out-of-the-woods-6.html

Out of the Woods ©2020 by Gamin Paramour Comments are incredibly welcome, and I intend to answer everyone.(ail)
1) This is fiction: complete, utter bullshit made up by yours truly. Never happened, and nobody depicted ever drew breath on planet Earth.
2) Stay safe. Don"t break the law.
3) Please donate to Nifty if you possibly can.
Previously: Andy made it to Chicago, but now what?
Chapter 6 Saturday, January 16, 1988
4:28 am Icy wetness soaked Andy"s left foot as he splashed through an unseen pothole two inches deep with slush. It didn"t slow him a bit, only changed the rhythmic cadence his sneakers made as they pounded the wet concrete. The sound was comforting somehow, perhaps because it measured the rapidly increasing distance between the boy and his imagined pursuers, the leather-clad cops that had spooked him in the bus station. Or maybe running had become a symbolic act by now, his only way of fighting back at the terror that had gripped so much of his young life. It was the only thing Andy"s little body could do better than the Old Man"s.
Frigid air filled his lungs and it felt good. It made him think of his first night of freedom, stumbling bloody and barely conscious across the uneven ground of the woods. It was little more than a week ago, but a world of difference. Now he was strong and independent, no longer the frightened little boy who took his beatings and came meekly back for more. Andy felt light on his feet, quick and agile, like he was running toward something rather than away, and he found himself smiling.
He ran a long time, turning corners with little reason except perhaps that one street was brighter lit than the other. Finally a sharp pain formed in his side as his wind failed him and he reluctantly slowed to a walk. The numbing cold pierced his soaked foot with every step and he stopped and bent at the waist, hands on his knees. He gulped cold air and wondered at a peculiar rasping sound he"d never heard from his own lips before. His nose was running, and lacking the strength to wipe it away or the breath to sniff it back he tasted the snot on his dry and cracking lips.
As his strength returned and the rasping quieted he wiped his nose on a filthy sleeve and turned to survey his surroundings. He didn"t have a clue where he was or where he was going. Euphoria unceremoniously departed, replaced by rising alarm. The buildings and streets looked the same in all directions and he suddenly wasn"t even sure which way he had just come.
He was in front of a small business of some kind, dark and closed, with a rusted steel gate and big padlocks protecting its entrance. There were stores just like it all along the dimly lit street, all with their metal sentries scissored across the doorways. The cross street was narrower, with rows of nearly identical apartment buildings marching off into the darkness. He could see iron bars over most of the windows on the lower floors and some boarded up with plywood. One of these in the corner building showed blackened streaks scrambling upward above the boarded windows where flames had once licked. A few gaps in the row appeared to be empty lots, with rubble from the demolished tenements still marking where they had stood.
The undeniable truth finally crystallized in Andy"s brain: that the strong and independent person of a moment ago was, in reality, a lost and frightened child in a strange and dangerous place. He had never been further out of his element. The city was like another planet to him, all hard surfaces and square angles, brash noises and glaring lights, so unlike the earthy contours of Paxton, Missouri.
He remembered lying in the frozen leaves and mud of the woods back home, similarly frightened and exhausted, and seeing the stars through the bare fingers of the trees. Here, when he looked up he saw a dull gray canopy of reflected glow through the cold steel lattice of a fire escape. There were no clouds and yet no stars, and the very air seemed to hum with the life of four million people. It calmed him a little to realize that here in this residential block most of those people seemed to be asleep at four-thirty in the morning. He was the only one on the street but he heard signs of life: traffic moving, three halfhearted barks from a large dog, and a distant wailing siren.
He was alone, yet surrounded.
Since one direction was as good as another he simply began to walk. He tried very hard to be adult about his situation, to think of a rational course of action, but all he could come up with was to stick to the better-lit main street, away from the dark unknown of the side streets. Even Andy knew that was nothing like a rational plan, just a childish fear of the bogeyman, but there it was. And so he walked and thought and shivered and listened to the squish of his soggy left foot.
