that’s what it’s always like with them, if they always follow one another like a school of fish or a flock of geese. Normally I would be put off by the idea of sameness and of going along with the crowd, but with these guys it feels fair, unforced, and like they’re being together trumps the importance of being in charge.
“So, where’re we going?” Eri is beside me. She falls into step with me easily.
“A place called Tuie’s. It’s pretty good.”
“Great. We’ll follow you.” She glances back at Luke before she says this. She drops her voice at the “you.” She smiles with the left side of her mouth. The right side is up slightly in a smirk. I haven’t seen this look on her face before. It’s not shy, nervous, slightly insecure, and sweet. It’s something much more determined, purposeful.
As we all get back in our cars, I can’t help but wonder … I came here alone, following them. I leave here alone but as the leader, taking them closer than anyone has been to where I live. How did this juxtaposition happen? I keep giving information, letting them in. Aren’t I the one who is supposed to be getting the information? I should be following them around Preston right now. I should be going to
their
favorite diner or to one of
their
houses. I should be sitting in Eri’s room getting her to divulge all her secrets to me. Why does she seem to manipulate things to make me the center instead of her? And why is Luke always there to back her up or to listen in? And when I meet again with Tobias, what am I going to report? That I am a pawn in Eri’s chess game? That I am being played? Am I? Is she onto me? No. How could she be? But why does it feel like she has her own agenda?
Chapter
As we head west on Girard Avenue toward the diner, I am crawling in my own skin. Here I am in my neighborhood—at the center of my mission—with a bunch of highly intelligent and intuitive kids whose idea it was to come around here. I’m beginning to panic. It’s the kind of panic I imagine a kid feels as he sneaks out of his parents’ house to go to a party in the next neighborhood over. As he leaves his house and walks down his own street, he likely ducks his head, trying to make himself invisible. Suddenly every car is his neighbor’s car. Every guy walking his dog is the guy who’s friends with his dad. Every face he passes could be the person who says, “Hey, I saw your son out walking last night. Everything okay?” It’s only when he enters into the next neighborhood that a veil of anonymity makes him feel safe, like he might actually pull this off. I feel this, only I am heading out of anonymity and into familiarity.
I am scanning the streets for the regulars I see all the time. There’s the flowing skirt lady. She wears these long prairie skirts and rides her bike all over the place. I keep waiting for the skirt to tangle in her pedals and for her to do a flip over the handlebars into oncoming traffic. There’s newspaper guy. He buys a paper at about seven or eight every evening and then sits out front of the fire station at Fourth and Girard and reads the paper in the waning sunlight. He’s gonna drive himself to a state of blindness. There’s chain-smoker girl. I don’t actually know if she’s a chain smoker, but whenever I see her, she’s on the corner of Germantown Avenue lighting up another one. I’ve never spoken to these people. I’ve never stopped to chat or to introduce myself. I probably never will. And yet they, and a handful of others, have become my neighbors. They’re my “borrow a cup of sugar/invite them in for tea” neighbors, if only in my head. I know I have no roots, but that doesn’t stop my tree from dropping seeds. And now I feel like they may be watching me leading this caravan and waiting to question my intentions. Or the group’s.
I pull into the lot on Germantown and wait for Patrick and Eri to park.
“That was easy to get to! What part of the city is this?”
“So, where’re we going?” Eri is beside me. She falls into step with me easily.
“A place called Tuie’s. It’s pretty good.”
“Great. We’ll follow you.” She glances back at Luke before she says this. She drops her voice at the “you.” She smiles with the left side of her mouth. The right side is up slightly in a smirk. I haven’t seen this look on her face before. It’s not shy, nervous, slightly insecure, and sweet. It’s something much more determined, purposeful.
As we all get back in our cars, I can’t help but wonder … I came here alone, following them. I leave here alone but as the leader, taking them closer than anyone has been to where I live. How did this juxtaposition happen? I keep giving information, letting them in. Aren’t I the one who is supposed to be getting the information? I should be following them around Preston right now. I should be going to
their
favorite diner or to one of
their
houses. I should be sitting in Eri’s room getting her to divulge all her secrets to me. Why does she seem to manipulate things to make me the center instead of her? And why is Luke always there to back her up or to listen in? And when I meet again with Tobias, what am I going to report? That I am a pawn in Eri’s chess game? That I am being played? Am I? Is she onto me? No. How could she be? But why does it feel like she has her own agenda?
Chapter
As we head west on Girard Avenue toward the diner, I am crawling in my own skin. Here I am in my neighborhood—at the center of my mission—with a bunch of highly intelligent and intuitive kids whose idea it was to come around here. I’m beginning to panic. It’s the kind of panic I imagine a kid feels as he sneaks out of his parents’ house to go to a party in the next neighborhood over. As he leaves his house and walks down his own street, he likely ducks his head, trying to make himself invisible. Suddenly every car is his neighbor’s car. Every guy walking his dog is the guy who’s friends with his dad. Every face he passes could be the person who says, “Hey, I saw your son out walking last night. Everything okay?” It’s only when he enters into the next neighborhood that a veil of anonymity makes him feel safe, like he might actually pull this off. I feel this, only I am heading out of anonymity and into familiarity.
I am scanning the streets for the regulars I see all the time. There’s the flowing skirt lady. She wears these long prairie skirts and rides her bike all over the place. I keep waiting for the skirt to tangle in her pedals and for her to do a flip over the handlebars into oncoming traffic. There’s newspaper guy. He buys a paper at about seven or eight every evening and then sits out front of the fire station at Fourth and Girard and reads the paper in the waning sunlight. He’s gonna drive himself to a state of blindness. There’s chain-smoker girl. I don’t actually know if she’s a chain smoker, but whenever I see her, she’s on the corner of Germantown Avenue lighting up another one. I’ve never spoken to these people. I’ve never stopped to chat or to introduce myself. I probably never will. And yet they, and a handful of others, have become my neighbors. They’re my “borrow a cup of sugar/invite them in for tea” neighbors, if only in my head. I know I have no roots, but that doesn’t stop my tree from dropping seeds. And now I feel like they may be watching me leading this caravan and waiting to question my intentions. Or the group’s.
I pull into the lot on Germantown and wait for Patrick and Eri to park.
“That was easy to get to! What part of the city is this?”
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