Bay City Runaway

Chapter 13

(2007)

Weeks had gone by, and I'd called every shelter in town. Although many knew Amy, none had seen her. I wondered if she were even in San Francisco anymore. I missed her greatly. I missed our mornings together at the kitchen table sipping coffee and reading the paper when she would sometimes pull a part of me out, examine it coarsely, and give it back to me with the hands of a child whose innocence had been taken by a man's brutal hand. I missed having a purpose in sheltering her from whatever storms were chasing her.

Christmas was bearing down on me, and I could scarcely handle the weight of it. Every holiday jingle, Christmas light, and decorated tree reminded me that I would never wake up early on Christmas morning to fix Laura a cup of hot cocoa with a peppermint stick and that somewhere Amy might be alone, in danger, or hungry.

I'd managed to get a refill on my pain meds, and I started my days with a breakfast of pills and whiskey. I had foregone my upscale booze and was drinking Evan Williams Black out of a square bottle for $15.99. I was going through a bottle every two days or so. Its rough sting did not cause me to wince anymore as I poured it down. I ate little and remained intoxicated throughout the day until I passed out in my chair at night.

I had cut everyone out of my life, Heath, Farid, and Kyra, rarely leaving the apartment. The only relationship I had was with Li at the corner store in my neighborhood who I visited almost daily for booze and cigarettes. My loneliness was my only true friend.

It was Christmas Eve day, and I put on Damien's Rice's 9 album which I had listened to every night for a week now. Its sadness and beauty helped me nurse myself into darker places. There came a knock at my door. I jumped up out of my stupor, thinking it could be Amy, my heart had not pumped that hard in weeks. I opened the door, and it was Kyra. She had dyed her hair purple, but I did not have it in me to form much of an opinion of it. She was carrying a large brown paper bag folded and neatly stapled on top.

"Brought you dinner," she said.

"How did you find me?" I asked.

"You're not hard to find. I know a guy. Are you going to invite me in?" she said.

I opened the door wide and sat back down in my chair. "What are you doing here, Kyra?"

"I was worried about you. You haven't returned my texts. I thought maybe you could use some TLC." She began unpacking the bag on my kitchen counter. "I brought chicken noodle from Miller's. It's the best," she said brightly.

"I'm not hungry," I said, staring blankly, her cheeriness drifting passed me.

"I'm not leaving here until you eat something, James. You look like shit. You've lost weight. Have you been going to work?"

"Project's over."

"Didn't you have something else lined up?"

"Starts in January," I said, but it was a lie. They had passed me over for the job.

"Let's change the music, James. How about some Bing Crosby White Christmas?"

"I'm not doing Christmas," I said.

"Ok," she said, pouring me a bowl of soup and pulling up a chair in front of me.

"Open up," she said, offering me a spoonful of steaming, hot soup.

My stomach did not respond, but I ate it anyway.

"I think you need help, James. When was the last time you left here for any reason other than buying booze?"

I shrugged as she put another spoonful in my mouth. The soup warmed my belly, but I found no nourishment in it.

"Have you heard from Amy at all?"