Ava
For the next several days, I stay in my room expecting the police to come pounding on my door at any minute. I pace around the end of the bed and walk to the window, then back around the bed to the desk, and again back around to the window. To be honest, a visit from the police is not an unexpected event in my neighborhood or this building. I remind myself repeatedly that nobody knows I am here. I am here. I am here.
When the police finally do come in the wee hours of the morning, I am already awake. I’ve been watching out of the window for five minutes, or two hours, I really can’t say. They pull up to the curb, no lights – no sirens. Two officers get out of the car and walk to the entrance below my window.
My body begins to shake uncontrollably, and I think I might vomit. I move to the door and sit down with my back pressed against it and my head between my knees. I focus on my breath. In 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Out 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.
It’s unusually quiet in the building tonight, and I hear the footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hallway. I think I might pass out when I hear them right outside my door, but they walk past my doorway and start up the next flight of stairs. Not me, not me. They are not for me.
The footsteps stop and one of the officers knocks on a door. After a pause they knock again. I’m holding my breath, straining to hear. I hope they’re not here for Evony.
I don’t know much about the people in my building. I hesitate to call them neighbors. Friendly Mr. McGrandy and his golden retriever were neighbors. The very few people I’ve seen in and around my building skulk around in the shadows, hoods up and heads down. Like me. Except for Evony.
“Hi,” she said cheerily one day when I passed her in the hallway. “My name is Evony. I live upstairs.” She doesn’t really look old enough to be living on her own, but what do I know? There are two other rooms here on the second floor. I sometimes hear people come and go – at least I think I do. I’ve never seen anybody except Evony.
Brother Good and Brother Bad live below me on the ground level. I think Brother Good is the landlord – at least he’s the guy who showed me the room and took my money. He’s friendly and helpful. He suggested I get an extra lock (or two) for my door. He smiles and wishes me a happy day whenever he’s on the sidewalk when I leave – which is often.
Brother Bad has dark hair and dark circles under his eyes. He sports a scar and a scowl on his face. I don’t know if they are brothers, but that is how they address each other.
Brother Bad: Ooo ooo ooo, Ava. Aren’t you looking fine today?
Brother Good: Brother, leave that poor girl alone. Don’t you mind him, Ava.
Brother Bad: You mind your own business, Brother. I’m making time.
I think Brother Good told me his name when I met him, but I don’t remember it now. I have no need to address either one of them. I keep to myself.
I’m still trying to get a bead on what’s happening upstairs with the police. I think someone may have come to the door. People are talking, I hear voices. I think it’s a female voice, but I can’t be sure.
I resume my pacing. Window, bed, desk. Desk, bed, window. Back and forth, I count my breaths. The room seems lighter and I realize the sun is coming up. Desk, bed, window. When I look down at the street, I see the police are gone.
*****
Ava
When I think I can’t stay cooped up inside my room another minute, I venture out for a quick walk – hoodie up, head down. I stuff my feet into my dried and crusty sneakers. After my dip in the dog fountain, I put them on the heater to dry and now they are shrunken curled-up garbage.
It’s hard to avoid the dog park in my small corner of the world. I’m afraid to keep my circle small for fear of seeing the same familiar people and being recognized. But the larger I make my circle, the more I risk visibility. Hood up, head down.
As I walk, I think back to the people that saw me at the dog park. Were they looking for me, or were they staring because I called attention to myself? Maybe the wiener dog family were just walking their wiener dogs. Maybe that cop just happened to be there. No. Nah. That seems too coincidental.
I’m still having moments of freezing up and losing time. I can’t risk drawing further attention to myself. What if someone tries to ‘help’ by calling an ambulance or involving the police? I absolutely cannot go to the police station. Yet, even as I think these thoughts, I find myself outside the dog park. I slow down, then stop.
I keep my distance from the gate and observe as people and dogs come and go. I linger near a bus stop and glance down the street now and then, hoping that anyone noticing my loitering will think I’m waiting to catch a ride. Nobody gives me a second look. I don’t see any police.
