Runaway (9 page)

So I might as well just tell you: I've been eating from trash cans.

And nothing's been from above the rim.

Go ahead and be revolted, see if I care. I can't fight for my liberty if I'm starving (which I am). I need strength if I'm going to last (which, if Harriet Tubman did, so can I). And if that means eating from the trash, that's what I'm going to do.

It's called survival.

         

Wednesday, July 28
^th
(if the newspaper I saw is today's, anyway…)

Remember I told you how I lose my sense of direction in this place? Well, today I thought I was walking west, but I was actually walking east. And instead of finding a church with a shelter, I found the Los Angeles River.

Ah, you say. Refreshing water! Trees! Perhaps fish to catch for supper?

Guess again.

Even the
river
here is cement. I'm not kidding. The sign says
LOS ANGELES RIVER
but it's a giant canal of cement with no water in it. The “banks” are cement, too, decorated in huge areas with graffiti. All you can see in any direction are power lines and train tracks and cement, cement, cement.

I decided to walk “downstream.” It was dusk and I was really hungry, but I saw no chance of finding any food around the “river,” so I just wanted to find a safe place to sleep before it got too dark. A place where I could see people coming before they could see me. A place where my back was protected and my body was sheltered.

I was starting to think that the river was a horrible choice because there were train tracks on either side of it and, beyond them, an endless, barren wasteland of industrial buildings. But then I spotted an overpass, and as I got closer, I saw a shopping cart. It was upright, at the foot of the bank near the overpass.

I ducked through a large break in the chain-link fence and walked along the cement riverbank toward the cement overpass that crossed above the cement river. I was quiet and careful, and when I got closer, I smelled cigarettes.

Under the overpass was a small camp of homeless: three women (two of them with little babies) plus about five men. I spied on them from behind the arch of the overpass for a few minutes, then stepped forward with my hands up, saying, “Hello? Is it okay if I come in?”

There was a lot of quick chattering in Spanish, and finally one of the women said, “You are lost?”

I nodded, then shook my head, then shrugged.

The woman laughed.

“Tired?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Hungry?”

I nodded before I could stop and think that they might chase me away if they thought I wanted their food.

She smiled kindly and patted the ground beside her.

I stepped into the shade of the overpass, thinking that this had gone way too easy. Maybe they were all going to surround me and pounce. Maybe…

But the woman smiled again and said, “Is okay. Come.” She patted the ground some more, then chattered in Spanish at the men, waving them off.

The men backed away, so I took a few more steps toward her and said, “Thank you.”

“De nada,”
she said. Then she rummaged around a canvas sack and pulled out a can of hash. “You like?”

I almost broke into tears. She was being so nice. And I was so,
so
hungry.

“For you,” she said, pushing it on me.

I sat down and pried open the lid. My hands were shaking. My legs were shaking. My mouth was watering like a dog's.

“No eat too fast,” she said, then handed me two sort of dried-out corn tortillas. “Use.” She tore off a piece and pinched it over some hash. “See?”

So that's how I ate. A little tortilla wrapped around a bit of hash. I ate every morsel. Every crumb. Every
molecule.
And when I was done, she smiled and said, “Better?”

I nodded. And I tried not to, but my chin quivered and my eyes stung as I told her, “Thank you.”

So I've been thinking that this place by the cement river is like my first safe house. And it may sound stupid and naïve to you, but thinking that way fills me with hope. And stupid and naïve or not, without hope I've got nothing.

         

3:20 a.m.

steel screeches on

the track

reaches on

the night spans gray

and lights

burn my eyes

as night

reaches on,

endlessly on

         

The next day

I had a miserable night last night, but right now I am in the absolute best mood. You are not going to believe where I am!

I happened to find this place while I was searching again for The People's Church. (My friends from last night tried to give me directions to the church, but I don't think I understood right.)

But forget that. Right now I'm inside the coolest building I have
ever
seen. It's big, with tall ceilings and echoing halls, and it's full of wood and (of course) cement. But this is good cement!

So where am I?

Here's a big hint: I haven't told you the
main
thing they have here.

Big hint #2: You would love it here!

Give up?

I'm in the
library.

This is nothing like that podunk hardly-ever-open Aaronville library (or any other library I've been in, for that matter). This place is a
museum
of books. Floor after floor of books! I wandered around for hours and am now in the teen section. It's unbelievable here: cushy couches and coffee tables and magazines…it's more like a
lounge
than a library.

I've picked out a few books, too. There's one about escaping from Alcatraz. (You've heard of Alcatraz, right? That old prison on an island? I never knew this, but it's in California. I'm not sure if the book is fact or fiction, but it sounds great!)

Another book I picked out is about an evil boy who terrorizes people during the day, but at night he turns into a benevolent ghost and goes around helping people. What is he, evil or good? I guess I have to read it to find out.

But the one I'm going to read first is about this girl who gets stranded on a desert island with her dog. What a perfect life! You should see the cover—the girl looks sort of lame, but the dog is so happy-looking! (What I would give to be stranded on a desert island with a dog that cute….)

I could probably sneak the books out of the library, but why would I? It's cool and comfortable in here, and there's no traffic noise. Plus, the bathrooms are nice, and everybody's minding their own business.

Too bad the library closes at eight.

Too bad they don't have free food.

But forget about that. I'll deal with sleep and hunger later. Right now I'm going to sit in this cushy chair and read!

         

3:45 p.m.

Guess what! I found a room with a refrigerator and scored big-time! Two sandwiches, a couple of yogurts, a can of almonds, and some beef jerky. I stashed them in my jacket quick, then went into a bathroom stall, scarfed some of it down, and put the rest in my backpack.