From somewhere came a soft thumping, a rhythmic pulse he might have taken for his own pounding heart if it had been beating at half its current rabbity pace. He stopped and scanned the empty street, and even as he reassured himself that he was the only one in sight he recognized that the pulse was getting louder, closer.
A tightness gripped his chest. There were other sounds becoming audible as well, something mixed in over the thumping, and suddenly he recognized it as music. It was brutal, visceral, the kind of music that reaches right into your gut and makes you respond whether you want to or not.
Andy"s response was terror.
He ran a few steps in three different directions, frantic for a hiding place. The music was getting louder, and though he still couldn"t see its source he knew it had to be from an approaching car and he had only seconds before it pulled around a corner or out of an alley. A soft cry of despair was forming in his throat when suddenly he spotted three dumpsters pushed together in a U-shape, and he dashed to them and curled himself into the smallest ball he could manage within the shadows of this three-sided haven. He could see through the gap between their angled sides and he hoped with all his might that no one would think to look through that gap from the other side.
The car was big and old. One front corner was dented inward almost to the tire and rust spots covered its entire surface in irregular shapes like the paisleys on the Old Man"s only necktie. Though the windows were closed against the cold, the pounding rap music was loud and he couldn"t imagine being inside the car with the volume so high. It was full beyond capacity with young black men, and as they passed under the street light just in front of Andy"s cubbyhole he could see their red berets and matching red jackets with, inexplicably, the word Guardian incorporated into a design that looked like an angel"s wings. He cowered and shivered and prayed to a God that had never listened before, and the old blue Chevy crept past him without pausing and slowly, painfully slowly, disappeared into the night.
Andy waited without moving until the thump of the bass had faded back into the dim background noise of the city. Only then did he unfurl his cold and aching limbs and cautiously abandon his sanctuary. He knew he couldn"t duck and hide from everyone forever, especially when it got light, but the inevitability of dawn was more than he could presently deal with. He stamped his freezing foot against the concrete a few times to get some feeling back, then slowly moved along.
The wind came around a corner and buffeted his small frame, lying in wait for him as it does all those foolish enough to challenge the Chicago winter. Was it the wind in his eyes or the hopelessness in his heart that made the tears roll down his cheeks and freeze to his skin? Home had been intolerable and he"d finally had the gumption to do something about it, but had he really helped himself or just traded one hell for another? At home he had known what the next day would bring, and though it was an even bet that he wouldn"t like it at least the Old Man was a devil he knew.
Why, oh why had he run away from Charlie? Charlie would have helped. Only a stupid boy would think himself man enough to make it alone in a world so full of danger, a world he didn"t understand! He was a fool, and now he was in it up to his ears.
Suddenly a voice behind him shocked the boy to heart-pounding alertness.
"Just put a fuckin" tape in, man," said the voice, rising in impatience. "It don"t matter sakarya escort which one. Put in the fuckin" opera, I don"t give a shit. Any shit"s better than your old bullshit-talkin" ass."
Andy was in the middle of the block with nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. There were no dumpsters to save him this time. He stood stone still, barely even breathing.
"It got to be Public Enemy." a deeper voice said. "Chuck D is my man!"
This car rolled by slightly faster than the earlier one. Andy couldn"t turn his head to watch it, couldn"t move at all. As the car came into his field of view he could see the same sort of carload of young black men as the other, except there weren"t as many and these wore no red berets. The car windows were wide open to the cold, and billows of gray smoke curled upward from a ragged cigarette they seemed to be sharing. Their jackets were colorful, and all the same, in an intricate pattern of red, yellow and blue. Andy might have thought the jackets were cool if he wasn"t scared to death.
The car stereo blasted to life, and several voices whooped their approval. The rap rhythm was even louder than the other car"s had been, and the boy could hear only muffled conversation among the men. As the car pulled steadily away Andy began to breathe again, as it seemed they had either overlooked or ignored him.
The car reached the next intersection, it"s brake lights brightened, then suddenly it swung around in a wide u-turn. Headlight beams swept across Andy like searchlights, and he wheeled and dashed away, again in the state of blind terror that had become his life.
