Homelessness is Not the Worst of our Problems

Light filters dimly from the room down the hall. I look to my left, where Ryan is sitting, and he smiles in my direction, but it's a sad smile. So I know everything's wrong.

-Scene Cut-

“Come On!” Ryan grips my hand as we race through the dark, musty alleyways on this cool cloudless night. We're running like we have a purpose. A reason for actually being let live. It's not like it's my fault Mr. Big-Shot-Mafia-Boss is uber pissed. I sure didn't rub him the wrong way. Or any way for that matter. Ryan pulls me towards West Hollywood and out toward Venice. I think of all the nice, soft grass everywhere, then flinch when I think about how Ryan came along and saved me. But sometimes I think that his dreams are too big, even for his tall, lanky silhouette.

-Scene Cut-

“Tell me,” Ryan says as we sit Indian-style behind Del Taco about a fifteen-minute walk from LA. We're not homeless; we just travel a lot.

-Scene Cut-

“Madeline,” Ryan breathes one morning. Outside Whole Foods where we slept last night, it's warm and dawn is slowly creeping up on the horizon. A dry thought crosses my mind, and I miss Venice. Do I miss my family? The answer is no, I don't miss them, and they're probably glad to see me go. “Mads,” he whispers. I glance up to get a good long look at his face, where traces of stubble are forming. When was the last time he shaved? “We need to go,” he says to me, “they're going to find us if we stay.” I think of how beautiful he was when he ran into me that morning, literally. And he still is. But I can't break it to him. We're not going to outsmart the Mafia, or outrun them either. As much as I wish we could, we can't. What I'd really like is to come into some money, buy a small, discreet, place for me and Ryan, and live happily ever after. But that's not going to happen any time soon. That, I know for sure, is not going to happen.

-Scene Cut-

“Ryan,” I say, and my voice is a tad hoarse from disuse. He looks up from his resting place on the damp, dirty ground on an alley not too far from Sunset Blvd. “I…” I sigh, and try to swallow the lump in my throat to break it to him that we can't stay anywhere near California if we hope to overcome this. “We're not going to survive him, if we stay near good ol' Cali,” I whisper. The boulevard is really busy at this time of day, and he has to stand up to hear what I say. But then he nods in recognition and gets this funny grin on his face, like he knows we can make it.

-Scene Cut-

Up in East Hollywood, where the people live posh, ignorant lives, is where Ryan and I headed next. He'd told me he knew people who could get us out east. To safety. To togetherness. His exact words, I swear. My insides did summersaults at the fact of an us. It was a good kind of nervousness though, and I'm okay with that. Walking up the road towards the mystery person's house, I started to shiver. It was about mid-October, when the temperatures start steadily dropping, and I don't have a coat. I have a jacket, but the coat I had last winter, I had to get rid of; it was too much too carry. I looked about as presentable as I could get, which isn't much, with my reddish-auburn hair tied back with a hair-tie that I happened to have still on my thin wrist. My hair isn't that easy to put up though, so it still looks like I had my hair cut off with blunt scissors, when I had it cut last time I was at home, it was right below my shoulders with crazy layers, that I thought were cool. Now, I'm just happy to have them so I don't have to deal with too much hair during the summer.

-Scene Cut-

The whole neighborhood is practically mini-mansions, but the one we stop at is actually a mansion. It's at the end of the road, where it turns and goes in a circle, and on the mailbox is says Mr. And Mrs. Webster. And then I laugh, after I read that. Ryan looks at me like I might be crazy, and who knows? I might be, and then surreptitiously walks up the driveway. “I'll do the talking,” he says, slipping his arm over my shoulders so he can whisper it right in my ear. A shiver chases through my spine when Ryan's breath tickles my ears. But I restrain it.

-Scene Cut-

He knocks on the door. My breath hitches in my throat. My pulse is thudding in my ears and Ryan rubs his hand up and down my arm, comfortingly, before taking my hand in his when the door opens. A big, slightly old man stands in the doorway. He looks shocked, his blue eyes are tearing up with what I guess to be concern, and he steps aside so Ryan and I can come in. “Mark,” Ryan says, once we're inside, safe (for now) and warm. Mark, I guess, nods and pulls a sleek, stylish cell phone out of his pocket, dialing away to someone I don't, and probably will never know. He says things, in hushed, clipped tones and then hastily hits the end button, stuffing back in his pocket. Mark nods towards Ryan and I, and then we're gone, just like that. What the hell just happened?

