The Entirely Fabricated Story of Lizzie Nickerson

Chapter 42

Lizzie dropped to her knees on the sidewalk, arms outstretched. The copper-colored dog veered across the pavement toward her to investigate.

"C'mon, Ginger." The dog's owner tugged at the leash.

"What kind of dog is she?" Lizzie asked.

"Uh, she's a Vizsla."

Lizzie was all hands and splayed fingers, rubbing the dog's coat. "Wait. Isn't the Vizsla a Hungarian hunting dog? Or sporting dog?"

"That's right," said the woman.

"Ginger. I like that name."

"Well, she's a redhead. Her full name is Giner Snap."

"Oh, I get it. Yeah, I get it." Lizzie smiled. "At first, I thought she was a Rhodesian Ridgeback but I can see that there's no ridge on her back."

"Yep." She gave the leash a tug. "Gotta go."

"Goodbye, Ginger Snap. Goodbye, Ginger's owner." Lizzie got up, a bit wobbly on her feet. She watched them walk away. Ginger jerked around, facing Lizzie, and barked aggressively.

Lizzie noticed the dog wasn't looking at her but rather at something just over her shoulder. She swiveled to confront Tyson Russko standing uncomfortably close to her.

She let out a startled yeep and stumbled backward. "Oh, geez. You're that guy." Lizzie's brain sounded the alarm bell but the impulse wasn't connected to her feet. It didn't occur to her to run.

He glanced around, his dirt-smudged skin stretched across his cheekbones, his hair matted with grease as though he'd just crawled out of the sewer.

"You're that strange person!" she said louder, meeting his eyes. "The rude anorexic squirrel guy." Her shrill voice drew the attention of nearby pedestrians.

He didn't speak. His chest rose and fell with raggedy breaths. He lowered his head, his body still like a coyote trying to blend into the environment, his narrow eyes sliding back and forth.

"You almost knocked those guys down the stairs!" she said, the end of the sentence rolling back into her mouth.

Flustered, Tyson grunted, saying something that sounded like 'butter,' then spun on his heels and sprinted away.

A man with a bushy beard emerged from the parade of pedestrians. He had a chubby child's face that looked way too young to grow such a bramble of facial hair. He'd witnessed the brief but odd encounter. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Lizzie winced. "I got a cramp in my toes from my foot tapping." Before he could reply, she added, "Did you see that dog?" She craned her neck, looking for Ginger.

"The beagle?"

"A Vizsla. Why do people think beagles are so great? They hurt my ears."

He hadn't approached her to discuss dogs. "Was that man bothering you?" He put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She jerked away at the excruciating sensation of needles plunging deep into her bony shoulder, her eyes clenched, her arms twitching as though she were electrocuted. The neighborhood felt smaller like the whole thing could fit inside a shoe box.

"Sorry," he said, withdrawing his hand. "I didn't mean."

She regained composure, blinking her way back through the tunnel of consciousness, and eventually opening her eyes. She rubbed her palms briskly against her thighs.

"I'm really sorry," he repeated. "Are you all right?"

"Sensory sensitivities," Lizzie grumbled. "That's just something I can't get used to." She rocked back and forth on her heels. Everything around her seemed to be moving too quickly.

"Can I call someone for you?" He gestured with his phone.

"Call someone? That doesn't even make sense."

"I mean your mom or dad or somebody else?"

"I'm coming back. Give me a minute to think. I'm at a minimum risk level. I'm gonna be fine. Just fine. Just let me breathe."

"Sure. Yeah, of course." Walt grew up with a cousin named Donald who had an autism spectrum disorder. The moment Walt witnessed Lizzie's extreme reaction to his touch, it all came flooding back. Because she was so high-functioning, he never even suspected. In her own peculiar way, she was somehow graceful and self-assured, adjectives that he would never use to describe his cousin, Donald.

Walt scanned the area for Tyson Russko. He'd vanished. "That man. He looked like he was up to something."

"Oh, geez. Is that a figure of speech? Up to something?"

"Did he say anything to you? Did he threaten you?"

"Too many questions. Too many questions."

He wilted. "Yeah, okay."

She drew the hood off her head. "It's hot," she said. "You're probably gonna stare at my ears but it's okay, I'm used to it by now."

He couldn't imagine a single appropriate response. "Why don't you sit down for a minute? There's a bench right over there."

"I just wanna go home."

"How about if I walk you back home?" he said with a voice resonating with assurances. "Do you live around here?"

She'd lost her bearings, unsure which end of the sidewalk pointed her home. She deduced that her home must be in the direction that Ginger Snap and her owner were walking.

"That way, I think," she said quietly.

He walked beside her. "You recognized that guy, right?"

"He was in Scooter's apartment. No, not really Scooter's apartment. Oh, geez. His grandfather's apartment. And he asked me where I lived and then he almost knocked down some guys who were carrying a rug."

The bearded man realized that the best course of action would be to avoid asking for clarification so he nodded.

Lizzie felt a bit skittish but she had nearly returned to complete focus, her brain now back up to speed. She could smell the cars and buses again. Her tongue was no longer numb. She'd emerged from her tunnel and watched a blackbird on the side of the road leisurely pecking at a fast food bag, like he wasn't even hungry, just looking for something to pass the time.