Something Like Shame (BWWM)

Chapter 9

From the view at my window-seat, dark clouds loomed overhead threatening a heavy rain. I sat with all the books Mr. Wick had given me trying to polish off the rest of my manifesto while Abdul and Sam lay on the bed whispering amongst themselves. He was surprisingly interested in Sam's problems or just really good at faking it.

Sweat prickled my brow. It had been over three hours since the meltdown and there was still no sign of Seth in the hotel and no one else seemed to care. It felt like with every passing second, things had only gotten worse. The cops had come to figure out what was happening and, according to Mr. Wick, I had to wait up here until they left. Anything could have been happening to Seth and it felt like I owed him at least my thoughts or best of wishes- but even those were starting to feel like forms of dismissal. I closed my book, "Seriously, are we gonna do something about Seth or should he just fend for himself until he eventually dies on our watch?"

Abdul waved away the question, "I'm electing for the latter." So much for a new-found conscience.

"I mean, we were all sent here to watch the kids. And honestly, so far he's doing a shit job." Sam shrugged and took a drag from her blunt before passing it to Abdul, "He dragged his feet."

I spoke slowly so that she understood my every word, "Look at yourself, Sam. You aren't doing anything for anyone but yourself right now. Is that not enough to prove that maybe you're the dead weight?"

"Uh- Henna? That was a little harsh." Abdul laughed, blood-shot eyes dancing.

"I'm harsh? He's out there somewhere and all you wanna do is smoke weed and talk about your own problems? What's going on in his head is way shittier than your little lives. It's ridiculous."

Sam and Abdul shared a look and turned away, uncomfortable. Sam glanced back at me, suddenly very serious, "Henna, you think that just because you're close to making it that you can judge everybody. Yeah, it's cool that you can help save the art program but you're so fucking self-involved. It's bullshit. What do you have to prove? Yeah, Seth liked you- his only friend -but you treated him like a basket-case when he expressed it. And as soon as he draws the attention away from you and goes somewhere else, you up and chase him. Maybe, he doesn't want to be found this time."

I had heard enough. Sam didn't know what kind of terrible things could have been happening to Seth and she clearly did not care to find out but I did. I slammed my books shut and left.

Tonight, the weather of downtown St. Louis chose to be less forgiving and, with only the warmth of my soiled sweater, my chances of finding comfort were dismal. It was an itchy, uncomfortable thing, that sweater. It served no real purpose to me but to be a symbol of humiliation, the sting of Henna's rejection.

And the dirty looks; they were the worst part of this excruciatingly long walk of shame. It felt like the eyes of every street were on me and, considering the way I treated those people's cars, I deserved every stare. So when the weather rushed in and pelted me with wet fists of rain, I welcomed the cleanse. I welcomed the city's fresh stench of pollution, sin, and corruption. It was what I deserved.

But, at least I kept a good bit of company. I found two men sitting on the curb leaning back to back, propping each other up beneath the shelter of a restaurant's rooftop. They asked for change but I stole a seat next to them instead. To my surprise, they were nonplussed.

Both of them were bony guys. One introduced himself as Alfie. He was missing a few of his front teeth and the ones he had left were nearly rotting out of his skull; his smile still had charm but his tongue was heavy. The other called himself Broc. They took one look at the bits of paint and feathers left on my face and had to know what happened to me. I'd covered about six blocks in about an hour and these were the first people to show much warmth so I told them willingly.

Alfie nodded and ground his teeth, "Thoundth like a real mean chick. Thath wath methed up, what the did to you."

Broc raised a brow, "Looks like she doesn't deserve a guy that'll waste his paycheck on her. Got a watch?"

I shrugged and pulled out my phone, checking the time, "It's a quarter to nine and I'm the problem. Not her."

Alfie pushed himself off the ground and wrang out his shirt. "Time for the grub."

I followed them to the back of the building. It was a tight space with a sea of trash piled up to Broc's and my knees, Alfie's thighs. My foot sank into something squishy and I cringed, trying hard not to let my mind wander to the possibilities; it could have been rotten cabbage or human feces, either one.

Broc clapped a hand on my shoulder, "Watch your step, Sethy Boy, you're not in the town of Maple anymore." I pushed forward until Alfie raised a halting hand. Broc put a stump of a finger to his cracked lips but he could barely cover his own excitement. So we stood quietly and waited. Minutes passed until we heard a door shut with a metallic clank. When we turned the corner, there were swollen white bags tipping over the edge of a garbage can that smelled both wretched and intoxicating. Broc grabbed one and hooted.

"Well, ain't we in luck tonight?" He grinned and did a little jig with his shoulders before tearing into the bag and grabbing a half-eaten slice of pie.

I pressed the fabric of my sweater to my nose to avoid the smell of soaked garbage and trash. "Oh, come on. You're not gonna eat that."

Alfie scoffed, "What? You gonna take uth out to a fanthy diner tonight?"

"We make due with what we got in this city." Broc smiled and took another bite of the pie, "And tonight, what we've got is something good."

I sauntered up to another bag and untied it, figuring that there was nothing else for me to do, "What do you guys usually look for?"

Broc frowned, "It's a simple gig: find something you like and take it."

"Is it stealing?"

"Think of it ath lightening the Garbath Man'th load." Alfie sucked up a bowl of relatively clean noodles through his gap and shrugged.