Unraveled

Taking a Trip

There was a small crowd of people in the parking lot when I walked up. I had gotten off later than I was supposed to after a wave of what Betsy called "prime customers" came in right as we were supposed to be closing. They were people who didn't live in the neighborhood but had heard that Betsy wasn't a half-bad cook. I'd had to stick around to help her after Charlie had taken off early.

I saw Gillian's black hair next to a makeshift fire. She was laughing at something the boy in front of her had said. Even from where I stood near the corner, still hesitant about rather or not I wanted to actually join them, I could see that she had already been using.

"She's a trip," a voice said behind me.

I jumped and spun around to find myself face-to-face with a dark-haired boy. A cigarette dangled from his lips. His clothes were worn. A few curls escaped the cap on his head. He kicked at a rock with a battered shoe.

"You never know what she's going to do."

"Yeah," I said, looking back over at Gillian in the circle of people, "I figured that out."
"You're not from here."

I looked back over at him. He took a drag of the cigarette and let the smoke out slowly. He wasn't questioning. He didn't have a judgmental tone to his voice. It was more of an observation than anything.

"No."

"Then what are you doing here?" he asked as he took out the carton of cigarettes and offered one to me. I took it from him and let him light it.

"Realized that I couldn't keep pretending anymore."

He barked out a laugh, nodding. "That's how a lot of people end up here." He walked around me to lean against the building, propping one foot up against it. "I ran away last year. A person can only put up with so much bullshit, you know?"

I nodded but didn't respond. I was watching as Gillian held her hand over the fire, jerking it back with a laugh when the flame hit it. I'd made up my mind that I just wanted to go back to my apartment, do a line, and go to sleep. Really, all I wanted to do was go to bed. A joint was really all that I was craving at that moment.

"You want to get out of here?" the boy asked. I looked over at him. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. "This isn't really my crowd."

"What is your crowd?"

"Not a crowd," he replied as he brushed past me. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

I took one last drag of my cigarette before I put it out on the sidewalk and followed him down the street.

"Where are we going?" I asked as I stuffed my hands into my coat pockets.

He looked over his shoulder at me. "My spot."

I frowned, but I didn't question him. I'd learned from my father that people would tell you what you wanted to know when they wanted to or it was time. Asking too many questions only pissed people off.

The boy weaved his way through the streets. I was lost after the first handful of turns. If he was taking me someplace to kill me, there was no way I would know how to get away. For all I knew, he could have been leading me around in a big circle, confusing me on purpose.

I didn't think that was what he was doing. I'd gone with my dad to correction facilities before. This boy didn't give me the same feeling the people in those facilities did.