The engine roared behind him and the rap music grew louder, and there was no question that the men were after him. In his mind"s eye he saw the car again, counting the five, maybe six men, picturing looks on their black faces that seemed to promise instant death to little white boys. Up ahead was an alley, and he raced into it.
Out of sight of the car for a moment, Andy knew he couldn"t outrun it. Like little Petey before him he had to duck to the side if he was to get away. The back yards of the crumbling apartments met at this alley, and every yard was fenced. Andy threw himself at the nearest, knowing his only hope was to be out of sight before the car rounded the corner. With a grunt he half-dived over the four-foot chain-link fence, its jagged top digging into his belly and forcing what little wind he had out of him. He grabbed halfway down the fence on the far side and flipped himself over, landing in a heap in the dirty snow. He rolled and scrambled to one knee and found himself face to muzzle with a snarling German Shepherd.
The dog barked twice and bared its teeth, close enough to smell its foul breath. Andy knew it was about to lunge, and without any conscious thought his fist flew out and slammed hard into the dog"s snout. A look that could only be called astonishment filled the animal"s yellow eyes, and it yelped and staggered back a few steps. Andy seized his chance and dashed for the tall wooden fence that separated this yard from the next. He could feel the dog at his heels as he launched himself toward the top of the fence, getting a boost from a well-placed trash can. He caught the top and just managed to swing one leg over while below him the dog barked and growled, leaping against the fence in impotent fury.
Andy swung the other leg over the fence and took a second to scan the neighboring yard. It seemed blessedly devoid of dogs, so he began to lower himself just as the headlights of the car swung into the alley. He tried to drop to the ground but found himself caught, one leg of his jeans securely snagged on a protruding nail. Hanging unconcealed from the top of the fence, Andy struggled to tear free. Just then the car pulled to the middle of the alley and stopped, the music cutting off suddenly as all four doors opened and five men climbed out.
The porch light came on in the dog"s yard and a gruff voice called out over the barking, "Who"s out there!" A gray-haired black man in white long-johns stood in the doorway brandishing a pistol. "Don"t you motherfuckers hurt my dog!" the man yelled. "I"ll put this .38 up your ass if you hurt my dog!"
Andy forced himself not to move, even in his fear appreciating the irony of escaping his abusive father only to be shot dead for punching a dog in the nose. Then a younger voice called out from the alley, "Go back to bed, Pops! Ain"t nobody messin" with your dog."
The man evidently saw the wisdom of not confronting five gang-bangers in his underwear, and quickly retreated into his apartment, holding the door slightly open and calling out in a much less defiant voice, "Get in here, Duke!." The dog too seemed considerably braver facing one little boy than an alley full of gangsters, and with a single parting bark it scampered up the wooden steps and ducked inside with its master. Andy wished it would be so easy for him.
"So where"d the little bastard go?" said a voice Andy hadn"t heard before, hope surging through him as he realized they didn"t see him hanging precariously from the top of the fence.
"Hey, forget that kid," came the first voice he had heard, the one who would rather listen to opera than his friends. "It"s fuckin" cold out here, and he ain"t no Disciple anyway."
"Who the fuck else would be out here this time of night?" said the deeper voice, "and cut and run like that when he saw a car full of West Siders?"
"Who wouldn"t run from your ugly ol" monkey ass?" joked the Public Enemy fan.
"I"m tellin" you, man," the opera lover said. "That kid ain"t no gang-banger nohow. For one thing, he looked white to me. I think he"s just a scared kid way the fuck outta his neighborhood."
"It don"t matter who he is," came a new voice. This one had a subtle authority the others lacked, and Andy suddenly knew this was the boss. "White, Black or Mex. If he"s on our streets without permission we got to fuck him up."
Andy"s throat tightened with fear, and he quietly tugged against the nail. Suddenly the fabric gave way, tearing the denim from mid-calf to ankle. He lost his balance and thudded to the ground without making too much noise, but yet again squarely on his ass. Somehow he suppressed the painful moan that wanted to escape his throat. Then he heard the voices again, and they were getting closer.
