Street-Walker
Street-Walker
People tell me I should live in the real world. But I don’t really understand it. Why would I want to? Who really wants to do that anyway?
“’Ey! ‘Ey, you? Get outta my way!”
The real world. Stupid jackasses that jostle right through you in the street. Can’t even say excuse me.
“Watch it, you looney!”
Stupid pigs.
“Get outta the streets and back into the crazy house where you belong!”
Can handle this. Duck into the nearest alley and work. Always a good plan. So dingy… Home’s only four blocks away, maybe I can brave it back.... There’s fabric there. And that burrito the wasteful tenants threw out ... No, no, have to work now. No use going out while people are still there. Pull over a cardboard box, sit on the ground. Shit. Left all the paper at home. Dig through the trash…. Uhhh…. There! Take-out wrappers. Just enough room to write.
Monday, October 28th
Amelia
The alley near the Chinese place
Don’t know what to write. It’s not a writ-y day. Stupid shits out in the street. They always steal the inspiration. Where are my friends?
“Friends? Friends?”
Even they’re not here today. Need to go home; they’re always at home. They love me there. Damn skirt, getting caught on that stupid trash can lid. Always happens in these alleys. Calm, Amelia, calm. Just walk down the street. It’s freezing out here; what is this? It’s October! Need a sweater... Round the corner, walk some more. Avoid the Suits. Don’t give me that look! I am not gum on the bottom of your shoe; what’s your problem?
Turn into the alley. My alley. Finally home. Yay for sheets. Do inventory:
Sheets on the left.
Chair without the center rung.
Cardboard box on the right.
And most importantly, the safe. The Tupperware box that the Gavinskis threw out two years ago. My safe. Where the paper is. Run for the safe, check for my papers, phew. They’re still there. You never know with the stupid street-walkers.
Tuesday, October 29th
Amelia
Mr. Harrison’s class, Room 501
The boy stares again. Why? I don’t know. His parents are Suits, the damn street-walker. So leave me alone. Parents probably make enough money to buy me six thousand reams of paper…. Paper…. Not the stolen kind…. Or the back of those wrappers… Nice…. Stupid boy. Stupid putrid unholy boy…. GO AWAY!
Walk down the hallway, English, Room 792. Place is too big. Too many people, like that street. That street. That STREET! No. C’mon, get down the hall, just a few more paces.
“Hey, Raggedy Anne! Don’t you know that all the Russian peasants died years ago?”
Stupid, stupid, just keep walking. They’re all shits, anyway; don’t know what it’s like.
…… My book. My…. Book…..
My book! There! He has it. The boy. With my book. Why does he have my book? It’s my book! Amelia, calm…. Calm….
“Hi Amelia!”
The girl, why today, why now?
“Hello.”
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“I’m only asking because I thought you might have some sort of skin condition.”
“What?”
“Well you’re wearing all those clothes… Do you even have skin? What’s wrong with you? Are you diseased?”
Just walk away.
Just walk.
Away.
Go away.
Why does the boy have my book?
“Um, hi.”
What? Are you talking to me? Not again. What do you want? Look up slowly, no one cares. Probably just to mock me again.
Look up, slow, slow, slow. Nice sweater, very pretty colour, like the brick on the apartment next to the bed after it rains… The boy!
“Hello.”
“Um, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for what Cassandra said back there.”
What? What did you just say? Go away.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Well, she can be really mean sometimes… And a lot of people are mean to you, and it’s upsetting to watch. I’m sorry.”
Ah. A pity party. Don’t need this. Don’t need the boy and his worthless apologies. Nice eyes… Chocolate. I don’t remember what chocolate tastes like. When did I eat? Burrito this morning. Half-eaten with beans and too much hot sauce. That’s right.
“Thank you. But I’m OK.”
“OK… I just wanted you to know that we’re not all like that.”
“Who, the street-walkers? You’re all like that. It’s alright.”
“Street-walker? What’s that?”
“You walk the streets and ignore the alleys.
Look beyond your road signs and into the dark.