-Scene Cut-

We snuck onto a train, where we are now, in the back of a freight train. I thought this only happened on movies, but I guess not. Ryan's asleep on my shoulder, and he looks so adorable. Almost without thinking, I brush a stray fringe of hair away from his eyes, which open up and look at me. He sits up, (I think he might be embarrassed) and rubs at his eyes. He smiles groggily at me and scoots a little closer. “Hey,” he whispers. He says, “We're almost home free.” I nod and place my head on his shoulder. It's bonier than I expected it to be, but I quickly adjust myself so I'm comfortable. The sharp intake of his breath is enough to startle me, and I glance up at him, taking in his innocent features. He smiles and, leaning forward just a tad, kisses me softly. It's soft and everything I've ever thought I would never love. Then he pulls back and puts an arm around my frail, bony shoulders. I think I like Ryan more than I'd ever let myself think.

-Scene Cut-

Everything goes wrong that night. As it turns out, I was right about the world; it's a cold, heartless place. Gerox (pronounced gur-o with sort of a French sounding accent) and his goons caught us at the drop off. We were going to sneak on to one last train, and we'd be home free. For real that time, but then Mr. Big-Shot-Mafia-Boss (A.K.A. Gerox) had to show up. God, I hate him. Nothing can ever go right for me, not even once. What did I do to You? Ryan and I are sitting in the back of this old, Ford van; might as well call it a can. It stinks and I'm so cold, I'm shivering. Ryan tries to scoot over towards me, and for the most part he does a good job. He scoots when no one's looking, and stops when one of those idiots turns around. They don't even notice when he's moved over beside me. I lean into him and let what little warmth he has to offer warm me. If Ryan and I die here, or tonight for that matter, God, I love Ryan. Whatever happens to me, just please if he dies, don't let him suffer. “Ryan,” I whisper, low enough so only he can hear me. Tears edge their way from the back of my mind to my eyes when I look up and see his bottom lip is busted open. “Oh, Ryan,” I whisper, reaching up to trace the curve of his bottom lip. He winces when I gingerly touch the sore and smiles sadly at me. And it's like deja vu, because it's the same smile he gave me when we got ourselves into this mess. I wish it didn't have to be this way. I really didn't.

-Scene Cut-

Those goons blindfolded us. Great. This is just peachy. But something's happening outside the can. I can feel it in my bones. I just know. We're going to be okay. Tears of joy, this time, well up behind the blindfold and I reach out in the darkness for Ryan. He's still near me, and I pat down (not purposely) his chest until he realizes what I'm doing and takes my hand. He brings it up and presses his lips softly to the back of my hand and whispers to me, “We are going to make it out of this.” The way he says gets to me, and silent tears fall from under the blindfold. “I promise you, Madeline, if it's the last thing I do, you, at least, will make it out of this,” he whispers, and I can hear (not necessarily see) him choke back his own tears. He wants both of us to get out of this as much as I do. I just wish we could.

-Scene Cut-

“Get out,” a deep tenor, voice says. I recognize that voice somewhere in my subconscious, but I can't place it. The blindfold falls from my eyes and I don't think I've ever been happier to see Mr. Webster. I look to Ryan, who's smiling like a little kid who just got their birthday presents, and crawl out of the can, Ryan at my feet. “Lucky you,” he says, poking Ryan's small chest, “that I got here when I did. Now, this here car-” he points to a sleek black Luxury Sedan-“will take you to the train station and drop you off with a couple hundred dollars to pay for tickets and whatnot. Got it, skinny?” Ryan nods feverishly, takes my hand, and drags us to the car.

-Scene Cut-

We're free. I cannot believe it. We're actually free. “Madeline,” Ryan whispers, even though he doesn't have to. There's a divider in the car and it's rolled up so the driver can't hear or see us unless he turns on the intercom, which beeps when he turns it on. “We're home free, Mads,” he says. I look at him and smile; we really are. “Madeline,” he says, seriously this time as the smile fades from my face, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Ryan.”