"You hear that? In that yard with the wood fence," the Boss said, and Andy immediately heard the gate rattle as one of the gangsters tried its latch, which fortunately was chained and locked.
Andy frantically looked around for his escape. The yard was full of junk, big pieces of wood and old fixtures, including a broken porcelain toilet and an ancient bathtub. There were piles of discarded flooring and carpet, broken windows leaned up against the fence, and a teetering stack of old glass blocks, their edges still rough with mortar.
Just as a pair of hands appeared on top of the tall fence and the gangster began to hoist himself over, Andy"s eye fell upon an old bathroom vanity with a large under-sink cabinet. He crawled to it as quickly and quietly as he could and scrambled inside. The door wouldn"t latch closed and so he huddled in the blackness, his knees pressed to his chest and his raw fingertips barely holding the door closed by the head of the screw that fastened the handle. Trying not to breathe, all he could do was listen and pray.
"Fuckin" gate"s padlocked," said the opera lover, and Andy soon heard two or three more men clambering over the fence.
"Look at all this shit," said the Enemy fan.
Deep Voice said, "They"re rehabbin" the place. Bet there"s some copper pipe and shit inside worth cash money."
The Boss"s voice came from farther away, "Get the address. We"ll come back tomorrow night with Calvin"s truck."
Andy heard the men"s footsteps coming closer and the sound of junk lifted and dropped back as they searched.
Searched for him.
Opera Lover was only a few feet away when he said, "Come on, Darnell. Since when do we fuck with little kids? And he"s probably ten blocks from here by now anyway. I know I wouldn"t have stopped runnin" if it was me."
The Boss said evenly, "He"s here."
The sounds of the search went on within feet of his hiding place, and Andy struggled to control his trembling. His freezing fingertips ached from pinching the screw head.
"Help me with this plywood," said Deep Voice from the other samsun escort side of the yard. Somehow they had neglected to look inside his vanity and the boy fought an impulse to sigh in relief as he heard the search move away.
"He ain"t fuckin" here, Darnell," said the Enemy fan, to which Opera Lover added under his breath, "I told you, man."
"Check out the next yard," said the Boss, and all the while complaining of the cold and the fruitlessness of the search the four underlings climbed the fence into the next yard along.
Andy kept his position until he was sure no one was still in this yard. He could hear all of their now-familiar voices further away and he cautiously released the cabinet door and peeked out. He flexed his aching fingers a few times and silently crawled into the shadow of the building, which was quite a lot taller than the one the dog owner lived in.
The fire escape ladder was permanently down, its springs having long since given up the struggle against gravity, and Andy slowly and quietly climbed it, with every step fearful of the rusty creak that would give him away. He climbed as lightly and carefully as he could, constantly watching the men below lest they glance up and spot him. If that happened he"d have nowhere to go but up, and would inevitably run out of steps.
After several minutes of torturous climbing Andy found himself five stories in the air, stepping onto the flat tarpaper roof of the building. He found a shadowed corner and huddled there, watching the gangsters below in their now-futile search-and-destroy mission. Andy was relieved, but still shaking.
He couldn"t make out their words from this height, but he got the drift of the conversation as Opera Lover and Enemy Fan argued to give it up and move on. Eventually the Boss gave in, and the five men hopped the low fence of the third yard and climbed back into the car. In a blast of rap music and a squeal of tires the gangsters shot forward out of the alley and went about their nefarious business.
Andy had escaped with his life again, but instead of elation he felt despair. He sat back against the low wall around the roof, put his face in his hands and let the tears come freely. How many times could he luck out like that? He"d had three narrow escapes already in less than two hours in the city. It might have been better just to let the Old Man beat him to death. What did it matter? Maybe he should just climb down from here, find the first cop and let them ship his foolish ass back to Paxton, to the waiting fist of Dear Old Dad. He was sure the cops would be nice to him, like Officer Friendly who came to his school. They"d give him a warm coat to wear and a cup of hot chocolate to drink; probably put a policeman"s hat on his head to amuse him as if he were six instead of eleven. They"d probably even think they were doing him a favor sending him home.