I love this place!

         

7:45 p.m.

The library's closing in 15 minutes. And all of a sudden I'm really, really tired. I shouldn't have spent the whole day reading. I should have found that church. Or I should have taken a nap in here.

Maybe I'll hide behind the bookshelves and wait for the place to close down. It would be so nice to sleep on a couch….

But what if they have night security? What if I get caught? They'll know I'm
homele
a
gypsy.
They'll turn me in.

Crud.

         

10:30 p.m.

There
are
guards roaming around. Two, I think. They cruised through the teen section but haven't come back for a while. I can't see any cameras mounted on the walls, scanning the room for tired gypsies, so I'm hoping I'm safe for the night.

I'm going to forget the couch (even though it's calling my name really LOUD). It's in the wide-open middle of this room, and they'd see me for sure if they came through again. I thought about snagging two of the couch cushions and bringing them back here, but then I can't pretend to have fallen asleep during business hours if I get caught. (That's what I'm planning to say if they find me. You know, “Oh no! I can't believe it! I've got to get home. My mother is going to be SO worried!”)

Better safe and uncomfortable than comfy and caught.

         

The next day, 8:45 a.m.

Close call! I was on my way to the bathroom, because my bladder could not make it to opening time to get relieved, when this lady came into the teen section with a cart of books. I held really, really still, and she was so busy rolling the cart around, putting books on the shelves, that she didn't notice me. The minute she went around a stack, I beat it into the bathroom.

So now I'm in a stall, killing time before the library opens. I hope there's some librarian's lavatory that they use instead of this one. One look at my shoes under the divider and they'll know I don't work here. Then they'll bust me and find a yogurt container and cellophane and figure out that I just had their lunch for breakfast.

         

Same next day, 10:45 a.m.

Back in my teen-section chair, comfy and fairly safe. I did get The Look from a librarian. At least I
think
she's a librarian. She asked me, “Weren't you here yesterday?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said with a smile. “I love the library.” Then I added, “My mom's a lawyer, and I beg her to take me here whenever she has to do research. I love books, and getting to spend whole days at the library is just the best!”

So okay, I laid it on pretty thick. But she smiled and nodded, and I think the bit about my mom being a lawyer was a stroke of genius, don't you? Who wants to mess with a girl whose mother is a lawyer?

Just call me the Genius Gypsy!

Ha ha!

But the truth is, this genius gypsy is starting to wonder what in the world she's doing. I can't stay in a library in the middle of a cement city. I don't want to be a cement-city gypsy. I'm a
sea
gypsy. A genius gypsy of the sea, that's me!

         

3:15 p.m.

I finished that book about the girl and the dog. The dog saved her life about twenty times, then in the end he died. Stupid book. I buried it in the bathroom trash bin, which is where a book like that belongs.

The story about escaping Alcatraz was a lot better. I like escaping books. I can relate.

So I've started on the one with the ghost boy and so far it's really good, but I'm distracted because I'm worrying about tonight. I've gotten The Look about ten times in the past hour, and I know the clock is ticking. I tried to wash up in the bathroom, but it's not even close to the same thing as a shower. And no matter how polite I act, my clothes are filthy and I know I look awful.

I guess it's time for me to find that church.

I wish I could get a library card. I'd really like to finish this book.

I guess I'll have to steal it.

         

8:00 p.m.

When I realized my little vacation at the library was coming to an end, I started getting really stressed out. I didn't want to go back outside! I started thinking about how long it takes to go
anywhere
in this city. How depressed and disoriented and hungry I've been living here. But then I got the brilliant idea that the library might have
maps,
and it does! Tons of them!

And guess what?

I'm only about 15 miles from the ocean! I could walk that in a day! (Or two.) And I can go south
or
west. The coastline curves around, so either way I'll wind up at the Pacific Ocean!

I also found out that I'm about 12 miles from Beverly Hills and only 8 miles from Hollywood. But who cares about them, right? I want to see the sea! I want to jump right in and take a giant salt bath! I want to swim with the dolphins and make a lean-to out of palm fronds and watch birds swoop through the sky!

I was so excited to know my way out of this cement trap that I almost just started walking. But I was also hungry and needed a shower and clean clothes. So first I looked up the
address
of The People's Church in the phone book (which they also have tons of at the library.)

And no wonder I couldn't find it! It doesn't look anything
like
a church. No pointy roof or stained-glass windows. No crosses or statues of Jesus or Mary or angels. Just a little sign posted on a basement door that says
THE PEOPLE'S CHURCH
.

It's an actual underground church!

I told the pastor, “My mom said to meet her here because—” But before I could even finish building up my lie, he waved me in. “Come! Come in! The House of the Lord welcomes all. I'm Reverend Raynaldo, this is Shanana, and we're here to help you any way we can.”

I don't know what you think about God, Ms. Leone, but the days I'm not busy hating him, I think he doesn't exist. Or if he does, he's just the devil with a white cloak on. Like Ghost Boy. Which is he? Good or evil? (I may never know, because I got busted trying to lift the book.)

But there is no doubt in Reverend Raynaldo's and Shanana's minds about God. They are believers, and you know what? It's nice to be around them. I've taken a shower, gotten clean clothes, eaten a TON of baked spaghetti, and I've got my own mat, pillow, and blanket over here in the corner. And they haven't asked me once, “So…when did you say your mother was coming?”

If it wasn't for the winos and druggies and schizos (who also have mats, pillows, and blankets), I might actually feel comfortable here.

         

Sunday night, August 1
^st