There is much that awaits you beyond the doors
But there are no doors to this world.”
My first poem. Always had an affinity for it.
“Hey! That’s an Evelyn Nery poem! Do you read her, too? I just bought her book; it’s very very good.”
Pronounced it wrong. It’s not NER-y. It’s N-EER-y. Spanish. Damn street-walker.
“I do like her poems.”
“Yeah, me too, obviously. I have to go, but maybe we can chat at lunch sometime? Tomorrow maybe?”
Lunch? Oh. That room with the chairs and people. So many people. There’s no room there.
“Yeah, tomorrow.”
“OK, sweet. See you then!”
Go away. Why are you speaking? To me? Run back to your people. I’m fine.
Tuesday, October 29th
Amelia
Home
The boy. Why the boy? What is he up to? Don’t want his attention… Don’t need it. And my book! Why does he have my book? He doesn’t need it. Can’t understand it. My book. Anyway. The rat is back. Hello, rat. This is my home. Go away. But we connect. No one likes rats. No one likes Amelia. Everyone yells at rats and calls them names and kicks them away. Everyone yells at Amelia and calls her names and kicks her away. Amelia is a rat.
The boy said we’d talk today. In the room. Filled with people. And chairs. Sitting at the table, in the corner. Not sure what to do, too many people. Staring. Laughing. Can’t do this.
“Hey! Amelia!”
Running feet. No, not here. Not again. Go away.
“Amelia! Hey, you came.”
A brown lunch bag on the table. Lunch? Don’t have a lunch. No leftovers from the neighbours today.
“Do you have a lunch?”
Damned mindreading street-walker.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The neighbours didn’t have any leftovers.”
He laughs. Why?
The table has an interesting pattern. Black and white. Flecks of gray. Haven’t looked at the boy. Too afraid.
“You’re… You can’t possibly be serious. Really, why don’t you have a lunch?”
Look at him. Red hair, mix between sunshine, oranges, and the brick walls in the rain. Blue collared shirt. Plaid. Chocolate eyes… Concerned. For me? Amelia is a rat.
“The neighbours didn’t have any leftovers.”
“Why do you get food from your neighbours?”
Looking me in the eye.
“There isn’t any other way.”
“What do you mean? Don’t you have parents? Or money to go to the grocery with?”
“No parents. They’re dead. Been dead.
The money you squander,
The money I have.
The money he wasted,
The money I have.
The money she gave up,
The money I have.
The money I have
It is hidden away.”
Pause. The table is pretty.
Warmth. Fingers. Palm. Touching! The boy is TOUCHING. What does he think he’s doing? Three pats on the shoulder. Chocolate eyes again.
“I’m so sorry.”
“What did you do?”
“No, that your parents have passed.”
“It was a long time ago. I don’t remember.”
“It’s still sad. Where do you live?”
“Togart Alley.”
“Where is that? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Off of Picante Street. Near Chicharito’s restaurant.”
“Oh, I know Chicharito’s. They have great burritos.”
“I know.”
“Could I… Visit you sometime?”
“No.”
“Oh…. Well, do you need anything? Like money or food? Maybe you can get away from your obviously ungenerous neighbours.”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because I have plenty—“
“I’M FINE, STREET-WALKER.”
Silence.
Murmurs.
“She IS crazy…”
“Did you hear…?”
“Farrell? Talking to her?”
“Freak….”
Need to leave… Knew this was a bad idea; too many people, all the chairs, too much too much. Amelia is a rat. A rat a rat a RAT. Kicked, yelled at, unwanted.
NEED TO LEAVE.
LEAVE.
LEAVE.
LEAVE.
Amelia… Hi Amelia… We’re here for you. Don’t worry about the people out there; you’ll always have us… We love you. We’ll care for you.
Friends….. Friends….
Dry your tears, love… It will get better… Ignore the boy…And the girl… Ignore them all. You’ll always have us to come home to…
Friends… You’re here…
Why don’t you write, Amelia? We’ll help you…
A rat ran into the lunchroom today
Scared all the boys and the kiddies away.
