the honorable thing and hand it over.”

 

“Prove it's yours.” He wasn't gonna play this nice, and I knew it would be difficult to prove to the police it was mine. Not that I could risk a run-in with the police at all. There were only two ways of getting it back, and I had already tried to reason with him.

 

Lunging quickly in a forward dive, I threw myself at him, hoping my full weight might have some effect on the sitting man. My shoulder caught him in the throat forcing a pained gasp and throwing him forcibly onto his back and slinging my ipod across the ground and landing just in front of a bench. I kept my arm against his throat in an attempt to keep him down. Seconds later I felt his foot against my back in an attempt to get me off of him. It was a feeble attempt, but I rolled off of him and quickly crawled to the bench to retrieve my ipod and quickly shove it in my pocket. He was up fast and so was I, though my back was to him when he threw the first punch. I ducked, bending over and looking behind me. He put his weight into the punch, moving him closer to me. Straightening up, I pulled back my elbow into the right side of his face. I heard a crack and a tooth hitting the bench. I hadn't meant to knock a tooth out. I turned to apologize and took a jab to the back of my jaw, near my ear. Head swimming, I ran to my left, his eyes weren't quite tracking me properly, maybe his vision was hazy from the previous blow to the head. Despite this, he managed to follow, albeit slowly.

 

“D****t.” He spit another tooth at me. Damn, I must've hit him a lot harder than I thought. Blood was spilling over his lip in a thin stream. I turned to run but I didn't make it too far before I felt my feet tangle and with no way to correct the trip, I fell catching myself with my hands. I felt his arms reaching up, hands clawing at the top of my ragged and mud spattered pants. His hands tore at my front pockets, searching. I slammed my foot into his bladder. He grunted and rolled off of me, spitting blood and clutching his lower stomach.

 

D****t, I had him on the ground, why didn't I get the razor and other stuff back too. I wouldn't have minded the extra pocket money Besides, a good razor would cost a good slice of money, about twenty for a nice Gillette like I had had before the fight. After the fight in the park I pawned all of our loot and found a ratty little place to stay; There was no way I was going through all that mess again, things could've been a lot worse. Next time, Rosemary could be in danger too.

 

I pulled on the new pants. Would his son have a razor? Looking down at the sink, I saw one. If he won't miss the pants and shirt, no way he's gonna miss a razor. I tucked it into the new pair of pants, which were a bit loose at the waist but fit snugly in the upper leg and flared slightly at the top of the calf. It was a beautiful fit, aside from the waist. The shirt also fit well, though it was a little baggier than I was used to. Grabbing the shirt and pants I had worn in I exited the bathroom and strolled down the hall to find Arnold's large frame leaning on the door's molding and frame, as if he had been waiting on me to emerge. There was a glint of a tear in his eye as he looked me over.

 

“You okay?” He looked shocked at my question and looked at his feet as he answered.

 

“Ready to go back yet?” He was clearly avoiding the question. Out of respect I let it go.

 

“Sure.”

 

The drive back to the car wash was long and quiet. I did my best to avoid glancing over to see if there was another glint in his eye. I'm sure he noticed but he didn't mention it. Finally, I mustered up the courage to talk.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Don't mention it.” His tone was terse. I couldn't be sure if it was just a cliché or if he actually meant that I shouldn't mention it. Even then I wasn't sure what he didn't want me to mention, the clothes or the tear.

 

The day at work was equally tense. We had arrived too late to get the slightly out of date car washing machines properly warmed up. As the queue of early morning commuter piled up in back as the machines warmed up, tempers of the other workers ran high while they tried to calm the waiting customers. I knew better than to explain the situation, Arnold had been wound tight as a yo-yo since I had walked out of that bathroom. What happened there? I waited for him to tell them and pull my a*s out of the fire but the best I got was a “don't worry him about it. We're a team here, start acting like it.”

 

I was relieved when the machines got warmed up enough to run and the exasperated customers started to pour through the wash, even though one flipped me off as he passed through.

 

The rest of the day was equally harsh and I didn't even bother to say goodbye when I left for the grocery store at two thirty. I did, however, leave a note expressing my gratitude on his desk. To my surprise I found a note to me on top of an envelope with my name on it. I pocketed both and added a p.s. to my note telling him I had taken both. I, then, left quickly, not wanting to risk an awkward situation with Arnold on my way out.

 

In a Walmart outside of town I read the note and opened the envelope. Inside was five twenty dollar bills that I was to spend on Rosemary's school clothes. I slipped it into my back pocket; I'll take Rosemary out after dinner. Combing through the isles of kitchen supplies I quickly found a metal wok suitable for making my stir-fried fajitas. Why can't they put the kitchen supplies near the damn groceries? In the grocery side of the store I found the rice, guacamole, sour cream, red and green peppers. Onions and mushrooms I already had for making omelets, and salsa, well, who doesn't have salsa?

 

In the deli section I got a good cut of steak, a bag of shrimp, and some freshly cooked tortillas in the neighboring bakery. By the time I made it through the register it was already five minutes 'til three. By the time I got the frozen shrimp and the rest of the groceries home it would be almost time to get Rosemary. Leaving no time to mingle with the high school students.

 

Tomorrow.