"Alright, put me on the list then and jot me down a few places I can stay until then."
"Already have a printed list.” She said, handing me a piece of paper that had been Xeroxed so often it looked solid black. “Here ya' go. You call me in two weeks and I'll let you know the progress of your name on the permanent housing list."
"Thank you, Mrs. Carson."
"No problem, honey. I'll see you in two weeks."
I stood to leave and gathered the bag that housed every belonging I owned. So essentially, inside my small canvas messenger, were two pairs of jeans, a few button up fitted flannels, one striped dress, and a pair of flip flops. Also inside, was my signed copy of 'To Kill A Mockingbird' by Harper Lee, my namesake and hero, which I’d won at a county fair when my foster family at the time, traveled there to visit their own extended family. I wore my only other pair of jeans and a fitted t-shirt that read, 'Save The Drama For Your Mama'.
When I turned around, I saw Callum heading for the door and my stomach clenched in anticipation.
Callum
Oh dear Lord, we’re leaving at the same time. If she hadn’t stopped attempting to hide her smile, I would’ve been forced to reveal my plans to toss the stranger outside against the brick and kiss her face until the sun set.
She passed ahead of me and I caught a whiff of her shampoo, involuntarily sending my eyes into the back of my head. This chick was a walking version of the Pixie’s “Where Is My Mind?”. Sexy. As. Hell. Though, now that I think about it. Is hell sexy? I’m guessing not. I continued to watch. Her hips could have kept time with the damn beat.
“Here, let me get that for you,” I said, throwing open the door. The sun cascaded down her copper hair and made her eyes feel transparent.
“Thank you,” she shyly said but offered up a cute lopsided grin as if to say ‘good boy’. Thanks for the bone, buttercup.
She took the wrought iron steps down to the sidewalk two at a time, which told me she was in a hurry and since it was nearly sunset, I was willing to bet that she and I were heading in the same direction. I scrambled at what to say while her feet scurried along the pavement.
Say something! “Where you headed?” Clever.
She stopped and turned.
“Uh,” she said, seeming embarrassed. She thought twice for a moment before stiffening her body and raising her chin. “I’m headed to...” Confusion set in. She glanced down at the same piece of paper I, as fate would have it, held in my own hand. “Hope House, on One Hundred and Second,” she finished.
“What a coincidence,” I teased with a slight grin.
“You too?” She asked, one eyebrow raised. Cynical, a product of the system.
“Yup, what can I say? Looks like we share the same amount of luck.”
“Which would be?” She asked.
“Nil, if you’re going to Hope House.”
She laughed at our dire situations which was pretty much all you could do.
“Want a ride?” I asked. She didn’t answer me, obviously not willing to trust me, so I offered, “Listen, by the time you walk there they’ll be closed and definitely won’t have any spaces open. If you ride with me, at least we have a chance of getting a spot for the night.”
She sighed. “A valid point,” she said, looking around for my car.
I’m embarrassed by this. “Uh, “ I said, scratching the stubble on my chin with the backs of my fingers. “I don’t actually own a car.” I point to my vintage nineteen-fifty Indian motorcycle. “Come on. It’s better than walking, right?” I stuck my hands out in offering.
She smiled slowly in appreciation, her mouth curling up at the sides and her eyes squinting into the sun. Her head bobbed slowly up and down on her neck. A silent yes. “I’d probably pick this over any car on this street.” She stood back and admired it. “Solid black,” she said. I nodded, intrigued. “Nice,” she simply added.
“You think so? I plan on fixing her up when I get the time and, of course, the money. She’s been good to me, though,” I said, patting the handlebars. “She’s pretty much all I have in this world.” Harper looked at me as if in pity or maybe it was understanding. I really hoped it was understanding because if a girl that beautiful pitied me, I didn’t think I could stand it. “Hop on,” I said. She straddled the back of the leather seat and slid her duffel across her chest to sit behind her. “Uh, you might want to, uh,” I said awkwardly, struggling with how to ask her to push her hair back so I could fit my helmet on her.
Instead, I set the helmet on the seat between her legs and brazenly ran my fingers through her hair. It flowed off her shoulders and settled onto her back. The scent of her shampoo bombarded me one more time and I swayed slightly at the assault but regained my stance. I grabbed the helmet off her lap and fit it onto her head. She giggled at the awkward familiarity of it.
“Sorry,” I said. “But I wouldn’t dream of putting you on the back of my bike without this.”
“It’s alright,” she said, but paused. “Why? Are you an unsafe driver?”
"No, uh, my parents died in a car accident when I was four,” I said matter-of-factly.
"Oh, I'm so sorry.” She had the decency to look sincere. That was pretty refreshing, actually.
"It's alright," I sighed, shrugging my shoulders. "I barely remember them."