Day 4

“Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

 

Klára was woken up by not only the blinding winter sun, but a woman, leaning over her with wispy brown hair and dark eyes filled with concern. She tried to back away from the woman and her kindness but was stopped by the brick wall digging into her back and winced at the pain of the bruises. The woman’s eyes softened even further.

 

“Leave the poor kid alone, Anne,” said the woman’s scraggly-looking companion, long and thin as a noodle. Even his face was long, with stubble and wiry bed-head in salt-and-pepper shades. There were eccentrically-sized glasses resting just on the bridge of his nose and a splat of ink on his left eyebrow. “She’s just minding her own business; we should too.”

 

The woman Anne turned to shoot her husband a look of venom. “She was asleep, Charlie! She’s lucky it didn’t go down to 17-below last night, like it did on Thursday!” Then she turned back to Klára and put a hand softly on her cheek; it was hot as a live coal and made her squirm. “Oh, you poor dear thing, you’re cold as ice! Charlie�"?”

 

“No, Anne.”

 

“Charlie you don’t even know what I�"”

 

“Anne, what would we do with her?” sighed the man Charlie. “Squeeze her under the kitchen table with the cat you insisted on rescuing last week? She’s not a cat, hon.”

 

Anne scowled at him. “Charlie, we’re in debt, not penniless; we can spare a Cup-A-Soup for her, I think. At least we’re not homeless.” The couple had a sort of stare-off with Klára watching blearily, not quite understanding what they were saying in her half-sleeping and half-frozen daze. All of her blood had pooled painfully in her folded legs. “Charlie, what if she was ours, huh? If we’d had another kid, this probably would be where it slept at night. Would you have someone’s child go without something warm in her belly?”

 

That seemed to soften the man a bit. He let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Okay. You win, Anne. Let’s take her home.”

 

The woman Anne beamed and then moved her hand to give Klára’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “How would you like to have something hot to eat?” she asked. Klára’s brain finally managed to focus, but she didn’t exactly know what to do. Of course she would like something hot to eat, but that didn’t mean she would accept charity from these strangers at the tip of a hat. Still, the frail woman was looking so hopeful that she would surely be crushed if Klára said no, and so she nodded slowly. Anne grinned from ear-to-ear in a way that endeared her to Klára almost instantly. “Come on then, sweetie,” said the older woman kindly, gently tugging at Klára’s cold-chapped hands to help her up.

 

Her arms suddenly screamed with unbearable pain as they were stretched when Anne pulled them, cramped from being folded against her belly all night and drained of blood. They hurt so badly that every breath brought a whimper of pain from her lips. Anne slowed down, worried by the sounds Klára was making, but then wrapped both arms around the girl’s middle and pulled her to her feet. Klára cried out as her legs stretched after a long night curled against her body, blood pumping so painfully that tears spilled from her eyes. She was unsteady on her swollen red legs, and Anne held her up by her thin waist.

 

Without much choice, Klára walked between the adults through the winding streets of the city, climbing up a creaky staircase into a tiny apartment in a dingy old building on the outskirts of town. It took Charlie a good minute of jiggling the key in the lock to get the door to open, and the moment it creaked inward Anne pushed Klára into a chair at their miniscule kitchen table, sitting beside her while her husband busied himself with a few Styrofoam containers of Cup-A-Soup.

 

“You have a name, sweetie?” asked Anne, only to be met by Klára’s desperately silent stare. It was like when she met Henry all over again, her tongue refusing to work no matter how badly she wanted it to. Anne’s face fell slightly. “Oh god, are you a mute? Am I being a total idiot?” Klára shook her head, but shrugged at the same time, and Anne seemed to understand a bit. “Aw, you’re shy! That’s so cute. You’re adorable. I’ll just call you sweetie and other various endearments until you warm up to me then, okay honey?”

 

Klára, toying with the ends of her hair, nodded meekly in agreement with this suggestion.

 

Anne grinned again and leaned toward her across the corner of the table, as if they were both giggly schoolgirls getting to know one another in the cafeteria. “D’you like music, sweetie? We could turn on the radio if you’d like.”

