Part Eight

I have struggled with telling the part of my story concerning the young lady. Though I have up to this point decided not to disclose what happened between her and me, I find that I cannot continue with my story until I first relay that transition because it was in her arms that I finished my becoming. Still, my pen shakes at every word. But I find comfort in thinking of my friend the tattooist and his book. If words are indeed lies, then, of course, mine are no exception.
After the third exchange of busses and the girl continuing to follow me or, by a truly odd coincidence, following the exact same route as me all the way across the city, I found I could not stop staring at her, looking for some clue as to her intentions. I decided that, if she were to get off at the same final destination that I did at the northwest corner of the city, then I would wait for her to go in her direction before I would take mine. I could have no one following me on my mission. That wouldn’t do at all.
At every bus exchange, I kept going to the back seat of the bus, and she kept sitting in the middle with her head against the glass. In some ways, I think I continued to stare at the back of her head trying to see some sign that she was older than her demeanor made her seem.
As the bus took off with a jolt on our final leg to the northwestern part of the city, she whipped her head around with a sudden surge of energy and bore me a hard look. “I can tell you’re staring at me,” she said. I could see instantly that I would find no evidence that she was older than she seemed. She was young – maybe fourteen at most. Her voice was immature and her face unscathed by time and fate as yet. Her hair was unkempt, disheveled and she did not brush it back from her face, bearing me her hard glare through the tattered strands of hair.
“I’m not staring at you,” I said, returning her gaze.
“Yes, you are.” She stood and walked toward me with a tired gait steadied only by her hands brushing over the tops of the seats. She plopped down beside me and jammed her hands into her jacket pockets. “Are you some kind of pervert?” she asked, staring down the length of the bus aisle. “Why are you following me around?”
I found I couldn’t look at her without turning awkwardly. She sat nearly shoulder to shoulder with me as if we were brother and sister. Since I could not look at her, I too stared down the length of the aisle. “I was certain that you were following me.”
She didn’t answer. The bus hummed along the highway and we both stared down the length of its aisle. I watched the shadows pass across the floor. Were anyone to look at us at this point, they would assume that we were together. I was terribly uncomfortable, worried that someone would think the worst about me. I knew I should do something to get away from her, but when I thought about moving toward the front of the bus, she leaned her head over onto my shoulder and relaxed there. I couldn’t imagine what to do other than jump up and shove her aside, but I felt sorry for her, and decided to let her relax. If she needed a comfortable shoulder to drowse on for a little while, why not mine? “I’m not a pervert,” I said. She still didn’t answer.
When we finally reached the northwestern corner of the city, my final destination for the night, she was sound asleep. I hoped to let her down from my shoulder and let her lay across the seat without waking her, giving myself an opportunity to get away without rejecting her outright, but she woke as soon as I moved, and got up to exit the bus.
The bus pulled away moments after the girl and I stepped off, leaving us in a fog of exhaust. I was still determined to let her go her own way first before I started out on my mission, but she just sort of stood there beside me, eyeing the bushes along the row of brownstones before us.
“I guess you’ll probably follow me no matter where I go, won’t you?” she said, sighing with her hands still crammed tightly into her jacket pockets.
“No,” I said. “I was just waiting for you to go your way before I took mine.” I shrugged, looking her over for a sign that she was going to leave me alone.
“My way’s your way, since you’re bound to follow me anyway. I kind of figured that, since you’re here, I can use you for protection.” She pointed up the street. “I just live about two blocks from here.”
I followed her up the street. She kept about ten paces ahead of me. I followed her knowing that neither her nor my intentions were pure. I pulled my pad of postits from my pocket and scribbled “stupid” on the top sheet. I ripped that sheet from the pad and let it flutter to the ground behind me as I wrote another and let it fly too. I left these breadcrumbs to my stupidity for others to follow, though it seems no one picked up the trail.