The wind whipped across the roof and blew his hair across his face, sending a new and deeper chill through him. It was a lot colder up on this roof, but he simply couldn"t face the street again. Then he noticed smoke coming from the brick chimney near the middle of the roof and he crawled over to it hoping that where there"s smoke there"s fire. He sat with his back against the chimney, using it as both a windbreak and space heater. Indeed, it was warmer there, and he clasped his knees to his chest much as he had inside his hiding place below, clutching himself against the cold and longing for a hot bath given by his only friend, Charlie Topps.

It was quiet and warm. Andy could hear gentle splashes echo around him, and he felt soothing water caress his body. It was dark, but only because his eyes were closed, and he felt no need to open them, no threat to be wary of. He felt wonderfully warm, tranquil and content.
The bath was steaming, the soap smelled fresh and clean, and a soft, slick cloth scrubbed across the skin of his chest with a tenderness and care that made him feel absolutely serene. A gentle voice called his name, saying corny things that the boy somehow relished. "That"s my sweet boy," it said, "Now you"re safe with me." Andy opened his eyes and smiled. Charlie grinned back, love sparkling in his dark eyes.
It was the shining clean little bathroom underneath Charlie"s stairs. Andy had been in this bathtub several times in his dreams, though only once in real life. It was a place that made him feel good.
He supposed it was that first morning, but then again maybe not since there was no pain or fear of any kind. It occurred to him, in a completely intellectual, matter-of-fact sort of way, that he might have frozen to death on that ghetto rooftop and this was his afterlife. He didn"t really know much about that sort of thing -- his family was not what you"d call church-going -- but he shrugged and felt the warm water ripple around his shoulders. If this was Heaven it would do just fine.
Andy looked down at himself and was not surprised at the incongruence of his appearance. His feet were tiny and didn"t reach the end of the tub as they should. The scar was missing from his right knee where the Old Man had knocked him off his junky, secondhand two-wheeler when he was seven and then beaten the hell out of him for getting blood on his pants. Most unusual of all, the little penis that sometimes broke the surface of the bath water was far tinier than it ought to be, and if there"s one thing a growing boy is fully aware of it"s the size of his dick.
These things made no sense to Andy but he wasn"t concerned. He was just younger, that"s all. He was six, he somehow knew, rather than eleven. Perhaps the police had made him that way when they put a patrolman"s cap on his head and sent him home. Andy closed his eyes again and gave himself over to the heavenly sensations, feeling all tension ebb away.
"Do you think I wanted this life?"
It was his mother"s voice, and it echoed so loudly in the little bathroom that it hurt his ears. Andy"s eyes popped open and Charlie was gone. The bathroom was different, grubby and cheap, with peeling wallpaper and black, dirty lines crisscrossing between the tiles. The bathwater was cold and dirty, and the sweet soapy smell was replaced by the stench of cigarettes and alcohol.
She threw a bar of soap into the tub, narrowly missing his nuts, and stood frowning with her hands on her hips. "I was gonna marry somebody and get out of this piss-hole town. I was a beauty in high school, did you know that?" She lit another cigarette and blew smoke at the boy, making him cough. "Then you came along. Just what I needed, a fat pregnant belly my senior year. They kicked me out. The policy, they said. The fuckers."
"That"s what you did to me!" she said. "Nobody would have me, except that drunken piece of shit father of yours." She gave him a venomous look. "I wanted to go to that clinic over in Columbia, but your asshole father couldn"t get the money."
Andy didn"t know what any of it meant, but it frightened him. She looked him square in the eye with a coldness that pierced to his heart.
"I didn"t want you then and I don"t want you now. I should have gotten rid of you when I had the chance."
