Lost and Found (6 page)

The next morning, I caught up to Delaney as her foot hit the bottom step. “Wait up,” I said.

She didn’t turn or say hello, but she stopped.

I put a hand on her shoulder and her muscles tightened. “I’m sorry,” I said as I dropped my hand.

She stared hard at the floor and then said, “Those are the ugliest shoes I’ve ever seen.”

I glanced at them and then nodded. They were every single color of the rainbow, woven together in the worst way possible. If Delaney found them abhorrent, they had to be bad. “Yup. I got them for free. They’re great.”

“You got them for free?
From where?”

“The lost and found.
I find all the best stuff there. Jackets, scarves. One time I found an MP3 player.”

Her eyebrows lowered. “Isn’t that stealing?”

“Nah, I wait around. Months sometimes, but no one claims that stuff. Anyway, don’t worry, I disinfected the shoes.”

“Can’t you afford new shoes? You are a doctor,” she said.

“I’m cheap,” I said with a shrug. “And after a while, stuff grows on me. Metaphorically, not literally. I used the hot setting on the washer.”

“It would explain why you’re living here.”

“Yes, it would. And I’m sorry,” I said.

“You’re always sorry. For what this time?” she asked.

“Can I walk you to the library and explain?” She nodded and we fell into step together, our footsteps creating a cadence. “At first, I thought you were upset at me for hitting on your friend, but she seems like the type of woman who can take care of herself.”

“She is. She takes after her mom, who you do not want to mess with. She’s German, and she speaks English just like she does Ge
rman, so we all have to wait until the last word of her sentence to hear the verb. But we wait, and we don’t complain.”

“Right,” I said.
“Germanic patience. Right.”

“So, what are you sorry for?” she asked in a softer tone.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you and calling you Skunk Girl. I didn’t know it bothered you. I was just teasing.”

She shrugged and said, “It doesn’t. I’m used to it,” but her bo
ttom lip quivered a little.

“I won’t call you that again. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you, it’s fine
.
You can call me whatever you want.
I don’t care.
”

“Fine,” I said, clenching my jaw. “You don’t care. I’m still sorry I upset you, for whatever re
ason. But to be fair, you upset me, too.”

She stopped and turned to me.  “I upset
you
?”

I ran my hands through my hair. “I told you. This isn’t the best neighborhood. You can’t just go around running in the dark, all alone.”

“Oliver, I was with Emily.”

“Are you always with Emily?”

She stayed silent, and so I continued. “I work in an ER, remember? I know of what I speak. Don’t run alone.”

“Okay, but Oliver, I used to run in LA, and that’s a lot scarier than this
podunk town. I grew up around here and I ran in the early morning in high school. I’ve never had a problem,” she said, picking up her speed, walking slightly ahead of me.

I increased my stride to catch up with her. “Just b
ecause it hasn’t happened doesn’t mean it won’t.”

“Oliver. It won’t happen,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sure of it. I don’t keep any cash on me and I a
lways keep an eye out for people. And I usually keep my hair pulled back.”

“So?” I said, completely puzzled. “Is any of this a crime preve
ntion program?”

“Yes,” she said through her teeth, clearly frustrated with me. She walked in front of me, sto
pping me in my path, put a hand to her forehead and lifted up her hair, pointing to the colorless patch I’d first seen on her yesterday. “This. This is crime prevention.”

I stuck out my lower lip. “I’m missing som
ething.”

“You said it yourself! I’m like a skunk.
Worse than that. People stay away from this. People
cross the street
when they see my face.”

“No they don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “No one would do that.”

“Not now. Not when it’s covered. But when it’s pulled back, when I’m running? When I don’t have bangs to cover up my face? Yes. Always.” She resumed walking and I followed her.

“Why?” I said.

She pointed a finger at me, her whole hand shaking. “Because. People think I’m a
leper.
People think they’re going to catch a weird disease. I look vile and disgusting to them, that’s why. They can’t meet my eyes.”

I started to say, “No one thinks you’re a leper,” but she interrupted. “Yes they do. I’ve been told it over and over again. I get it, okay? I’m no princess here. No one wants to look at a picture of me.”

I tightened my fists. “
Who
would say any of this?”

She shrugged, noncommittal.
“People.” Then, softer, she said, “You even said so.”

“What? I never said that.” I tried to keep my voice even, but I’m sure the outrage seeped out anyway.

“Of course you did. You’ve been calling me ugly for weeks.”

“I have?” I thought about it for a minute as I studied her streak of gray, pulled back into a ponytail, her mustard yellow tights, her pink and o
range dress. She dressed like the mentally unstable. I looked into her big Anime eyes, her lashes so long they curved toward her eyebrows, her small, pink, pouting mouth, the rosy apples of her cheeks, and the splotch of white peeking out from under her bangs. How could I have ever called her ugly?

“Delaney, listen, I don’t think I said—”

“I’m done talking about this, okay?” She stomped off toward her building.

“Wait, wait. Before you go, let me get one thing straight. You’re telling me the vitiligo pr
otects you?”

“Yes, from lots of things,” she said, her jaw tightening, and my heart lurched. I said, “Delaney,” and reached out a hand, but she was already too far away.

She jerked a thumb and I saw we were at the PGU Undergraduate Library right on the edge of campus. “This is me. Have a good day, Oliver. I’ll see you later.” I watched her walk away, both of us worse off than before.

“You really didn’t have to come down here, Mom. I could have come to the house,” I said, biting my thumbnail and chipping my bright blue nail polish.

“Of course I did,” she said, running a finger along the kitchen counters, causing a small plume of flour to float in the air. “My only child moved back to town. And just think
, it only took you a month to invite me to see your place.” She said all of this with a grimace. “You could clean more often, honey.”