Got so upset it could hardly speak,
So ran away without a squeak.
The rat ran on home
To an alley on loan
With a bed
A chair
And a sheet.
More, Amelia, more…
There is a boy
Who won’t go away
I don’t know what he wants
Make him stop
I’m done with humans
The street-walkers,
The Suits.
My enigmas
My rhymes
I love you so much more
Than the damned
That roam the streets.
Keep going…
My friends are the only things that comfort me
In my realms of misery.
They never leave me;
They live in my head.
They are my friends,
Never gone.
I love them so much;
They are my inspiration.
They never betray me.
Never let me go
Alone
Down a street.
Filled with horrors…
The street….
Amelia! Don’t go there… We don’t want to upset you. That’s a dark place, love. Let’s not journey there. Just sleep…
Sleep….
Wednesday, October 30th
Amelia
Mrs. Forsenbury’s class, Room 205
They all stare now… The freak got freakier. Go away. Nobody needs you. They don’t understand.
Going home, normal route. Avoid the Suits, don’t step in mud, get home as soon as possible. Simple.
Footsteps.
Coming up behind.
Ignore them. No one cares.
My alley.
My beautiful alley; need to write tonight. The editor’s not going to be happy…
The footsteps.
They still follow.
Turn into the alley, still there! Turn around, prepare to defend.
The boy.
He followed me.
Followed me home.
He knows now.
“What are you doing here?”
“I… I followed you.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to understand.”
“There isn’t much to understand.”
“Why do you live here?”
“Why not?”
“It’s… Not pleasant.”
“Thank you.”
Turn around, make the bed. My sheet, so soft. Lovely.
“What are all those papers?”
Papers?
What papers?
My poems!!
“Hey, wait a minute…”
“NO! GIVE ME THOSE!”
Let go let go let go!!!
My secrets, my secrets! They’re MINE. LET GO!
“These are Evelyn Nery poems! How did you get them? Wait… These haven’t even been published yet… Oh my God…”
No no no no no no no! My secrets!
“GIVE THOSE TO ME!!!”
My poems!! My children… Mine… Not his… The boy has no right to these… My poems… My loves… My friends… Back to the safe you go. I’m so sorry…
“You… I can’t believe it… You’re Evelyn Nery! Oh my goodness… Oh my goodness….”
My secret.
“You’re amazing. I love your poems… Oh my goodness. I had lunch with Evelyn Nery! I can’t… Wow….”
My secret.
“Why do you hide it? And why are you living here? Your book is so popular, you must have trunkloads of cash.”
My secret.
“I mean, you could be living an amazing life. I don’t know how you keep this a secret… The whole world would know if it were me.
“Exactly.”
My secret.
“It’s my secret to keep. People should like me for me. Not for my work.”
“But where is all your money? I mean, you don’t have a home, you dress in rags, and you don’t have money for food. Where is it all?”
“With my parents.”
“But you said they were dead.”
“They are.”
“Then how can they have all your money?”
“Their funerals were expensive.”
“Wait… But if you wrote a poem about them dying before the book was published, and they died after the book was highly successful… How does that work?”
My secret.
You found my secret.
Hidden, from all these people in my secrets… The boy… Found my secret…
“They died. In this alley. When I was fifteen. They were stabbed to death.”
Stabbed… The blood, everywhere… Watching from my corner, silently. My world fell apart. And I didn’t do what I should have done.
Shh, hush now, Amelia. You still have us. We’re still your friends… Don’t think about all that. It’s not worth it…
“We used to live in the building on the left. Nicest townhouse in the city. We had money. Lots of it. My mother was a model and my father, a photographer. They were a matched set. They were shooting a spread for something in this alley when two people walked into it and drew knives. I was in a corner, carefully watching my father used the camera, and the way my mother posed. I was very interested in what made her so pretty. I could have warned them. The men attacked them, stabbing them all over the place… Everything was… Covered. Everything red… It was awful… The state took their money and house away and I was left alone. They never put me on any kind of form, so no one knew I existed… Now I live here… I write. And wear all my mother’s old clothes. And avoid the streets. I hate the streets.”