 

For some reason unknown to her, Klára smiled as she nodded earnestly. Anne beamed and jumped out of her chair, practically danced over to the radio by the window, and flipped on a classical music CD. Then she started coughing into her fist for a moment, a frightfully liquid coughing that sounded a lot like pneumonia but without the other symptoms that her mami had displayed before she died. After her little fit was over she sighed as if nothing had happened at all, and she drifted back to the table where Charlie had just taken the Cups-A-Soup from the microwave oven, sliding one and a fork over to Klára. The younger girl smiled gratefully at him and he attempted to look gruffly indifferent, but the sparkle in his eyes was unmistakable.

 

“Oh, I adore this song!” gushed Anne as Klára took a tentative sip of the noodle soup. It was salty and hot and made her warm all over on the inside. She had to keep herself in check not to gulp it all down and make her stomach sick.

 

“You adore every song on the CD, Anne dear, you mixed it yourself.”

 

As a distraction from swallowing all of her food at once, Klára put her free right hand on the edge of the linoleum table and pretended there were keys there, playing along in her head with the music coming from the stereo. It did not escape Anne’s notice, judging by her gasp of delight. “Oh, sweetie, you don’t play piano, do you?” Suddenly both adults were leaning in toward her, and a blush engulfed her whole face as she nodded. “Oh, that’s awesome! You know, we have a keyboard if you ever want to come over and practice or something.”

 

Even Charlie was nodding, as if her coming to play piano was far more important than eating. “It’s a little old but it still works.”

 

Klára bit her lip, unsure of what to say or do. Were these people really inviting her to come back another time?

 

“Oh, sweetie, don’t bite yourself like that,” said Anne with the experienced air of a mother. “I took that up in high school, and you wouldn’t believe the scars it gives you!” To prove her point she sucked in her lower lip and ran a finger over the shiny white scar that rimmed the bottom of her mouth. Klára slowly released her own lip, and Anne smiled approvingly. “Good girl. You have such a pretty face; I’d hate to see any part of you scarred up.”

 

Klára ducked her head and hid her hands under the table. Anne didn’t notice, working herself into a long-winded story about her son’s college ambitions, but Charlie watched carefully. Klára finished her soup while pretending to listen to Anne’s story, nodding with certain voice inflections. Then she started to feel sick despite how careful she had been, and Charlie quietly suggested that maybe it was time she get back to where she was meant to be.

 

“Oh, but Charlie, I was just telling her about�"!”

 

“Save something for when she comes around to visit again, Anne,” he insisted. Then he smiled at Klára. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve got work to take care of and it’s about time for Anne’s nap.” His mischievous glance turned on his wife and she rolled her eyes endearingly at him. Klára saw this as her time to go but didn’t move. She wanted to thank them, with real words, but it was just too hard. They were watching her carefully now, with sprouting awkward looks of She’s not going to try to stay, is she?

 

Klára opened her mouth fruitlessly, closed it again, shook her head, and finally just stood up and wrapped her arms around Anne’s neck in silent gratitude. The woman made a soft sound and hugged her tightly around the waist. This wasn’t good enough. “T’ank you,” she whispered, barely audible, into Anne’s ear, surprised to feel tears welling up in her eyes. How long had it been since someone older than her had taken a moment to embrace her? The older woman’s touch, unabashedly compassionate and loving, reminded her so painfully of her own mother that she didn’t want to let go. Anne tightened her hold on Klára for only a moment before releasing her, feeling tears on the skin of her shoulder. She took a napkin from the table and wiped the moisture from her cheeks.

 

“There will be no tears in this house, happy or not, young lady,” she said sternly. Klára forced a smile and nodded, pulling the strap of her satchel back over her shoulder. She tried to shake Charlie’s hand (he instead caught her in an awkward sort of one-armed hug that she didn’t mind at all), pulled her coat back on, and carefully opened the door to leave. “Don’t be a stranger!” Anne called after her. “You come on over if you ever need anything, you hear me? Anything!”

 

Klára waited until she was down in the street, looking up into the couple’s window, to wave happily at them. They responded just as enthusiastically as she had and, with a new sense of hope for human decency, Klára practically skipped back to where her own family was waiting for her.