Some of the people keep their dogs on leads and walk the paths. Others unleash their friends and sit on benches with phones or books or gather with other people they seem to know.
I see the gray Pit Bull from my previous visit to the park. He has a tennis ball in his mouth and lopes over to a man sitting on one of the benches. The guy’s back is to me, and he’s talking on his phone. I look over my shoulder then move a little closer. I lean on the fence and try to look bored. The dog drops the ball in front of the guy and gives a soft chuff, dropping his front feet and head low, and putting his wiggling butt in the air.
The guy is complaining about his Ontology class and the unexpected amount of homework. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get it done because he has two more dogs he needs to walk today.
He’s a dog walker. I wonder if that’s something I could do; be a dog walker. I’m going to need some money soon.
The walker picks up the ball and throws it for the excited dog a couple of times but then loses interest. The dog sits at his feet patiently looking from the ball to the man, from the ball to the man. After a time, he gives up and looks around. His eyes meet mine and he trots over to the fence. He continues to look at me and tilts his head to the side. He looks as though he’s just asked me a question.
I feel the familiar anxiety ramping up inside me. I shake my head. I don’t know the answer.
Dog walker stands up and says, “C’mon, Ralph, let’s go.”
I quickly turn and walk away, my feet hurting in my crusty crappy shoes.
*****
Ava
I hop a bus to Lynnhaven Mall where I visit Dick’s Sporting Goods. It feels odd and a little surreal to be doing such a normal thing as walking in the mall. I pull my hoodie off, feeling exposed, but I’m drawing more attention to myself with it on than off.
I try on several different pairs of shoes. I should NOT have tried on the New Balance 880 running shoes. I cannot afford them and I do not deserve them. I walk around the store, stopping now and then to bounce on the balls of my feet or take a couple of high steps. They feel so good.
“Can I help you?” A woman wearing a green polo and blue jeans joins me in the aisle.
“I’ll take these,” I tell her, turning away and bending down to pick up my ruined shoes. I stuff them in the New Balance box and hand it to her.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Back out on the street, I berate myself. I can’t believe I used so much of my dwindling resources on something self-indulgent. When I get to the bus stop, I cram the Dick’s bag with my old shoes into a garbage can and start back to my hidey -hole.
For the next two hours my mind and pace whir like a blender cycling through speeds. Why did you spend all that money? What if Brother Good has to kick me out because I don’t have next month’s rent? What if he calls the police? I realize I’m running and I slow down. Brother Good is not going to call the police. That’s ridiculous. You’re going to get a job and you’re going to figure out a plan.
Almost home, I stop at a hole-in-the-wall diner. The sign simply says, “Gus’s.” It’s just a couple of blocks from the dog park, and I’ve been there a time or two. They have a ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window, and I’ve considered applying for a job. I’ve waited tables and worked in kitchens before, but I can’t put those jobs on an application. They’ll ask me questions about who I am and where I’m from. I don’t want them to look at me, and I don’t want them to know me. I don’t want to know me either.
I go inside and slide into a booth near the window. I think about my dwindling cash – I need a job. My stomach is growling so loud I think the people in the next booth must be able to hear it. A waitress passes by with two plates: one has an omelet and hash browns, the other has a stack of pancakes and sausage. Although I’m sure I could pack away what is on both of those plates, I order coffee and toast. I watch the people go by and try to focus on what I can do to keep myself from getting kicked out of my crappy boarding room.
A bike courier bumps up onto the sidewalk and then back into the street, maneuvering around a cab. I could drive a cab, but they would want to see my driver’s license and maybe run a check on me. I don’t have a bike, but I wonder if I could courier on foot. I have good running shoes, I think before I start to spiral again.
I nibble at my toast, trying to make it last. The waitress stops and tops off my coffee.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asks. She’s not asking a casual question on her table rounds. She’s looking at me too intently. She is expectantly waiting for an answer.
“No, thank you,” I say at the same time my stomach gives another loud rumble. I turn my eyes back to the window. She hesitates a moment longer, then moves on.