My secret… The boy knows now… Why… Why did he follow me?
“I… I’m so sorry… I don’t know… Oh wow…”
No one knows. Lost everything. Have nothing. Unwanted. Sanity….
Amelia…
No.
Amelia… We are your friends…
No.
Come back to us… Don’t worry about the boy.
No. He knows now. Have to worry.
He’s just a stupid boy… Stupid street-walker, remember? Let him go… Make him go away…
… Can’t… He cares…
Don’t be silly, Amelia… The only people who care about you are us… We live in you. We love you. What does he know about how we work?
No… Maybe he… My friend…
No, Amelia! WE are your friends. HE is a street-walker. You don’t want him. He will do nothing for you.
Maybe… He knows… My secrets… My secret…
Amelia…
“So now you know.”
“Yes… Now I know… That’s so horrible.”
“Yes.”
“I… I’m so sorry… You don’t deserve any of this. I’m so sorry…”
“La roux, it runs
La roja, forever
Stains the bricks,
The walls forever
The rain, it tries
To wash forever
The sun, it shows
My pain forever.”
“’La Roux, La Roja.’ By Evelyn Nery… That’s what that poem is about… Oh my goodness…”
“Yes. My parents’ murder. You should go.”
“I… Yeah… I’m so sorry about what happened…”
“I’m fine. Please go.”
“I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”
“GO!”
Thursday, October 31st
Amelia
Lunchroom
Still too many people. Don’t like it.
The boy. Not here today. Thank goodness. Don’t need him. Needs to stay away.
“Hi, Amelia.”
The sweater… This time a sky blue. The eyes, chocolate. The hair, the brick wall after it rains….
“I’m sorry about the other day.”
Trying to make it better… Those chocolate eyes…
“I was wondering if maybe you’d like to live with me. I talked it over with my parents, and they understand completely. They would love it if you stayed with us.”
……… Leave the alley? The street? The chocolate eyes… Everyday. A bed… Warmth…
No, Amelia. Don’t. You can’t leave us. How could you leave us?
“Thank you.”
“We can help you move anything, if you like. And we have plenty of spare rooms, so you can just pick one, and we’ll go buy paint and furniture and stuff to decorate it up.”
Move in… With you… With the boy…
“And you can move in whenever you want. And my mom’s a professional chef, so we always have food, and dad’s an accountant so--“
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. It sounds amazing. Thank you.”
“Oh my goodness… Sweet! Wow, I can’t believe it. This is going to be so amazing.”
“Yes, it will be.”
AMELIA!
“Sweet! So what’s your favourite colour? What do you want your room to look like? We have so much to do…”
What do you think you’re doing, Amelia? You can’t let us go! Not now! He doesn’t care about you! We’re your only friends!
“Come on, I’ll get permission from the principal to leave early- call it a family emergency. After all, you will be family now.”
Family… My family. The boy and his family. My family.
AMELIA. NO. WE ARE YOUR FAMILY.
I’m sorry, Mom. Dad. This is my family now… They will love me. They will protect me.
We did those things! We loved you! We protected you!
You can’t protect me like they can. Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad.
Amelia… We’ll miss you. We love you.
I love you, too.
Goodbye, friends… The street-walker is with me now.
“Alright, we’re all set. Let’s go. Oh, wait. I don’t think I’ve ever properly introduced myself. I’m Farrell. I know, it’s a strange name, but it’s Old English for “One with Valour.” My parents are all into that kind of stuff.”
Farrell… Evelyn and Farrell… Amelia and Farrell…
“You walk the streets and ignore the alleys.
Look beyond your road signs and into the dark.
There is much that awaits you beyond the doors
But there are no doors to this world.
And then you come, you step into
This world of dark and without signs
You guide us to the light of day
The street-walker is your name.”
Street-Walker. Revised Edition.
