Layla in the Morning

 

    The broken legged man makes eyes at me from the street again. I put my face in the window and give him eyes back. He’s pretending he’s going around the block. He’s in a huge brown coat and his mouth is open. I see his mouth like it’s up close. His teeth are gapped like mine. He hardly moves.

    I get an idea that I might have some fun with him and before I think twice I scoot my chair back and run down the hall, quietly since the bed’s creaking with Daddy waking up and Mother’s coughing in her air tubes. I keep clear of the spots where the floor moans. I shut the door slowly behind me.

    Up closer he’s the most tired man I’ve ever seen. His face wrinkles around his eyes like his face wants to spit them out. He kind of wobbles. I’m used to grown ups being shaky around me but he’s different. He’s not scared. He looks at me really hard. He makes me think of when you’re trying to memorize something. That’s how he’s looking at me now.

    “Aren’t you cold?” I step under the lamp with him. “I see you shivering. You’ll catch the flu out here.”

    He works his lips lots of times before words come out. “If I get sick, won’t you get sick too?” 

    “No, I won’t.”

    “How’s that?”

    “I got the flu shot in September. Two days after I turned twelve. Did you get the flu shot?”

     He shakes his head “I got the wrong shot by mistake.”

    “I bet you’re the germs’ delight, Teddy.” I turn my chin up and give him my business look. “Your name’s Teddy, okay?”

    “That’s okay.”

    I laugh and Teddy laughs too but there’s no noise. His shoulders hunch and his face jerks and I see his teeth again, gapped just like mine.

    “You’ve got a good laugh, you know that?”

    “Of course, I do,” I say. “See how shiny my words are? Would you like to know how smart I am?”

    “Gavin Galluccio isn’t gonna raise a dummy, I know that.”

    “I’m nice too,” I say. “Would you like to know how nice I am?”

    “Tell me, Layla.”

    I try, but I hear my name in his mouth. I don’t know how it got there. He’s looking at me with smooth eyes now. He’s not wobbly anymore and his eyes are deep in his head and the deeps are filled with little shadows. He’s almost happy looking.

    Like nothing happened I say, “I’m so nice, I’ll let you walk me to my bus stop. I’ll let you walk a bright lady like me part way to school. The germs’ll see you with me and then they’ll run the other way. How about that?” 

    “Sounds like a silly idea, Layla.”

    “Who said you could call me that?”

    “Doesn’t your daddy knows his own daughter’s name?”

    “You and Daddy are friends?”

    “Sure we are.”

    “Does Daddy know you’re creeping around? I saw you last night, you know.”

    “I know.”

    “Why don’t you come in? Why’re you creeping around?”

    “I don’t wanna talk to your Daddy,” he says, “I wanna to talk to you.”

    “Somebody will call the cops on you. They warn us about creepers like you.”

    Teddy glances around. I follow his eyes so I can see what he’s looking at. What I see is the light from the street lamp. Our little bowl of it, all the dark around. I can see in the dark because the snow is swollen gold. Down the block I see one or two windows lit but nobody inside. The snow falls loudly and it scratches like sand. I wonder if Teddy hears it or if it’s just me.

    “You see anybody watching us, Layla?”

    Then my stomach goes. Him saying my name is like a needle right through me and all I can do is shout, which I do, and that’s when Teddy hunches and goes crazy. He looks around for people seeing. All of a sudden I feel like I’m smarter than Teddy, because I know we’re alone out here and nobody’s going to see. I tell him, “Just don’t say my name.” And I ask, “Why are creeping around, Teddy?”

    “I need you to do something. Can you do me a favor?”  He bends down. His knees disappear in the snow. His body stays where it is and his head stretches to me and his head is full of wrinkles. It’s fat and swollen like a baby’s head. “Will you do something for me?”

    “Why’s your face so old?” I ask.

    “Listen—”

    “How come you look so old? Do you have kids?”

    “Missy.” He stomps the snow. “Will you do this for me or not?”

    I don’t even have to think about it.