 

***

 

When Henry dragged his tired a*s down to the sidewalk corner he was steadily beginning to refer to as his and Klára’s meeting place, he was only half-surprised by Klára’s already being there. It didn’t surprise him that she was there, but he was surprised by the smile on her face that instantly greeted him. His heart flip-flopped, palms sweating, almost instantly. “Hi,” she greeted him right away, a polar-opposite of the day they met.

 

Henry grinned at her, probably a bit too large for just saying hello. “Hey. You’re in a good mood, eh?”

 

Her delicate lips closed over her teeth but remained bowed in a smile as she pushed her hair behind one ear. “For once, right?” They both laughed a bit nervously, and Henry started tuning his guitar. Klára winced at the sound of his A string, even though he had been about to move past it to the D. “That’s flat. But yeah, was a good day. I met some nice people, had a good time wit’ family. Good day,” she repeated with a confirmative nod of her head, as though she had to remind herself of what a good day really was. He wondered how long it would be until her next good day.

 

“You always talk more on good days?” he asked, striking an experimental chord. She nodded, but he wasn’t sure if it was in response to his question or his guitar being in tune. “Cool,” he responded anyway, nodding. “You maybe feel up to singing something with me?” Klára clammed up almost instantly, biting her lip as she looked shyly at Henry. He instantly backed off with a sheepish smile. “It’s okay if you don’t want to! I don’t wanna pressure you or anything…”

 

Klára bit her lip for a nanosecond before dropping it, looking meekly up at Henry. He decided that if they were both going to be so damned shy it would take a good five years for them to get anywhere. Then she nodded and his heart leaped into his brain and made him stop thinking so hard. “I do,” she nodded earnestly. “I wan’ to, I just…” Her eyes fell to the sidewalk’s crumbling concrete. When she next spoke, her voice was so small Henry had to lean in to hear her. “Sometimes I can’t help it. Not talkin’.”

 

Henry felt his anxious rabbit-heart slow and soften toward the girl who seemed so much more human suddenly. “That’s okay!” he assured her. “We’ll go slowly. You, uh…you know English songs, right?”

 

She made a small sound of air rushing from her lips that was rather close to laughter. “I know some Elvis?” she suggested. “Um…I once sing ‘Falling in Love’ in front of whole school.” She pushed her hair uncertainly behind her ears with a soft blush coloring her cheeks, making her eyes look blue rather than gray.

 

Henry was dumbfounded by the tiny fact revealed about her life. He could never in a million years imagine silent, scared Klára standing up before an entire school full of people and singing. He couldn’t even imagine her putting herself anyplace where more than five people would be able to see her. She was always skulking near the wall or in a shadow, her mouth firmly closed unless she had truly gotten lost in her own head and didn’t think anyone could hear her. What had happened between then and now to strike her mute at the tip of a hat? “Well let’s give it a shot, eh? I’ll split the take with you if we get any tips.” He would split the whole day’s earnings with her if he could just get her to open up a bit. Klára bit her lip anxiously but nodded all the same, and Henry struck the first chord to the song. “Okay, ready? One, two, one two three four…”

 

He started singing, confident and strong, but when he looked to Klára, waiting to see her confidence finally shining through. Instead she was frozen, face white and tears in her eyes. He smiled bracingly and pressed on nonetheless.

 

“Wise men say… Come on, Klára

“Only fools rush in… Can’t you just try?” Klára swallowed down hard, her lips trembling as the very barest hints of a note coming from her lips.

 

“But I…”

“I…” she echoed weakly.

 

“Can’t…”

“Can’t…”

“Help…”

“Help…” Henry grinned and she almost smiled and they sang the last line together.

 

“Falling in love with you.”

 

Henry nearly laughed with glee, but decided that would be looked upon oddly by a girl who was obviously very self-conscious. He instead beamed proudly at her, praising “beautiful, beautiful Klára!” She smiled shakily, unshed tears of unknown origin making her long blond eyelashes sparkle in the fading sunlight.

 

“Like a river flows surely to the sea

“Darling as it goes…”

 

The young peoples’ eyes locked and they both blushed heavily. Henry’s gut constricted and he wondered if he was in love for the first time with a girl who was really much too young for him. How old was she, anyway?