She stomped out of the bathroom, and when she didn"t come back and he couldn"t hear her anymore Andy climbed cautiously out of the tub and peered around the door jamb. He was wet and cold and naked but there were no towels. He looked down the hallway toward his room and there stood Charlie, smiling and holding out his arms. Andy grinned in relief and began to run naked and dripping down the hall toward him. It was only ten feet, but he ran and ran and never got any closer. He was getting tired, and though Charlie was standing just a few feet away Andy never reached him. He heard a voice behind him and turned to see five black gangsters bearing down on him. Five black men in the crummy cracker box house in Paxton, Missouri. It made no sense, and he was terrified.
"Charlie!" he cried, but Charlie just smiled as if nothing was wrong.
"Get him!" the Boss yelled from behind, and Andy felt himself stumbling. He hit the floor and scrambled over onto his bare, wet butt, desperately crawling backward toward Charlie.
"Fuck him up!" said Deep Voice and pulled a big hunting knife from his belt.
"I"ll save you, Andy!" Charlie said, and finally began to move forward in something like slow motion.
Andy turned back to the gangsters and Opera Lover was ankara sarışın escort leading the pack, mouthing the words, "I"m sorry," while pulling a huge black hand gun from his waistband.
Charlie stepped between Andy and the gang, blocking his view. Andy expected the pack of gangsters to descend upon them like a hoard but nothing happened. He peeked around Charlie"s legs and the black men were gone. He saw only the Old Man, casually holding the little .22 rifle that had stood in the corner of the hallway. The two men faced off like gunslingers in an old western.
"This ain"t none of your concern, mister," the Old Man said. "He belongs to me and I can do whatever I want."
"I promised to protect him," Charlie said, "and that"s what I"m going to do."
"We"ll see about that." The Old Man raised the .22 to his shoulder.
"No!" screamed Andy, but it was drowned out by the explosion of the rifle. It rang in Andy"s ears, more like a cannon blast than the pop of a .22.
The impact lifted Charlie from his feet, a look of shock on his face. He turned in the air, slowly and somehow gracefully, and fell heavily on top of Andy, crushing the air out of him. Charlie managed a pained smile as he gazed down into Andy"s eyes. He whispered, "Now no one will ever love you," and a cough violently shook him. The blood that welled between his lips dripped hot and wet onto Andy"s cheek and the boy began to scream.
He whipped his head back and smacked it smartly against the bricks of the chimney. It was full daylight and the sting in the back of his head brought the reality of the rooftop flooding back to him. Another hot drip hit his cheek and he jerked his eyes upward to see the rear ends of three pigeons hanging over the edge of the chimney top. He swiped at his cheek and brought away some rapidly cooling white goo.
Pigeon shit.
He scrambled away from the chimney and almost fell, his legs stiff and useless from hours curled up in a ball. He wiped again at his face, grimacing at the gross mess so close to his mouth and eyes. There was a puddle of slush in a low spot of the tarpaper and he scooped some up and washed his face. It was horribly cold and the wind against his wet skin made it even worse but at least he had the shit off of him. He picked up a loose piece of roofing and hurled it at the birds, sending them flying off in a panic, which the boy found somewhat satisfying.
He stretched his sore body and yawned. There was a constant pain in his left foot from being cold and wet for so long, and if it was no longer squishy it was because it was frozen rather than dried out. The wind flapped the tatters of his pants leg like a pirate flag and the bare skin underneath felt like tiny needles were pricking him.
He frowned as he remembered snatches of his nightmare, but the new day seemed a lot less sinister than the night had been. His dream had only redoubled his determination not to ever go back home. He"d rather be killed by gangbangers.
He stepped to the edge of the roof and surveyed the neighborhood. There were few people on the street and he guessed it was still early. Off in the distance were the tall buildings of the city. He"d never seen such things before and for a moment he was a tourist gazing at the steel and glass giants in wide-eyed wonder. He decided that he would head in that direction, since he didn"t know where else to go, anyway.
The accursed dog was back in the yard next door, and he supposed it would alert the neighborhood again when he climbed down the fire escape. Part of him wanted to just stay on the rooftop but the emptiness of his stomach reminded him that he hadn"t eaten anything since a candy bar in Peoria, wherever that was, at least 12 hours before.
