Junk Love.

fourteen.

Mel wanders the streets, stumbling like a wax doll vandals lit aflame before leaving it behind to wilt and drip. A blender of New York pedestrians merge on narrow sidewalks. People waltzing by jabbering on phones, or walking pets, or calling out for taxis. Among them she's a poltergeist drifter transparent as glass.

There's a Carter-sized absence in Mel detrimental as an ulcer.

She clutches her tattered duffle bag to her chest as pain wails intensely within her. Until the immensity of the thing is reduced to an aching hush. Once in awhile, a T-Shirt or a sock will spill from the baggage forcing her into a scurry to pick it up before someone else can bump into her.

Weary, Mel's scraped fingers loosen from the bag. The shoulder strap drags on the ground. Before she realizes, her foot gets caught in the loop, tripping her. A yelp accompanies her ungraceful slip off the side of the curb.

Clothes spew out onto the ground resembling scattered colored confetti. She scrambles to grab everything but isn't quick enough. A car drives by, misting her with muddy street water. Defeated, she gazes into the rippling puddle on the road.

A distorted reflection looks back at her like a familiar stranger. Mud cakes her face like theater makeup and excessive usage has hollowed her cheeks. The green sweater she wears drapes awkwardly off her twiggy arms. She squeezes her eyes tight shut desperate to erase her own ghostly presence from memory. Carved as a pumpkin.

When Mel opens her eyes again she swears she can see Carter's face reflecting in the water. His slicked back hair and almond eyes are as tangible as the gravel digging into her knees. She blinks to see him better but then he's gone again.

Exhausted, physically and mentally, she crosses her legs. Remaining posted on the side of the road with her right knee bumping hard against the curb. Although her wandering felt delusional, when she looks up to the neon sign buzzing over her head, she knows. Bravery is often shadowed in desperation.

Inside the building is chaotic. Most of the tables are filled despite the smallness and grimness of the dining room. Mandarin language is shouted blended with clanging dishes and sizzling of frying food. Not even the succulent smells of fish mixed in soy can coax moisture back into Mel's mouth.

At the front counter, she pauses by a tank offsetting the cashier display. Lobsters drift in the water with pronged pinchers and spindly weird legs. When she'd frequented this restaurant she could sit on the floor for hours, playing guitar while observing the fish.

"Mel."

Her trance is ruptured upon a thickly accented voice saying her name. She looks the restaurant owner in the face as her lower lip slips under her teeth. It's nerve wracking showing up after all this time. She hadn't exactly parted on good terms...

Mel stares daftly and gnaws on her lip harder. He hasn't changed in the slightest; same dark slanted eyes and peppered hair thinning both on his head and upper lip.

"Nî hâo." Mel greets in Mandarin.

His stone face doesn't even twitch when he finally speaks. "Nǐ zài zhèlǐ zuò shénme?"

Clearing her throat she switches to English. "I need your help."

☯

It's an oddity to return here with permission. A crooked state in a reality as disconnected as a dream. Although Mel snuck into the attic since being thrown back on the streets (even once with Carter) she never imagined she'd be so far lost to physically plead to stay. Moreover, Mel never believed he would tell her yes.