Evelyn Nery and Farrell Gavins
July 24th
The Gavins-Nery household
“’Ey! ‘Ey, you? Get outta my way!”
The real world. Stupid jackasses that jostle right through you in the street. Can’t even say excuse me.
“Watch it, you looney!”
Stupid pigs.
“Get outta the streets and back into the crazy house where you belong!”
Can handle this. Duck into the nearest alley and work. Always a good plan. So dingy… Home’s only four blocks away, maybe I can brave it back.... There’s fabric there. And that burrito the wasteful tenants threw out ... No, no, have to work now. No use going out while people are still there. Pull over a cardboard box, sit on the ground. Shit. Left all the paper at home. Dig through the trash…. Uhhh…. There! Take-out wrappers. Just enough room to write.
Monday, October 28th
Amelia
The alley near the Chinese place
Don’t know what to write. It’s not a writ-y day. Stupid shits out in the street. They always steal the inspiration. Where are my friends?
“Friends? Friends?”
Even they’re not here today. Need to go home; they’re always at home. They love me there. Damn skirt, getting caught on that stupid trash can lid. Always happens in these alleys. Calm, Amelia, calm. Just walk down the street. It’s freezing out here; what is this? It’s October! Need a sweater... Round the corner, walk some more. Avoid the Suits. Don’t give me that look! I am not gum on the bottom of your shoe; what’s your problem?
Turn into the alley. My alley. Finally home. Yay for sheets. Do inventory:
Sheets on the left.
Chair without the center rung.
Cardboard box on the right.
And most importantly, the safe. The Tupperware box that the Gavinskis threw out two years ago. My safe. Where the paper is. Run for the safe, check for my papers, phew. They’re still there. You never know with the stupid street-walkers.
Tuesday, October 29th
Amelia
Mr. Harrison’s class, Room 501
The boy stares again. Why? I don’t know. His parents are Suits, the damn street-walker. So leave me alone. Parents probably make enough money to buy me six thousand reams of paper…. Paper…. Not the stolen kind…. Or the back of those wrappers… Nice…. Stupid boy. Stupid putrid unholy boy…. GO AWAY!
Walk down the hallway, English, Room 792. Place is too big. Too many people, like that street. That street. That STREET! No. C’mon, get down the hall, just a few more paces.
“Hey, Raggedy Anne! Don’t you know that all the Russian peasants died years ago?”
Stupid, stupid, just keep walking. They’re all shits, anyway; don’t know what it’s like.
…… My book. My…. Book…..
My book! There! He has it. The boy. With my book. Why does he have my book? It’s my book! Amelia, calm…. Calm….
“Hi Amelia!”
The girl, why today, why now?
“Hello.”
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“I’m only asking because I thought you might have some sort of skin condition.”
“What?”
“Well you’re wearing all those clothes… Do you even have skin? What’s wrong with you? Are you diseased?”
Just walk away.
Just walk.
Away.
Go away.
Why does the boy have my book?
“Um, hi.”
What? Are you talking to me? Not again. What do you want? Look up slowly, no one cares. Probably just to mock me again.
Look up, slow, slow, slow. Nice sweater, very pretty colour, like the brick on the apartment next to the bed after it rains… The boy!
“Hello.”
“Um, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for what Cassandra said back there.”
What? What did you just say? Go away.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Well, she can be really mean sometimes… And a lot of people are mean to you, and it’s upsetting to watch. I’m sorry.”
Ah. A pity party. Don’t need this. Don’t need the boy and his worthless apologies. Nice eyes… Chocolate. I don’t remember what chocolate tastes like. When did I eat? Burrito this morning. Half-eaten with beans and too much hot sauce. That’s right.
“Thank you. But I’m OK.”
“OK… I just wanted you to know that we’re not all like that.”
“Who, the street-walkers? You’re all like that. It’s alright.”
“Street-walker? What’s that?”
“You walk the streets and ignore the alleys.
Look beyond your road signs and into the dark.
There is much that awaits you beyond the doors
But there are no doors to this world.”