He descended the rusty steps nearly as carefully as he had climbed them and managed not to unduly agitate the dog. The pain eased a bit as he flexed his foot and for that he was grateful. He slipped over the fence to the alley and cautiously peeked around into the street.
Many of the businesses were open, a few others still gated. An elderly black man was pushing back the gate of a liquor store and eyed Andy suspiciously as he passed. The boy did his best not to stare, or to run. He just looked straight ahead and walked quickly until he was across to the next block. When he finally glanced back the man had disappeared into the store.
On the corner of the next block was a small grocery and Andy"s mouth began to water at the thought of breakfast. He fingered the dollar-forty in his pocket. This time yesterday that would have seemed like a reasonable amount for a kid to have. Now he knew it put perhaps another day between him and starvation.
Decisively he went into the store, appreciating the warmth and the delicious smells. There were three other customers, all black, and they stared at him for long seconds before turning back to their own purchases. One middle-aged woman kept looking back at him and glancing at the door, perhaps expecting a white parent to follow him inside, which clearly would not have pleased her.
Andy scanned the shelves and realized with dismay how little a dollar buys. Finally he settled upon some sort of packaged sticky bun and a pint of apple juice and took them to the counter.
The old black woman at the register smiled warmly at him, the first smile he"d seen since the bus from Paxton, and he smiled back. It felt good.
"That will be one dollar and forty-six cents with tax, honey," she said in clear, perfectly enunciated English. This was an educated woman and proud of it. Just hearing her voice and seeing her smile Andy liked her very much.
"Oh," he exclaimed when he realized, "I"m six cents short."
"That"s all right, honey," the woman smiled. "We overcharge for everything anyway."
The woman beamed at Andy"s grin, and even the suspicious lady customer, who was now behind Andy in line, smiled. The cashier suddenly got a more serious look and leaned down to the boy and asked, "Are you all right, honey? Is there someone you"d like me to call?"
"No, ma"am," Andy said. "I"m OK, honest."
It was a lie, of course. He was about as far from OK as he"d ever been, but he didn"t want to worry this nice lady. Besides, if he told her she"d call the cops for sure, thinking she was doing the right thing, and he"d be back in Paxton before nightfall. After all he"d been through already he just couldn"t let himself be taken back.
"Well, you be careful on those streets, child," she said, her warm smile returning.
"Yes ma"am, I will," he said, and with a friendly little wave he took his brown paper sack of breakfast and stepped back out into the cold. He found a dry spot and sat on the curb outside the store. Andy wolfed the food, his spirits rising as his stomach filled. But soon his feeling of well-being leveled off again as he realized that although he wasn"t starving anymore, now he was broke.
He tossed the juice bottle and the bun package into a trash can and just stood there, not knowing what to do next. He glanced up at a street sign that said Damen Avenue. Of course he didn"t know where Damen Avenue was in relation to the rest of the world, but somehow it made him feel a little less lost to know what street he was on. But lost he was, and alone, and scared. He tucked his cold hands into his pockets and began to walk.
He walked briskly, and as he warmed up and stretched out he began to believe he might be safe for a while. He noticed with relief that the neighborhood was getting significantly cleaner. The buildings parted a bit in front of him and once again he could see in the distance the shining behemoths of chrome and glass. There were more people on the street now, most of them well-dressed and hurrying off to work or shopping.
Every so often he saw someone who looked as scraggly as he knew he must look. An old man picked through the trash in an alley, collecting aluminum cans in plastic grocery bags. An old woman in a man"s winter coat and ragged, baggy pants sifted through the sand in a big concrete ashtray outside a building, gathering up any butts big enough to smoke. A young man in nothing heavier than a spring wind breaker sat unmoving on a low guard rail separating a parking lot from a loading dock, silently watching as the people hurried past and ignored him.
Andy felt a closeness with these people even though he didn"t know them. Like him, they were alone in the midst of millions.

Next time: The boy business.
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