Through the window I see an elderly woman with a Basset Hound. She leans heavily on her cane. The dog has to stop and wait for her to catch up. Then it walks forward about five paces, then again waits for her to catch up. I think again about being a dog walker. I could offer to walk her dog for her. I think about all the dogs at the park.
Two women are leaving the diner and stop just outside the door. The older one is dressed in athletic wear and looks ready for the gym or a yoga class. The younger one, dressed in a pale green blouse and navy suit with low heels, carries a bag on her shoulder that looks like it might hold a laptop. My head starts to swim and my chest feels tight. I hear a whoosh-whoosh in my ears and my vision narrows. The women share a brief embrace. I see stars in front of my eyes, and I think I might faint.
I close my eyes and count my breaths. As soon as I’m sure I can leave the diner safely without making a spectacle, I go home to write a letter to my mom.
*****
Ralph
There has been no more snow, and what we did have disappeared. That’s sad. But now we have wonderful smelly wallows of mud. I put my snout down close and suck in scent. I can tell that Stryker was here, but his scent is not strong. I don’t think he is still here at the park. Frank has clearly been here rolling. I wish I could roll, but that would be BAD. I stand on the edge of the wallow and let it squeeze between my toes.
I’m thinking about taking my second perimeter lap when Ace calls my name. What? That’s not right. It can’t be time to leave yet. I haven’t had my second lap.
It’s important to take a lap when I arrive so I know who has been here and what has changed since I was last here. After that I check in with everyone I know – and some I don’t – both friends and their humans. Ace is supposed to play ball with me. (Mom reminds him often and she scolds him if he admits he didn’t.) Then I make a final perimeter lap and then we can leave.
I think about ignoring Ace. If he doesn’t have to play ball with me, maybe I don’t have to come when he calls me. But that is also BAD. And I don’t like to be BAD.
I hesitate for another moment. I’m not done here, but Ace calls again and I trot toward him. This is not okay with me. No. This is not okay.
Ace clips the lead to my collar and we go through the first gate, and then the second. That’s when I see her standing in front of the mailman’s box. She is sad again. I feel her dark. I pull Ace the short distance to where that girl is standing. I boop the side of her leg. She jumps a little and Ace starts to talk to her.
Ace should not talk to her. Ace does not give good energy. Stop, Ace. BAD. Stop talking to her.
I lean against her leg and push my nose into her hand. I blow calm energy onto her.
*****
Ace
Ace is talking to Travis about pulling a party together for Saturday night when he sees Ralph eyeing a wide swath of mud beside the path.
“Hey man, I gotta go. The park is pretty muddy today and I have to get Ralph out of here before he takes a roll and I end up having to give him a bath. I’ll catch you later.”
As Ace is latching the second gate, Ralph gives a yank on the leash.
“Whoa, Bro.” Ace turns to see what Ralph is on about. He has a bead on someone standing by a mailbox. It’s hard to tell if it’s a boy or a young woman. They have a black hoodie pulled up obscuring part of their face. Ace decides based on the joggers and running shoes, it must be a woman. She’s holding the mailbox flap open and has an envelope in her hand, but she’s just standing there, like she can’t decide whether she wants to mail her letter or not. As Ralph pulls him closer to her, Ace can she she’s young – maybe his age – and thinks she looks vaguely familiar but can’t place her.
Ralph bumps her leg with his nose and she startles. Her eyes refocus and land on Ace.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asks her.
She looks at him blankly at first, then cautiously.
Ace looks down at Ralph and then back the girl.
“Ahhh. What’s your deal? Your story? I think you’ve got some bad mojo going on there.”
“Who are you?” She looks frightened and starts to back up.
“Whoa, hey, chill now. I didn’t mean any offense. I just mean I can see you’ve got some baggage there. Well, I can’t, but Ralph can.”
They both look down at the dog who seems to be giving his human companion the side-eye.
“Ralph’s a therapy dog. He’s attracted to people in pain. Attracted? I don’t know if that’s right, but he can tell. Ralph can sense when people have drama. Am I right? You got some drama, Mama?”
