Big Bang 2012: Love Lies Burning 3/24
Wrong time, wrong place, wrong sight and wrong sound. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Jensen crouches between trash cans with his back to the rest of the world. His hands cover his ears and his eyes are shut tight, nose screwed up with the effort. He rocks in rhythm, his head hits the wall with each beat and he breathes in time. Sadie circles, whimpers and paws at his knee. Suddenly, her ears prick up and she’s turned about and growling.
A tall blonde lady backs off with her bag of trash. She hooks her hand around the door from which she came, “Chris!” she yells. Her eyes don’t leave the human disaster in her view. “Christian! Get your ass out here now!”
Nobody joins her and she crouches to Sadie’s height and extends her hand cautiously. “Hey Girl. Good Girl. Gonna get help now.” She flicks her head to look at the man in motion. “You can get in at the other side. Do you want to come in? We've got warm pie and mash for dinner and you can get a bed for the night.” There’s no response.
“How difficult can it be to put the trash out?” A tall, well built man emerges from the door. He flicks his long dark hair behind his ear and Katie simply says, “Dog.”
He emerges fully, a cook’s apron around his waist and spoon in his hand. Behind him there are impatient shouts and he growls. “So put the trash in the can and we’ll call animal control later. We have a line.” He stops short when he sees Sadie, his voice hitches with a trace of panic. “Katie have you seen…”
Katie points to the gap between the bins, “…a man,” she completes his sentence. “You know them?”
Christian gives her the spoon, pulls his apron off and gives that to Katie too. “You carry on in there. I’ve got this.”
“Should I call an ambulance?”
“No, just go back in, see to the line.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know. I haven’t seen him before.”
He smiles at her. “You’re doing good. I’ve seen him on soup runs. He doesn’t come in. I’ve got it. Go!” Christian reaches in his pocket and finds a Hersheys bar. He drops to his hands and knees, breaks off a chunk and offers it to the dog. The snarl dies as she sniffs at him then takes the treat delicately between her lips. He offers another piece and she takes it confidently. He pets her head and rubs at her ears, “Hey, Sadie. Your man seems to be struggling. Want to give me a hint?” Sadie fixes her brown eyes onto the tall, dark haired man and trots to beside Jensen. She whines and licks at her owner’s face.
“Dude. Your dog is a pushover for chocolate but I have a few chunks left if she’ll let you share.”
The rocking continues without a single change in momentum and even though he can’t see the tramp’s face, the shelter manager is experienced, remembers enough of the man’s traits to guess he’s lost inside his own head. Christian extends his hand cautiously toward the vagrant’s shoulder. “My name is Christian, do you remember me? You’ve hurt your head on the wall. I’m going to take a look. Just want to see you. Not going to hurt you. Okay.” The tone is low, reassuring and he continues with soft words as he approaches.
He doesn’t know how the dog will react but he needs to make contact. Sadie gives a half whimper and a snarl, she’s skittish but she doesn’t attack. Christian breathes a sigh of relief and gently pulls against the man’s shoulders to still his movement. He doesn’t know if he’s more freaked out by the self-destructive actions or the fact that this tramp is absolutely silent despite tears mixing with blood on his face.
The rocking continues against Christian’s hold but his head is no longer meeting the wall. He hears the man’s breathing speed up and everything about him tenses for a fight. “You need to listen, listen to me.” He hopes to hell this man can hear him because he’s not weak, the muscles that bunch under dirty clothes are strong and defined and Christian won’t be able to hold him off. He has had his fair share of black eyes for his charity and they don’t hurt any less than any other variety. “I have a job and a City License for this shelter. I have obligations and I cannot let you be alone if I think you are a danger to yourself or to anybody else. I know there are things you don’t want to happen. I know it. I’ve seen it. If you don’t want to be taken to the hospital you have to slow it down, you have to calm down.”
Jensen’s head hurts and the light is bright. He thinks he’s been away, somewhere, a place where he doesn’t think and nothing hurts. There’s a smell of floor cleaner and cabbage and he doesn’t like it. He can’t feel Sadie’s soft warmth but she’s there, nose to the glass just beyond this walled lobby. He’s in a squashy easy chair. It is warm and cozy and there is a steaming mug of sweet coffee in his hand which he thinks is for him. There is a cold breeze against his chin and a tight pull on his forehead. He puts fingers up to his chin and the skin there is smooth, clean shaven. He explores further and there is tape fixing a wad of cotton above his eyes.