 

“Some things are meant to be.” Klára backed off and let Henry sing the refrain, but he could feel that it had nothing to do with her being shy and more trying to balance out the song.

 

“So take my hand

“And take my whole life too…”

 

He nodded at her to signal he was wrapping up instead of doing the whole thing twice, and she nodded back as if reading his mind. Even his mom complained that he couldn’t give a cue to the most seasoned actor. She opened her mouth and finally sang loud enough for passers-by to hear and look on with interest as they went along their way.

 

“And I can’t help…”

 

Their voices crested and someone far off whistled. Henry chuckled and Klára even smiled a bit.

 

“Falling in love,” Henry finished and then stopped, waiting to see what Klára did. She had closed her eyes, and he wondered just how far in her own head she was. Was it far enough to not notice his silence?

 

“Fa-alling in love,” she continued without hesitation. With that accent of hers, verbs were clipped and fluctuated seamlessly and her voice was definitely a soprano, reminding him of a bird caught mid-song. Her eyes snapped open suddenly and her whole face went pale as a ghost. Henry acted as if he had only been pausing for breath and smiled apologetically.

 

“Falling in love with you.”

 

“That was really beautiful,” he told Klára later as he was walking her home. “You should sing more, definitely.” She ducked her head and smiled timidly, pushing her hair back behind her ears.

 

“You really t’ink so?” Her voice was soft, needy, and not vain like other girls were when given a compliment. They were all looking to boost their self-image even higher; she really needed to hear it.

 

Henry nodded earnestly. “Yeah, I really do. You should join my band, eh?” He nudged her arm playfully only moments before recalling that the girl wasn’t all that touchy, but she took it in good grace and with only a tiny wince. Maybe they would be regular chums by the end of the week. Maybe you could take her home for dinner, his wicked heart whispered, but his brain instantly protested. The last thing he wanted to do was rush things with Klára and scare her off, especially since she was so young. But she was looking at him in such a peculiar way that he decided she must be considering getting closer to him as well. “You could…you could sing and-and play �" you play something, don’t you?” At her tentative nod he felt yet another bolt of destiny shifting them together. “Cool then you could play too! And we’ll get a drummer and a bassist and we’ll be like a real band!”

 

Her eyebrows quirked with a tiny smile and his heart thudded madly in his chest. “Like real band?” she asked, and even though he knew she was teasing him in her awkward quiet way he blushed.

 

“What I �" what I mean is…” he stammered, “I mean, being in a band and being like a Real Band are two completely separate entities. Like, you’re not really a Real Band when you meet them and practice up with them and all that, but when you’re on that stage for the first time and there are people staring at you and you’re sweating under the lights then, oh, God, then you’re a Real Band. Then you’re together whether you like it or not. And it’s gonna be the coolest feeling on the whole damn planet.”

 

They made it to Klára’s building but she brazenly sat on the front stoop, prompting him to follow suit with her large eyes. “You are certain of this?” she asked cautiously. It wasn’t in a doubtful or condescending way, more like in a way where she wanted to be completely sure he knew what he was getting into. And he did know. He knew there would be sleepless nights, long road trips, stress-filled days. He looked forward to every moment of it, and so he nodded. Her eyes squinted slightly as if she were struggling to understand. “How…? How do you know this feeling…if you have not felt it yet?”

 

Henry opened his mouth to state just how obvious the answer to her question was, but then closed it again. For once he was the one lost for words. This didn’t seem to escape Klára’s notice and she smiled a bit. “Well…uh, well, it’s like…” Suddenly an idea hit him and he snapped his fingers in victory. “How do little girls manage to squeeze out even one tear of pure joy when they play wedding? You just close your eyes and make yourself see it all happening in your head, whether it’s playing a concert or falling in love, and it just, I dunno, it just works. Like, close your eyes right now and try and imagine what it’ll feel like when you’re in love for the first time.”