My first poem. Always had an affinity for it.
“Hey! That’s an Evelyn Nery poem! Do you read her, too? I just bought her book; it’s very very good.”
Pronounced it wrong. It’s not NER-y. It’s N-EER-y. Spanish. Damn street-walker.
“I do like her poems.”
“Yeah, me too, obviously. I have to go, but maybe we can chat at lunch sometime? Tomorrow maybe?”
Lunch? Oh. That room with the chairs and people. So many people. There’s no room there.
“Yeah, tomorrow.”
“OK, sweet. See you then!”
Go away. Why are you speaking? To me? Run back to your people. I’m fine.
Tuesday, October 29th
Amelia
Home
The boy. Why the boy? What is he up to? Don’t want his attention… Don’t need it. And my book! Why does he have my book? He doesn’t need it. Can’t understand it. My book. Anyway. The rat is back. Hello, rat. This is my home. Go away. But we connect. No one likes rats. No one likes Amelia. Everyone yells at rats and calls them names and kicks them away. Everyone yells at Amelia and calls her names and kicks her away. Amelia is a rat.
The boy said we’d talk today. In the room. Filled with people. And chairs. Sitting at the table, in the corner. Not sure what to do, too many people. Staring. Laughing. Can’t do this.
“Hey! Amelia!”
Running feet. No, not here. Not again. Go away.
“Amelia! Hey, you came.”
A brown lunch bag on the table. Lunch? Don’t have a lunch. No leftovers from the neighbours today.
“Do you have a lunch?”
Damned mindreading street-walker.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The neighbours didn’t have any leftovers.”
He laughs. Why?
The table has an interesting pattern. Black and white. Flecks of gray. Haven’t looked at the boy. Too afraid.
“You’re… You can’t possibly be serious. Really, why don’t you have a lunch?”
Look at him. Red hair, mix between sunshine, oranges, and the brick walls in the rain. Blue collared shirt. Plaid. Chocolate eyes… Concerned. For me? Amelia is a rat.
“The neighbours didn’t have any leftovers.”
“Why do you get food from your neighbours?”
Looking me in the eye.
“There isn’t any other way.”
“What do you mean? Don’t you have parents? Or money to go to the grocery with?”
“No parents. They’re dead. Been dead.
The money you squander,
The money I have.
The money he wasted,
The money I have.
The money she gave up,
The money I have.
The money I have
It is hidden away.”
Pause. The table is pretty.
Warmth. Fingers. Palm. Touching! The boy is TOUCHING. What does he think he’s doing? Three pats on the shoulder. Chocolate eyes again.
“I’m so sorry.”
“What did you do?”
“No, that your parents have passed.”
“It was a long time ago. I don’t remember.”
“It’s still sad. Where do you live?”
“Togart Alley.”
“Where is that? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Off of Picante Street. Near Chicharito’s restaurant.”
“Oh, I know Chicharito’s. They have great burritos.”
“I know.”
“Could I… Visit you sometime?”
“No.”
“Oh…. Well, do you need anything? Like money or food? Maybe you can get away from your obviously ungenerous neighbours.”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because I have plenty—“
“I’M FINE, STREET-WALKER.”
Silence.
Murmurs.
“She IS crazy…”
“Did you hear…?”
“Farrell? Talking to her?”
“Freak….”
Need to leave… Knew this was a bad idea; too many people, all the chairs, too much too much. Amelia is a rat. A rat a rat a RAT. Kicked, yelled at, unwanted.
NEED TO LEAVE.
LEAVE.
LEAVE.
LEAVE.
Amelia… Hi Amelia… We’re here for you. Don’t worry about the people out there; you’ll always have us… We love you. We’ll care for you.
Friends….. Friends….
Dry your tears, love… It will get better… Ignore the boy…And the girl… Ignore them all. You’ll always have us to come home to…
Friends… You’re here…
Why don’t you write, Amelia? We’ll help you…
A rat ran into the lunchroom today
Scared all the boys and the kiddies away.