“Sorry. There was a lot of blood. We had to be sure there were no other injuries.”
He squints up at the man with anxious green eyes. He’s familiar and Jensen remembers being given his name in this place. He’s familiar with him in his proper reality too. Christian drives the van that brings hot food and he always makes sure there is some left for him, even when Jensen is hanging back from the line and staying in the shadows. If he were here, Josh would say that Christian is a kind person. There’s a list he keeps of good people. He thinks he should put Christian on that list. He puts his hand out to feel for his bag and Christian lifts it for him. He feels inside and picks out a thick journal and a pen. He opens it to a well thumbed page with a list of names. He traces his fingers over each one fondly.
Ma
Josh
Kim
Sophia
Chad
His tongue extends between his lips and he forms the letters carefully, he wants it to be perfect.
Christian
He puts the book away, drains his coffee and offers the empty cup to Christian.
Christian is shaking his head at him and smiling “Hey dude. You know my name, ain’t I good enough to know yours?”
Jensen purses his lips and thinks. Everyone else on his list knows his name, Christian should too. That is the right and consistent thing to do. He snatches the pen back out of his bag and takes Christian’s hand. Turning it palm up he writes three letters. JEN.
“Jen. You’re name is Jen?” Christian has to ask.
Jensen nods. He stands and the ground is solid beneath him. He walks to the exit of the shelter because somehow he knows he is at the Market Street Shelter even if he doesn’t want to remember how he got here and doesn’t believe he’s ever been inside it before. Sometimes he believes wrong, but he doesn’t think it is relevant in the circumstances. Christian holds the door open for him.
“We kept a bed if you want to stay,” he offers, but Sadie is already at Jensen’s side and Christian knows Jen will not be without her. It catches Christian completely by surprise when Jen signs a word on his fingers and points at him. Christian has learned the basics of sign language for his work with the shelter, enough to recognize the ‘Thank you.’
“You’re welcome.” He calls after him. “You be sure to c’mon in anytime for company, you don’t have to take a bed. Come back and see me.”
There’s no further response from Jensen.
It’s too late to find a place to sleep. Doorways are taken or unsuitable. There are weaving bums from bars, and hookers, their pimps and their clients to avoid. Jensen's hood is up, his head is down. He keeps an even pace and tries not to panic. Sadie keeps a protective distance at heel. Night is necessary. Night leads to day. Night is a reset button and when day comes Jensen’s world returns. Everything will be back in its place and he will have another chance to get it right.
There is only one place that feels safe. He climbs over the locked gate to the Padalecki Gardens and curls himself small in his sleeping bag, under the fake overhang. He keeps utterly still and will not use his flashlight. He doesn’t want cops to move him on. When the night blows too cold to sleep he buries his face in Sadie’s fur and comforts himself by stealing small glances at the Padalecki Building.
The civic clock shines bright across the city with the big hand on twelve and the little hand on two when Jensen sits up straight and rubs at his eyes. Two big notches past the marker, he thinks, dark with moon and stars, so two o’clock in the night. It is too dark to read his newspaper so he’s not sure what night it is. Nights, generally, don’t need progression markers. Well, in his experience perhaps they don’t, but in this one lights blink on behind the blinds of the Padalecki Building. They mark a trail up the stairs until there is a glow from the CEO’s office and then there’s another glow in another office. By the time the big hand of the clock exceeds two and has moved on to the three, the building is back in darkness. A figure fumbles at the security lock on the side gate and a dark car drives away. There’s another car that pulls out of the parking bay on the main street soon after but he’s not sure if it is related. The lobby is well lit and the night security guard hasn’t moved from his position at the front desk. Jensen thinks this might be significant but he has no way of telling if it is a regular occurrence. He decides he must use his flashlight after all. He quickly writes in his journal. Just in case.
At 6:50 a.m. Chad comments on the dressing that is stark white on Jensen’s forehead. Jensen puts his fingers up to it and remembers that it is there. Chad is concerned, but the tramp signs, “It’s nothing,” and Chad doesn’t push for further details. There’s no swimming for Jensen with the recent injury, but they enter the building together and his friend sets him the task of replenishing supplies in the changing rooms, and lets him freshen up.