“I was making a pie crust,” I said, mostly to myself. My mom was already walking past me into my bedroom, pulling up the blinds.

“It’s so dark in here.”

“I like it that way. It makes for good movie watc
hing,” I said.

“Speaking of
movies, how is Cliff?” she said as she paused in the doorway to stare at my duvet.

“How is Cliff relevant to this conversation?” I said, following as she went right for my bed.

She clucked and said, “Oh, dear, you want to go with stripes or a fleur-de-lis for this room. Something rich and dark, like a deep maroon and gold.” Then she turned back and stared at me. “Well?” She put her hands on her hips, waiting.

I blinked in confusion. “Well….what?”

“Cliff. You haven’t mentioned him.”

“Cliff is still Cliff. He’s in LA.”

“He always thought he was better than you. That’s what your problem was.”

“Mom.”

“Did you use some of that cover-up I sent? I got it at the Nordstrom counter in Chicago. Nothing from around here. I hope you at least
tried
to cover up your…you know.” She gestured to my entire body.

“I lived with him. I don’t know how much I was su
pposed to hide from him,” I said, lying back on the bed.

“It’s not
hiding,
dear. It’s putting your best face forward,” she said, and then tsked at me. “This is why you’re alone. Cliff was quite handsome.” she said in a tone that implied, “You can’t possibly do better.”

“I remember, Mom. He’s still quite han
dsome.”

“And you.” She shook her head. “You could be so pretty.
And your
clothes.
” She looked at my yellow and blue striped dress and my gray tights with little red hearts running up them in parallel lines. “You could at least try.”

“I am trying,” I said with a huff of indignation, aimed at myself for getting into this conversation with her.

“Well, you’re alone,” my mom said.

“I’m thinking of getting a dog,” I said.

“A dog?”

“For company.”

“You know I’m allergic.” She frowned and stared at me.

I snapped my fingers. “That’s right. You are.”

“Good. I’m glad that’s taken care of.”

“Yes. I’ll just have to come over to your place from now on,” I said, and sat up. “Darn.” 

***

I stood next to Emily at the counter of the Humane Society, filling out more paperwork than I had for my passport application. “I didn’t realize adopting a dog was such a trial,” I said.

“Well, I think people flake out. Change their minds about pet ownership when they realize it’s not what they thought.”

“Yeah, I had that experience with Cliff.” I bit the end of the pen as I tried to think of my landlord’s phone number off the top of my head.

“You mean, being with him wasn’t what you expected, and you wanted to return him to a place where they practice euthanasia?”

“No, the opposite.
I’m pretty sure I was the one about to be euthanized,” I said, and saw the expression on Emily’s face. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“He was that bad to you?” She frowned.

“He was Cliff. You know, my expectations were just un-Cliff-like. That’s all.”

“He said he’d love you forever. I don’t think it was your expect
ations that were the problem.”

“Let’s stop talking about Cliff,” I said, smiling at the woman behind the counter as I passed her my paperwork. “We’re ready to see the dogs now.”

“I have to call your landlord first and make sure pets are allowed in your apartment,” the woman said as she leafed through my paperwork.

“Oh, okay, even to just
see
the dogs?” I said.

“Yes,” she said without emotion.

“Right. I guess we’ll just be waiting over there?” I pointed to a few chairs in the corner of the front office.

“
Mmm hmm,” she said distractedly, and I pulled Emily over to page through magazines and kill a couple of minutes.

“I know you don’t want to talk about what happened with Cliff and that bitch Kelsey, but I really think it would help you process and move on. Then maybe you could start dating again,” Emily said.

“I don’t want to date again. I told you this. I’ve told Ursula this. I’ve even told my mother and Oliver this.”

“Oliver?”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to date. I want a dog. I wanted my own apartment. I got that. I’m moving onto the next thing. That’s all. Big dreams, fortune favors the bold, and all that,” I said cheerily, ignoring her scowl. The woman behind the desk waved us over, and told us we could finally go see the dog kennels, and I went through the double doors grateful to drop the conversation with Emily, and face my future.

Michael sat across from me as we both ate previously frozen burritos. “I like this food because it burns me and I have a sore for weeks afterward to remind me of the meal. Yum,” he said.

“You’re the one who wanted to eat these. I don’t even remember buying them. I’m not sure they didn’t come with the apar
tment,” I said and then bit into a section of boiling cheese and meat, scalding the roof of my mouth. “Damn it, these are awful.”

Michael put down his burrito. “Did you ever think you would still be living alone in the shitty, small apartment you started out your residency in, eating microwave burr
itos, wearing the same ugly t-shirt, five years later?”

I put down my plate and looked down at my used-to-be-white shirt. “I love this shirt. I like my shitty apartment. I like eating m
icrowave burritos. Okay, maybe I’m so-so on the burritos.”

“That’s because you’re cheap.”

“I am. And I like being alone. When I want company, I have company. When I want them to leave, they leave. I’m a grownup.”

“Bullshit. No grownups call themselves grownups. They just
are.
”

“Don’t take your loneliness out on me. I’m not the one who’s pi
ning for a girlfriend.”

“I’m not pining. I don’t pine. This just isn’t how I saw myself at thirty one,” he said, and then he picked up his burrito and started eating again. “Maybe it’s time to ask my mom to set me up with a nice Jewish girl.”

“You’re not even Jewish.”

“Yes, but I keep hearing everywhere about how great they are, so I’m sure my mother knows a few.”

“Will your mother tell them you barely passed your boards?”

“A doctor is a doctor is a doctor,” Michael said with a smile.

“Except for psychiatrists.”

“Oh yeah, not those fools,” he said with a shake of his head, and then we both watched television together and ate our scalding frozen di
nners together, like grownup men.