Got so upset it could hardly speak,
So ran away without a squeak.
The rat ran on home
To an alley on loan
With a bed
A chair
And a sheet.
More, Amelia, more…
There is a boy
Who won’t go away
I don’t know what he wants
Make him stop
I’m done with humans
The street-walkers,
The Suits.
My enigmas
My rhymes
I love you so much more
Than the damned
That roam the streets.
Keep going…
My friends are the only things that comfort me
In my realms of misery.
They never leave me;
They live in my head.
They are my friends,
Never gone.
I love them so much;
They are my inspiration.
They never betray me.
Never let me go
Alone
Down a street.
Filled with horrors…
The street….
Amelia! Don’t go there… We don’t want to upset you. That’s a dark place, love. Let’s not journey there. Just sleep…
Sleep….
Wednesday, October 30th
Amelia
Mrs. Forsenbury’s class, Room 205
They all stare now… The freak got freakier. Go away. Nobody needs you. They don’t understand.
Going home, normal route. Avoid the Suits, don’t step in mud, get home as soon as possible. Simple.
Footsteps.
Coming up behind.
Ignore them. No one cares.
My alley.
My beautiful alley; need to write tonight. The editor’s not going to be happy…
The footsteps.
They still follow.
Turn into the alley, still there! Turn around, prepare to defend.
The boy.
He followed me.
Followed me home.
He knows now.
“What are you doing here?”
“I… I followed you.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to understand.”
“There isn’t much to understand.”
“Why do you live here?”
“Why not?”
“It’s… Not pleasant.”
“Thank you.”
Turn around, make the bed. My sheet, so soft. Lovely.
“What are all those papers?”
Papers?
What papers?
My poems!!
“Hey, wait a minute…”
“NO! GIVE ME THOSE!”
Let go let go let go!!!
My secrets, my secrets! They’re MINE. LET GO!
“These are Evelyn Nery poems! How did you get them? Wait… These haven’t even been published yet… Oh my God…”
No no no no no no no! My secrets!
“GIVE THOSE TO ME!!!”
My poems!! My children… Mine… Not his… The boy has no right to these… My poems… My loves… My friends… Back to the safe you go. I’m so sorry…
“You… I can’t believe it… You’re Evelyn Nery! Oh my goodness… Oh my goodness….”
My secret.
“You’re amazing. I love your poems… Oh my goodness. I had lunch with Evelyn Nery! I can’t… Wow….”
My secret.
“Why do you hide it? And why are you living here? Your book is so popular, you must have trunkloads of cash.”
My secret.
“I mean, you could be living an amazing life. I don’t know how you keep this a secret… The whole world would know if it were me.
“Exactly.”
My secret.
“It’s my secret to keep. People should like me for me. Not for my work.”
“But where is all your money? I mean, you don’t have a home, you dress in rags, and you don’t have money for food. Where is it all?”
“With my parents.”
“But you said they were dead.”
“They are.”
“Then how can they have all your money?”
“Their funerals were expensive.”
“Wait… But if you wrote a poem about them dying before the book was published, and they died after the book was highly successful… How does that work?”
My secret.
You found my secret.
Hidden, from all these people in my secrets… The boy… Found my secret…
“They died. In this alley. When I was fifteen. They were stabbed to death.”
Stabbed… The blood, everywhere… Watching from my corner, silently. My world fell apart. And I didn’t do what I should have done.
Shh, hush now, Amelia. You still have us. We’re still your friends… Don’t think about all that. It’s not worth it…
“We used to live in the building on the left. Nicest townhouse in the city. We had money. Lots of it. My mother was a model and my father, a photographer. They were a matched set. They were shooting a spread for something in this alley when two people walked into it and drew knives. I was in a corner, carefully watching my father used the camera, and the way my mother posed. I was very interested in what made her so pretty. I could have warned them. The men attacked them, stabbing them all over the place… Everything was… Covered. Everything red… It was awful… The state took their money and house away and I was left alone. They never put me on any kind of form, so no one knew I existed… Now I live here… I write. And wear all my mother’s old clothes. And avoid the streets. I hate the streets.”