At 7:25 a.m. Jensen stops by the door of the gym and watches Jared Padalecki pacing steady on the treadmill, with his back to the entrance and deafened by his iPOD. He watches a bead of sweat trickle from Jared’s neck and slide down the nape of his neck to join a circle of damp staining his tee-shirt. Jensen’s eyes are wide and his breath has quickened. He chews at his bottom lip before quietly resuming his pace and exiting the sports centre. The Padalecki chauffeur waits in his limousine.
Jensen and Sadie walk through the bus station and he snags a daily paper and a crumpled dollar bill from the ground. A teenage girl stops to pet Sadie and offers the last bite of her burger which the dog gulps down appreciatively.
At 8:05 a.m. Jeff Padalecki walks up the steps to the entrance of the Padalecki Building and everything is in its place. Jensen takes a tattered photograph from a waterproof sachet in the pocket of his rucksack and he thinks that today might be the day. Today he might make things right.
The lady in the library has dry food and a bowl of water waiting in the lobby for Sadie. He thinks her own dog must be very fussy because every day there is something it refuses to eat, “that might just do for Sadie.” He takes off his outdoor coat, his shoes and the jogging pants he wears over his jeans, puts them in a plastic bag on a hook and motions for Sadie to guard them. He brushes himself down to check that he’s not dusty. A good man doesn’t bring dirt indoors. Sadie curls herself neatly in the corner by the baby stroller storage and rests her snout on her legs. She’ll be asleep within minutes if there are no children to amuse her. He studies the financial newspapers and then uses one of the library’s public computers.
Jensen returns to Padalecki Gardens at lunchtime and is relieved to see their CEO heading out for a walk. In Jensen’s opinion he doesn’t do that enough. Jared strides back an hour later, with a paper bag and coffee from Starbucks. Jensen briefly wonders why Jared stops at the steps of the building and gazes toward the gardens before making his way back inside. Jeff and Misha don’t emerge but some of the other office workers come and sit in the sun, drink Pepsi and chat excitedly about office affairs. Several of them bemoan the way that paperclips and pens disappear the moment you turn your back on your workspace. Jensen avoids their gaze but some of them smile and say hello. He concentrates on reading a thin volume of poetry and remembers not to make them feel awkward. Sadie wriggles her bum, wags her tail and accepts any attention she can get.
Soon after the last of the Padalecki employees go back to work, Jensen sees Sophia. She has a pen and paper in hand and a motorist is arguing with her and pointing at his car. Jen knows the motorist won’t win. Sure enough, he’s left with a ticket in his hand and a sour look on his face. The slight meter maid with the dark hair makes for his spot and slumps on the bench nearby. He greets her with a nod. She sighs and takes off a shoe to rub at her foot. “Man! Some people couldn’t read a road sign if it hit ‘em in the face. I am tuckered out and about ready for a break. How about you, Hon?”
He tucks his book away, puts his rucksack and roll on his back. They make for the greasy spoon a few hundred yards down the road. She mentions his wound briefly and he puts his hand to his head. He indicates that he is fine. No more to be said. Today he teaches her how to sign, “My feet hurt,” and “Turn right at the traffic lights.” He pays for his own lunch, an all day special, but lets her tuck a granola bar into his pocket and a bottle of Fanta in his rucksack. He blushes when Sophia admires his clean shaven face and tells him he’s handsome.
Once Sophia is refreshed and on her way so is Jensen. Some days he will seek out a few hours of casual labor at the local market for a few dollars reward, but he has checked in his journal and knows that today he must find a safe place to shelter after dark. His feet will hurt with the long walk in battered shoes, but blisters are the least of his worries. He studied the death notices and the property news in the library and looked up auctions on the computer. He’s memorized a list of places that currently stand empty and look promising.
By the time Jensen has earmarked an old warehouse and a basement apartment as probable places to sleep, most of Padalecki’s staff are home, cooking their dinner and watching TV. He returns to the gardens and waits for Jared, Jeff and Misha to leave. Jared is last. With a curt nod to the night watchman the CEO climbs in his limousine and waves his driver on.
Jensen packs up once more. Today wasn’t the right day but there’s always tomorrow. Somebody is walking two pom-pom cut poodles on the sidewalk. They whistle at their dogs and the dogs come to heel. Jensen wonders. He purses his lips and blows through his teeth. There’s a breathy exhalation with a faint high pitched noise, barely audible, even to his own ears but Sadie pricks up her ears in surprise and licks at his hand. He smiles and his tread seems lighter.
Part 4
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