    Charity Ayers once asked why I wasn’t scared of boys. I told her I liked talking to boys. She thought I was lying when I said that, only I wasn’t. I do like talking to boys, and they do scare me. Only I like the things that make me scared. Anything else is no fun. That’s kind of why I steal, so I can be scared. When it happens, everything I do and everything I say glows. My words in my stomach get shiny and they press my throat and I almost can’t take it. All of me shakes and inside me bulges holding it. That’s why I do it. There’s nothing that’s real like that feeling is real. Girls like Charity Ayers just don’t know and I don’t think Teddy knows either. I guess I want him to though. Teddy doesn’t make any sense. Talking to him is kind of like talking to boys, only he’s a man with a face like a baby. I wish right now the street was filled with people so somebody could see this old baby I’m talking to. Looking around, the dark feels brighter and less huge. Maybe I’m used to it. Maybe it’s because I’ve been in it a while. A girl and a man out in the dark should be scary but Teddy’s too weird. I’m not scared of him at all.

    “It depends,” I say.

    “On what?”

    “You have to do something for me. You have to do my thing first.”

    He frowns. He doesn’t like this. But I can tell from his face he’s afraid I’ll screech again. “Okay, missy. You gotta do exactly what I say though, you hear me?”

    I roll my eyes. Boys are all the same.

    “Promise.”

    “I promise, Teddy.”

    “Okay. What’s your thing?”

    “I want you to walk me to my bus stop.

    “Walk you?”

    “Yeah,” I say, “It’s on the corner up there.”

    “That’s it?”

    “I’m nice and you have to worry about those germs.”

    Then he moves to get up. He sucks air, thrusts his neck and pulls his legs. His legs thrash in the snow for a long time before he’s up and by then he’s got clouds around his face. He shoves his hand in his coat and pulls out a big envelope with a bulge in the middle. The envelope is the same gold as the snow and lighter too. It almost shines. The paper is wrinkly though. Like paper that gets wet and dries, it’s that kind of wrinkly.

    “Give this to your father,” he says, and presses it into my coat.  

    “What is it?”

    “A present. You have to give it to him. Don’t let anybody see it. Keep it good and hidden. As soon as you get home today, you give it to him. Don’t leave it someplace where he’ll find it. Hand it to him. When you do, you tell him I left it for him, okay?”

    “But what is it?”

    “You know. A little piece of me.”

    “What do I call you?”

    “Call me Teddy,” he says. “He’ll know me. All he’s gotta do is open it and he’ll know who I am.”

    “He’ll know you?”

    “That’s right,” Teddy says. I squish my thumbs in it, which he doesn’t like, because he yelps and snatches it back. My bag is flat and empty on my back, and he turns me around and unzips it and puts the envelope inside. While he does it, he holds me by the shoulder. With his hand on me I don’t want to move at all. I just wait and feel his hand.

    Then I look at him. “Walk me to the bus, Teddy,” I say and I yank him along beside me. He can hardly walk in the snow. Together we hobble all right. His legs do this thing where they bend into every step. He’s so tall it’s hard to keep him moving in one direction. I glance back at the footprints I’ve left in the sidewalk and they’re neat and small and beside them there’s Teddy’s crazy chicken-scratch.

    “Look at that mess, Teddy,” I say. “I bet I’ll be tall like you one day.”

    “You think so?” he asks.

    “Yeah. Lots of girls like being short, but I don’t.”

    Teddy smiles at that.

    Neighbors are sweeping off their cars. When they drive by, the wheels crunch the ice and I wave at them and they stare for a second then keep going.

    “Don’t do that,” Teddy mutters.

    “It’s not like it matters. Nobody’s going to stop.”

    Teddy’s got a look on his face, all tight and closed. I try to help him walk but he’s holding back. I tug his wrist a little and his skin is cold and stiff

    “Is this a real arm?” I ask. I hold his sleeve back so I can peek inside to see where the real skin attaches. “Why won’t you warm up?”

    We’re almost at the street lamp on the corner. It’s a tall lamp and the light slices out and makes the air deep and empty and cold.

    Then he says, “I wanna ask you something, Layla. Does your father ever tell you about his job?”

    I hardly notice my name in his mouth. “Sometimes,” I say.

    “What does he say?”

    “He works at the bank. He talks to people.” 

    Teddy thinks for a minute, then he looks at me. “He ever tell you about me?”

    I look back at Teddy. His face kind of drops. He breathes out and a long cloud spins around his head. He shivers and it dissolves and his lips press hard together and he looks up the street.

    “Okay, Layla,” he says.

    “What?” I say, and I can tell I missed something.

    He rubs his eyes. “You’ve got yourself a good daddy, Layla, that’s what.” He smiles at me. “A girl only needs one daddy. And I wouldn’t tell you about me either.”

    “What?”