 

Klára gave him an odd look and he suddenly realized his error and scrambled for purchase. “Well, I mean, that is if you haven’t already been in love before…” He cleared his throat, face burning as he imagined someone else kissing Klára’s still, quiet lips when he so badly wanted to. “Well then try to imagine a bad thing, like how horrible it would be if someone close to you had…” She gave him that same look and he felt shame welling up in his throat like heartburn. “Oh,” he said in a very small voice. “I’m sorry.” She shrugged, avoiding his eyes and only increasing his guilt. For her to react in such a way meant that it had happened recently, or just in a very bad way. “Y’know, nevermind, it was a stupid idea anyway.”

 

“Oh, no!” Klára quickly argued, her voice stronger than he’d ever heard it as her hand darted out and touched his. She quickly pulled it back with a tiny gasp as electricity shot up Henry’s arm and down his spine. She suddenly turned to face straight ahead rather than facing Henry, staring determinedly into her lap with her hands tucked between her knees. Henry turned out too, for good measure. “No, Henry,” she said more softly. “It is smart; I am just sort of…not right.” Her lips twitched slightly, though he wasn’t sure if it was with real humor or something more bitter.

 

Henry didn’t much want to discuss the matter further, not when it made Klára sound so dejected, so he rather awkwardly changed the subject. “So, uh…where are you from, anyway?”

 

Klára smiled a small, close-lipped smile. “My family comes from Prague, t’ree years ago.”

 

A faintly-purple-looking minivan rolled past them then, the first to roll through the shady neighborhood all night. A man and apparently his two teenage daughters were inside, all poring over a map, as Henry absent-mindedly nodded and pulled his harmonica from his coat pocket. He blew a quick chromatic scale up the edge of the smooth cold metal, then turned back to Klára. “So, why Minnesota?”

 

She made another small sound, more similar to laughter than the one previous. “I don’ know, my Tati, he decides. He say more, uh…opera-tunity here?”

 

Henry felt a grin flit across his face at Klára’s mispronunciation. He couldn’t help it; she was really rather adorable. However, he was unable to grasp how a family from such an exotic and romantic city like Prague would even leave, let alone for a place like this and obviously on the poor side of town. “Opportunities, yeah, I guess. Only if you’re really ambitious, though.”

 

The minivan passed again, and Henry could hear the girls complaining loudly about something when the dad finally slowed to a stop and rolled down his window. “Hey, you know how to get to 7^th Street Entry from here?” he asked while his daughters watched on anxiously, practically bouncing in their seats.

 

“Yeah man,” said Henry immediately and with a smile. “You go about four blocks that way �"” he pointed straight to the south, “�" and take a left for another two blocks. There’ll be a parking ramp on the left side.”

 

The man and girls waved, his smile barely identifiable behind his beard. “Thanks man, you’re a fine American,” he said exaggeratingly but with evident gratitude before driving off.

 

As the sound of the minivan’s engine faded away, Klára turned back to him and her dusky blonde hair brushed against his cheek. He stopped breathing for a full four heartbeats while she looked thoughtfully upon him as if there had been no interruption. “An’ you are not ambitious?” she asked, looking genuinely confused. Henry could see why she would have trouble understanding. If he had a penny for every opportunity presented to him recently, he wouldn’t have two pennies to rub together. His only big chance had been leaving school, he took it, and it took him nowhere.

 

“I’m plenty ambitious,” he shrugged, idly rolling the harmonica from hand-to-hand before passing it over to Klára’s curious hands. “I guess that was a bad argument. It’s more like being aggressive. I’m a really passive person, so I don’t make a lasting impression, y’know?” She nodded, puffing a few experimental notes into the harmonica without actually touching it to her lips, so he continued, feeling like such a teacher it was embarrassing. “You’re never gonna impress anyone in, say, a job interview or audition unless you’re aggressive enough to place yourself in their memory bank, right? So you’ll never get a job with a weak handshake or a soft voice. Like the other day when we shook hands, I noticed you have a nice firm �"” Klára’s eyebrows rose and he blushed. “…handshake. I like that in a woman.”

 

He winked jokingly at Klára, but she didn’t even bat an eyelash. “I’m 17,” she stated matter-of-factly. Henry felt his face heating up again; even his palm and underarms started to grow moist in the cold winter air. 17…she really didn’t look her age. Her physical appearance was near that of a 14 year old, but the weight on her shoulders and shadows in her eyes betrayed something much older.

