Read Online Have You Found Her by Janice Erlbaum - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Janice Erlbaum
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Sam galumphing down the stairs two at a time when Rina called for dinner. No Sam in the cafeteria.
I sat with Ellenette and St. Croix, trying not to swivel my head around like an owl, listening to them tell the story of how they went to eat at T.G.I. Friday’s, and Ellenette spent the whole meal fucking with the waitress. “Every time she turned around, we were like, ‘MNUGH!’”—here Ellenette made an inhuman grunting groan. “She did not know what the hell was going on!”
Where is Sam?
I wanted to ask. I was agitated beyond reason, digging my nails into my sweaty palms. I’d worried she wasn’t going to make it another few days here; it was exactly as I’d feared. She’d dematerialized, the way the girls always did when I decided I loved them. “Where is everybody tonight?” I asked. “Seems kind of empty.”
Of course the cafeteria was just as crowded as it had been for weeks, ever since it turned cold for the winter. Ellenette didn’t even dignify the comment with a response. “MNUGH!” she said, and St. Croix cracked up.
I wasn’t in the mood for Ellenette and St. Croix, or for the girl they called Mocha, with her bitchy gossip, or for the butch girl who ignored me, came over and started ordering the other girls to make her something, and when I said to her, “Why don’t you join us? What do you want to make?” she acted like nobody was speaking.
“Yo, make me a bracelet—blue and black, son, blue and black.”
Finally I ducked into the counselors’ office, ostensibly for the broom, though it wasn’t even close to the time when I’d normally clean up. I peered up at the list of residents on the whiteboard the counselors used to track the active residents, and there was her name, Samantha Dunleavy, listed in the row underneath her caseworker’s name, Ashley.
“Hey, Janice,” said Ashley, who happened to be sitting right there. “How’s it going?”
God bless Ashley, a tall, broad white girl from Texas—the only counselor who’d ever come over to the bead table and struck up a conversation with me. Most of the counselors still tended to give me a wide berth; they were exceedingly busy, it seemed, and it wasn’t like I went out of my way to talk to them, either. I was afraid they thought I was weird, coming back here as an ex-resident, or I was fishy, or I was trying to do their job for free, not that anybody had ever indicated any of the above. Ashley, for instance, had been nothing but friendly, sometimes to a fault—when she sat down at the bead table for a chat, the needle would go skidding right off the record, and all conversation among the girls would halt.
“It’s good,” I said. “How’s by you? Busy around here?”
“As always,” she said cheerfully, rolling her eyes.
“So…how’s that girl Sam, is she still around?” I bit my lip, but it was too late; the words had already spilled out.
Ashley raised her hand, shook it like she was showing off a bracelet. “Wrist surgery,” she said. “Should be back tomorrow.”
“Oh. Huh.” I nodded, grabbed the broom, fought the urge to break into a grin, or a song. “Well, I’ll bring this right back.”
“No problem,” said Ashley, already back to her files.
The rest of the night passed quickly. Suddenly I was able to banter with everyone—“MNUGH!” I said to Ellenette, which won me big points, in the form of whooping laughs from around the table. Sam was all right, she hadn’t split; she was exactly where she was supposed to be tonight—in the hands of the professionals. She was in a clean room, in a freshly made bed that went up and down when you pressed the button. And her pain, for a change, was the pain of healing.
Chapter Three
The Twelve Days of Christmas
T wo weeks later, the Wednesday before Christmas, and the cafeteria at the shelter was decorated with freshly handmade construction-paper signs in red and green and black: MERRY CHRISTMAS. HAPPY HOLIDAYS. HAPPY KWANZAA .
I sat with Ellenette and St. Croix, trying not to swivel my head around like an owl, listening to them tell the story of how they went to eat at T.G.I. Friday’s, and Ellenette spent the whole meal fucking with the waitress. “Every time she turned around, we were like, ‘MNUGH!’”—here Ellenette made an inhuman grunting groan. “She did not know what the hell was going on!”
Where is Sam?
I wanted to ask. I was agitated beyond reason, digging my nails into my sweaty palms. I’d worried she wasn’t going to make it another few days here; it was exactly as I’d feared. She’d dematerialized, the way the girls always did when I decided I loved them. “Where is everybody tonight?” I asked. “Seems kind of empty.”
Of course the cafeteria was just as crowded as it had been for weeks, ever since it turned cold for the winter. Ellenette didn’t even dignify the comment with a response. “MNUGH!” she said, and St. Croix cracked up.
I wasn’t in the mood for Ellenette and St. Croix, or for the girl they called Mocha, with her bitchy gossip, or for the butch girl who ignored me, came over and started ordering the other girls to make her something, and when I said to her, “Why don’t you join us? What do you want to make?” she acted like nobody was speaking.
“Yo, make me a bracelet—blue and black, son, blue and black.”
Finally I ducked into the counselors’ office, ostensibly for the broom, though it wasn’t even close to the time when I’d normally clean up. I peered up at the list of residents on the whiteboard the counselors used to track the active residents, and there was her name, Samantha Dunleavy, listed in the row underneath her caseworker’s name, Ashley.
“Hey, Janice,” said Ashley, who happened to be sitting right there. “How’s it going?”
God bless Ashley, a tall, broad white girl from Texas—the only counselor who’d ever come over to the bead table and struck up a conversation with me. Most of the counselors still tended to give me a wide berth; they were exceedingly busy, it seemed, and it wasn’t like I went out of my way to talk to them, either. I was afraid they thought I was weird, coming back here as an ex-resident, or I was fishy, or I was trying to do their job for free, not that anybody had ever indicated any of the above. Ashley, for instance, had been nothing but friendly, sometimes to a fault—when she sat down at the bead table for a chat, the needle would go skidding right off the record, and all conversation among the girls would halt.
“It’s good,” I said. “How’s by you? Busy around here?”
“As always,” she said cheerfully, rolling her eyes.
“So…how’s that girl Sam, is she still around?” I bit my lip, but it was too late; the words had already spilled out.
Ashley raised her hand, shook it like she was showing off a bracelet. “Wrist surgery,” she said. “Should be back tomorrow.”
“Oh. Huh.” I nodded, grabbed the broom, fought the urge to break into a grin, or a song. “Well, I’ll bring this right back.”
“No problem,” said Ashley, already back to her files.
The rest of the night passed quickly. Suddenly I was able to banter with everyone—“MNUGH!” I said to Ellenette, which won me big points, in the form of whooping laughs from around the table. Sam was all right, she hadn’t split; she was exactly where she was supposed to be tonight—in the hands of the professionals. She was in a clean room, in a freshly made bed that went up and down when you pressed the button. And her pain, for a change, was the pain of healing.
Chapter Three
The Twelve Days of Christmas
T wo weeks later, the Wednesday before Christmas, and the cafeteria at the shelter was decorated with freshly handmade construction-paper signs in red and green and black: MERRY CHRISTMAS. HAPPY HOLIDAYS. HAPPY KWANZAA .
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