He glances at the letter in her hand. “Ummm, you know that letter doesn’t have a stamp on it right? Hey, where are you going?”
The girl turns and hurries away.
*****
Ava
I am standing in front of the mailbox. I have pulled the flap-door open with my left hand, but my right hand doesn’t want to let go of the envelope, fat with the pages I wrote the night before.
Something bumps against my calf. I turn, expecting to see a distracted mommy with a stroller, but it’s the grey Pit Bull from the dog park – Ralph. He sits, practically on my foot, and leans into my leg. He has his tennis ball in his mouth, and his big wide mouth looks like he is smiling around it.
He’s asking me something. What?
I realize his walker is there on the sidewalk with him. I look up and he’s staring at me with a smug and knowing look on his face. I’ve seen that look before. He thinks he knows me. Does he know me?
“What’s your deal?” he asks me.
I take a step backwards and Ralph moves with me.
He continues to look at me intently. “Tell me what happened. I know what you did. I see you’ve got some bad mojo going on there.”
He knows. How does he know? He continues to talk but I can’t hear his words anymore. All I hear is splashing water, sirens, and a dog whining.
I look down at Ralph. He pushes his muzzle into my hand as it hangs at my side, and I feel his warm breath. I take a deep breath in, hold it. And then let it out.
Walker is saying something about Ralph being a therapy dog. Is he in therapy? Wait, what? Now he’s asking me about my letter.
My heart is pounding in my chest but slowing. I glance around. I rub one of Ralph’s ears between my fingers for just a moment, then turn and jog away.
*****
Ava
There is a very small stone block building on the corner of Blackstone and Washington in my neighborhood. It stands by itself in the corner of a huge empty parking lot, like a postage stamp on an empty envelope. I’m not sure how long it has been abandoned, but several scrub trees have grown up against the building, calling attention to its abandonment. There are three smallish squares on the west side of the building where glass block windows appear to be the only source of natural light into the building. I wonder if it used to be a bar or tavern, but it’s so small, I’m not so sure about that.
I look around. Motor traffic is fairly steady, but I don’t see any nearby pedestrians, and it doesn’t appear anyone is interested in what I might be doing here. I walk up to the door and give it a tug. It moves a bit in the door frame but remains securely locked. I move over to the glass block windows, but I can’t see through those.
I lean against the building and stare into the parking lot. I imagine a car pulling into one of the nearby spaces on an early and somewhat foggy fall morning. An older woman gets out of the car and lets herself into the front door of the stone building. She makes her way across the empty waiting room, stopping to straighten a pile of magazines on a table. She passes through another door. and before she settles behind her desk, she takes a bottle of Windex and some paper towels from her drawer and cleans the sliding window above her station. She settles in to wait for the doctor and his first patient of the day.
In a different world, a couple walk up the sidewalk as the sky turns to dusk. The young woman is wearing a flowy chiffon A-line dress with white go-go boots. The man is rocking a royal blue button-down shirt with a brown vest. His pants are a white back drop to psychedelic flowers. He holds the door for her, and I catch a glimpse of shag carpeting – not on the floor, but on the walls – before the wooden door swings shut.
I hear the faint chords of piano music. I turn my head toward the building, and I can see through the glass blocks now. Molded plastic chairs form a single line down one wall. In the center of the room are two pianos, side by side. One is a painted upright like my elementary school music teacher used to play while we sang. The other is a large shining black grand piano. A young girl sits on the bench at the upright and nods her head as she strikes the keys with her slim fingers. A red-haired man wearing a somewhat rumpled suit, stands behind her, quietly tapping the toe of a scuffed wingtip in sync with her bobbing head.
“Hey little girl,” says a voice behind me and I jump. Bad Brother leers at me from the sidewalk.
“The streetlights just came on. Your mama is going to be looking for you.” He laughs as though he has just made a joke. He takes a puff on his cigarette and passes me, heading south down Blackstone Avenue.
“I wish,” I whisper into the twilight before I abandon the building, just as everyone else has, and head north.
Once Upon a Willow 