 

“Well, I like that in a girl, then,” he corrected apologetically. And then, because she was smiling at him in that peculiar way with the orange streetlamps shining in her eyes and fine downy snowflakes beginning to fall, he leaned in to kiss the blessedly-not-14-year-old girl. Her hands, small and warm and shaking violently, suddenly pressed against his chest, acting as the flimsiest and yet most devastating barrier he had ever had to face. He pulled back guiltily, but her hands remained up in a protective stance, her face stricken with an emotion he couldn’t peg down with one guess. Fear, sadness, anger, making Henry’s gut churn with self-loathing, but maybe also…regret?

 

A pregnant pause stretched out between Henry and Klára, the snow growing thicker and landing on the rolled brim of her hat. Henry could hear her every breath in the chilly silence, fast and shallow and downright scared. His name, Henry…formed on her lips, but when no sound came out she turned furiously red and tears sprouted in her eyes. Her breathing hitched and slowed, and her hands moved gradually down to her lap.

 

Henry felt like the world’s biggest idiot. His stomach was rolling cartwheels of guilt, twisting turns of regret before finally plunging down into the depths of despair. “Klára,” he said weakly, and she winced away from him, her face becoming masked by that same shadow of diffidence as the day they’d met. Gods, they’d only met three days ago, and here he was trying to kiss her! He really was a jerk. “Klára, I’m sorry. It’s just-…it’s just that you’re so damn pretty, and you sing like an angel, and we were getting along so well that I thought maybe this was heading somewhere but it obviously isn’t and I’m a f****n’ moron.”

 

This was the hardest apology he had ever given before, and it took him a moment to realize why. He couldn’t go with his gut and do what came naturally to someone when trying to reassure another. He couldn’t reach out and grasp her hands or shoulders, because that would make things even worse with her sensitivity to touch. He couldn’t even hug her, for God’s sake. “I promise Klára, I will never, ever try to kiss you again, just please don’t go all quiet on me again!” His hands were shaking at his sides and his abs ached from suspending his body in such a way so he could lean inoffensively away from her. He swallowed gritty, pasty saliva and felt his Adam’s apple bob erratically.

 

Klára didn’t look up at him right away, staring down at the hands tangled in her lap, those long calloused fingers with scarred knuckles and jagged nails. But they were surprisingly clean and soft-looking despite their rough exterior. It made him think of, well…her.  Her skirt ruffled in a weak breeze, and her hair brushed against his cheek again. They were sitting so close, but she was a million miles away from Henry. “Okay,” she whispered at last, still staring down at her fingers. Henry felt as if the valve on an enormous tank of pressurized air in his chest had been thrown open wide, all falling out of him in a relieved sigh.

 

“We’re okay?” he asked hopefully. “You’re not mad?”

 

She bit her lip and looked shrewdly at Henry. Her eyes plainly expressed that she was, indeed, very upset, but not outright angry. And Henry knew it was all he could hope for after coming on to a minor after knowing her for only a few days. “Okay,” he agreed to her silent contradiction, only a bit sheepish. “Okay.”

 

Just as his last treacherously lingering hormones were about to declare Ah, f**k it, just hug the girl or something, a vicious wind howled down the street and he didn’t even have to make himself wrap an arm around her shoulders. She hunched over, shivering with her thinly-worn coat, and huddled against his side as her flimsy hat was blown right off of her head. His arm instantly rose to accommodate the altogether pleasing shape of her small frail body against his. All was quiet then, even the yammering of Henry’s heart at the feel of her warmth seeping into him and his into her.