My secret… The boy knows now… Why… Why did he follow me?
“I… I’m so sorry… I don’t know… Oh wow…”
No one knows. Lost everything. Have nothing. Unwanted. Sanity….
Amelia…
No.
Amelia… We are your friends…
No.
Come back to us… Don’t worry about the boy.
No. He knows now. Have to worry.
He’s just a stupid boy… Stupid street-walker, remember? Let him go… Make him go away…
… Can’t… He cares…
Don’t be silly, Amelia… The only people who care about you are us… We live in you. We love you. What does he know about how we work?
No… Maybe he… My friend…
No, Amelia! WE are your friends. HE is a street-walker. You don’t want him. He will do nothing for you.
Maybe… He knows… My secrets… My secret…
Amelia…
“So now you know.”
“Yes… Now I know… That’s so horrible.”
“Yes.”
“I… I’m so sorry… You don’t deserve any of this. I’m so sorry…”
“La roux, it runs
La roja, forever
Stains the bricks,
The walls forever
The rain, it tries
To wash forever
The sun, it shows
My pain forever.”
“’La Roux, La Roja.’ By Evelyn Nery… That’s what that poem is about… Oh my goodness…”
“Yes. My parents’ murder. You should go.”
“I… Yeah… I’m so sorry about what happened…”
“I’m fine. Please go.”
“I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”
“GO!”
Thursday, October 31st
Amelia
Lunchroom
Still too many people. Don’t like it.
The boy. Not here today. Thank goodness. Don’t need him. Needs to stay away.
“Hi, Amelia.”
The sweater… This time a sky blue. The eyes, chocolate. The hair, the brick wall after it rains….
“I’m sorry about the other day.”
Trying to make it better… Those chocolate eyes…
“I was wondering if maybe you’d like to live with me. I talked it over with my parents, and they understand completely. They would love it if you stayed with us.”
……… Leave the alley? The street? The chocolate eyes… Everyday. A bed… Warmth…
No, Amelia. Don’t. You can’t leave us. How could you leave us?
“Thank you.”
“We can help you move anything, if you like. And we have plenty of spare rooms, so you can just pick one, and we’ll go buy paint and furniture and stuff to decorate it up.”
Move in… With you… With the boy…
“And you can move in whenever you want. And my mom’s a professional chef, so we always have food, and dad’s an accountant so--“
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. It sounds amazing. Thank you.”
“Oh my goodness… Sweet! Wow, I can’t believe it. This is going to be so amazing.”
“Yes, it will be.”
AMELIA!
“Sweet! So what’s your favourite colour? What do you want your room to look like? We have so much to do…”
What do you think you’re doing, Amelia? You can’t let us go! Not now! He doesn’t care about you! We’re your only friends!
“Come on, I’ll get permission from the principal to leave early- call it a family emergency. After all, you will be family now.”
Family… My family. The boy and his family. My family.
AMELIA. NO. WE ARE YOUR FAMILY.
I’m sorry, Mom. Dad. This is my family now… They will love me. They will protect me.
We did those things! We loved you! We protected you!
You can’t protect me like they can. Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad.
Amelia… We’ll miss you. We love you.
I love you, too.
Goodbye, friends… The street-walker is with me now.
“Alright, we’re all set. Let’s go. Oh, wait. I don’t think I’ve ever properly introduced myself. I’m Farrell. I know, it’s a strange name, but it’s Old English for “One with Valour.” My parents are all into that kind of stuff.”
Farrell… Evelyn and Farrell… Amelia and Farrell…
“You walk the streets and ignore the alleys.
Look beyond your road signs and into the dark.
There is much that awaits you beyond the doors
But there are no doors to this world.
And then you come, you step into
This world of dark and without signs
You guide us to the light of day
The street-walker is your name.”
Street-Walker. Revised Edition.
Evelyn Nery and Farrell Gavins
July 24th
The Gavins-Nery household