    He grins and comes a little closer. “We don’t want you getting too big for you britches. Look where that got me.” Then he does a funny thing with his legs. They go wobbly and he sways.

    “Quit that!” I try to be mad but I can’t stop laughing. He smiles and I like it. Not just because we’ve got the same gap between our teeth but because his smile makes the air warm. I want to smile like that. I bump him with my shoulder. When I try to move away, he holds my shoulder and I stop trying. I might ask Daddy to bring him over later. Teddy can be my secret friend that none of my other friends know about. Teddy can teach me everything he knows and show me all his grown up thoughts. But I know it’ll never be like that. I can jump and do somersaults. I can braid my hair and cut out pictures. I can go anyplace and pretend and talk things into happening like Daddy, and I can walk up to scary things and tap them on the nose. Teddy can’t do any of those things. Teddy can’t glow. Teddy can’t walk. Teddy can’t tell we’re the only one’s outside.

    I look at Teddy and I open my mouth. Out of nowhere, I feel terrible. Everything I’m thinking wants to pour out. My words shine and the glow suddenly fills my throat.

    “I like you, Teddy!” I say and I blush like coals and worry what he’ll say next.

    We stops walking and he looks at me. He doesn’t say anything. 

    “Can’t you come inside?” I ask.

    Teddy looks hard-faced.

    “Don’t you like me?”

    He just looks at me. I let go of his arm. Suddenly I start shaking, then I shout, “What makes you think I liked you in the first place?” Then I push him and kick him and run. I hear to him stomping in the ice. I glance over my shoulder and see him with his wrists deep in the snow and his legs out and wobbling. I give him a good straight look. Then I turn back around and don’t look again. 

    The air is cold and good on my teeth. It pushes away the whole morning. I get the doorknob in both my hands. Turning it, it’s like the real day is starting, like I’m waking up and everything that happened before is far in the dark. I slam the door shut and run upstairs, where water’s plinking in the bathtub. I stomp black marks into the carpet with my wet boots and I don’t care that they hear.

    “The bus didn’t come!” I shout. “School’s closed!” Once I asked Daddy if pretending was like lying. He said there’s nothing wrong with pretending as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.

    A head sticks out of the bedroom in front of me. I jump. At first I don’t recognize him, that it’s just Daddy’s, sticking his head out the way he does when he’s not dressed. “Baby, check the radio to make sure.” His voice is weird, different from how it sounded yesterday.

    “I just told you the bus didn’t come.”

    “Just check, would you?”

    “I told you!” Then I look at the floor between my toes.

    When I look up again, he’s frowning at me. His head is huge and meaty and I’ve never noticed that until now.

    He says, “You know what I’m about to say?”

    “Yes,” I say and go down the hallway.

    “Careful how you talk to your father, Layla.”

    “Okay,” I say, but I don’t believe what he calls me or what he calls himself.

    In my room, I get up on my desk and put my face in the window. Tracks lead away from the house but there’s nobody in them.

    “Is the radio on?” Daddy calls.

    I look over my desk at Jonas posters, rows of nail polish, an iHome, headbands and magenta and mauve ribbons and faces cut from magazines that are taped to the wall next to pictures of my friends, their brothers and sisters, the boys they like, everything in little families. I used to like the way it looks. It caught the lamp and I’d sit in the glow and get this hopeful feeling. Each thing was like a promise I had something good and mine looking after me, watching my back always. I was protected and safe and by myself. That’s how I felt. But I don’t know this. This thing I’m feeling now, a long cold drip.

    Without watching what my hands are doing, I pull the envelope out of my backpack and lay it on my legs. I peel the tab and pry the lip so the glue tears the paper. I do all this with one hand. I’m still not really looking. My other hand presses the bulge. The bulge isn’t so hard now. It spreads under my fingers and feels like my skin feels, skin on skin, and smells like it. But if the skin were bad, black. My fingers trace the wrinkles in the paper where it used to be wet. I know whatever’s inside is for me. I’ll put it on my desk. That’s why Teddy was watching me. That’s why he found me. He wants me to open it, because he can tell I’m a bright girl and a special girl and even though I’m young, I’m ready to look and I’m ready to know things and if Daddy can know who he is, I can too. I hear knocking. I lift the envelope upside down and shake it and I hear the scraping inside. It’s a melting thing. Over the smooth of my lap the bulge just starts to give. On the door I hear Daddy’s fists. In my throat something kicks free and my mouth breaks open. Like a hunk of ice. It goes.