 

They sat in that way for what felt like quite some time before the wind died down and Klára finally pulled her head away from his shoulder. “You ‘ave to go now,” she stated dully, scrubbing wearily at her face with her open palm. Henry wondered if this, too, was something he had done wrong, but it looked more like Klára was tired and didn’t know how to politely ask him to go away without exerting far too much energy into it. Only then did it occur to Henry to take a look around the place where Klára lived. The front steps upon which they sat were made of concrete, uneven and crumbling. The windows of the obviously-aged building were broken, boarded up or warped beyond recognition. The door and window frames were loose and bricks had obviously fallen out all over the walls. Everything about it reeked of abandonment. How anyone could live here, Henry didn’t know. This looked like the sort of building that would be condemned; he realized as his eyes simultaneously lit upon what looked like the waterlogged remains of some sort of notice that had once been taped to the door. Only a corner was left. However, when he looked to Klára for answers he was met with her stony silence.

 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked in what seemed to be his new custom. She nodded without looking up, making Henry grin happily despite her not-so-positive attitude toward him at the moment. “Okay, see you.”

 

He turned on his heel and walked home alone in the dark, not bothering to look back at Klára when he knew quite well she would not be watching him go. The walk was short but nerve-racking; that drunk was back in the alley he had seen him in the night previous, urinating against the wall again. However the man didn’t yell at him this time about his smell, for which he was grateful. The whole city was quiet, and he remembered it was Tuesday night. Nothing big was going on until tomorrow night, when a big show worthy of teenagers skipping school and waiting in line all day would be playing at First Ave. He would make some money then, hopefully. But for now he was happy with nothing to bother him except for the yellow lights and the few homeless drifting around in the new snow before bed.

 

When he got home he caught his parents just before his mom was going to turn in for the night. He stooped low over her chair and hugged her tight. “Her name’s Klára,” he stated without preamble.

 

His mom blinked owlishly at him. “Whose name, Henry?”

 

“The girl I’m bringing home for dinner on Saturday night. I’ll buy groceries.” He kissed her bewildered cheek and watched her grin weakly at his dad as he lowered himself down onto their rickety collapsible piano bench.

 

“Well that’s awesome that you’re busting a move, Henry,” said his Dad coming from the kitchen, “but your mom was gonna have a guest that night too. Her newest charity case, y’know.”

 

At her son’s disapproving glance, Henry’s mother merely glowered. “There’s nothing wrong with giving back to the community,” she grumbled. “The poor kid was sleeping on the sidewalk, for goodness’ sake! And everyone deserves a place to go when they’re hungry or scared at night.”

 

Henry sighed and ran both of his hands through his already-ruffled hair. “I know Mom, and that’s great and all, but you do this every week! What if one of these ‘poor, misguided kids’ turns out dangerous?”

 

His mother’s gaze on him was steady, even, and all the more bruising for her quiet tone. “Well, it’s not as if I have anything to lose, is it?” She shook her head and, before her words could really sink into the minds of her son and husband, added: “Look, the poor kid’s either homeless or running away from a pretty screwy home life. Could you imagine, Henry? Could you imagine being so afraid of going home that you would sleep on a sidewalk, curled up so tightly to keep warm that you can’t stand up in the morning without help? How would it feel to know that there was no one to care if you lived or died? You could see that in her eyes; she’s all alone in the whole world.”

 

Henry ran a hand through his hair, feeling like he had seen that look before but unable to recall where. Instead he shook his head like a wet dog. “Yeah, whatever, okay. I’d argue if I had more energy.”

 

His parents seemed to take that as their cue to slink away into their bedroom so Henry could pull out the creaky bed from the folds of the couch and lie down a while. He flung one arm over his eyes, fully clothed, but didn’t fall asleep right away. He just lie there, listening to the sound of the clock over the stove slowly going tick…tick…tick…, the sluggish beat of his tired heart in his ears, the sound of his parents’ low voices as they spoke in their bedroom. They sounded concerned; they were probably talking about him. Our poor Henry, they would say late at night when they thought he was asleep. Trapped in this tank-town when he could be so much more, and he was meant to be so much more until everything fell apart. He was so gifted, so talented, and yet his good fortune was wasted because he wasn’t as privileged as other people his age. He was already 22 and still living at home with his parents because they needed his money to stay afloat. It was unfair, it was cruel, it was unjust, they named every synonym in the book, but it never changed anything. His mom still had cancer, and his dad still got all of his stories rejected by publishers.

 

He fell asleep fully clothed and lost in thought, hearing beautiful girls’ voices in his ear, singing his songs.