L.C. Russell writes,

I should preface this with an apology to the four or five people already acquainted with Amber. Please bear with me on this. For those who are not: I conceived this idea more or less a year ago, as a series of short stories concerning random interactions between characters. They all are/will be very dark, depressing, etc. Hopefully with some eventual conclusion and a light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. It has remained for the greater part unwritten, and the “plot line”, if it can be called such, has undergone numerous revisions. I’d like to get it finished at some point, and to post at least parts of it on here. So anyway, here goes the first one…

I still remember when I first saw her. It was on one of those blazing hot afternoons that signal the beginning of yet another stagnant summer. We had all been lying around in the trailer, uncomfortably cramped, but no one willing to brave the heat outside. Everyone was cranky and snapping at each other. Then there was a knock on the door. Everyone stirred, like a waking pile of pups, and then Dad moved towards the door and opened it. His big frame obscured the tiny opening, and it was hard to see around him. We could all hear her voice, though. It was a cultured voice, a most unusual sound for us.

“Hi, I’m looking for a place to stay tonight. I can’t pay, but I’ll cook and clean.” Just as if she’d known us all her life. Mama Rosa moved towards the door, tall enough to see over Dad’s shoulder. Mary Lou and Claud peered through her legs, and the others crowded in close, including me.

Dad’s voice rumbled out, breaking the short silence. “We don’t need any help, thank you.” He was always polite like that to strangers, in his dignified way. I couldn’t see more than a slim shoulder with a green shirt and a backpack strap over it, but it sagged a bit. Then, “thanks. Do you know anyone who might?”

“We’re poor people,” Dad said shortly. “We don’t have room enough for our own families.”

She could take a hint. The shoulder straightened, and the voice said, “well, I think I’ll try anyway. Goodbye.” Dad shut the door as she turned away, but I caught a glimpse of honey colored hair and white skin.

“She’s white?” I said incredulously. I couldn’t help myself. Dad glared at me. “A white girl and a rich one. No telling what she’s doing here, but she’s up to no good. You kids stay inside, do you hear me? She’ll probably be gone by nightfall, but there’s no reason to take risks.” The others all nodded submissively, and Mary Lou sucked her thumb. I was getting too old to take an order like that, though, so I scowled and flopped down on the bunk I shared with my younger brother. Now all I wanted was to go outside. The heat didn’t seem particularly important anymore.

As the afternoon dragged past, I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. Who was she? And what was she doing wandering around a black trailer park? Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. Dad had left to do something, and Mama Rosa was napping on the couch. Padding over to the door, I opened it.

“Dad said not to go outside, Josh,” Mary Lou piped. I scowled fiercely at her, motioning for silence. She stuck her thumb in her mouth and regarded me, waiting for an answer. I stepped out and shut the door softly without giving her one.

I drew a great breath into my lungs. It felt good to get out of the trailer, now that evening had kicked out some of the heat. I looked up at the sky, darkening with pink streaks towards the sunset. And when I looked down, I saw the girl. I hadn’t even had to look for her. She was dragging a bit now, and the backpack looked like it was heavy. She must have gone all the way down the row of trailers, knocking on each door. And I could see that she had gotten the same answer every time.

She hadn’t noticed me yet, so I had a chance to look at her. She was tall, taller than me. And slender. She was looking down, but somehow I don’t think she was seeing the ground. Then she paused, set the backpack down to rest a second, looked up, and saw me. It was the first good look that I had at her face, and it startled me. I guess I might have called her pretty, for a white girl, but she looked so dreadfully empty. Hollow, like a tree that’s ready to fall. Her brown eyes were full of something that I couldn’t read.

The second after she caught my gaze, though, her expression readjusted. Not to the hi-son-how’s-it-going face, just a blank face. And then she smiled a tired smile. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” I said back, guardedly. There was a kind of a stiff silence. I could tell that she had been rejected so many times that she didn’t expect anything more. I felt awkward. I had seen just a glimpse of her pain, and for a moment I felt a twinge of guilt that my people were so hostile towards her. I wanted to let her know that we didn’t hate her. So, “the sunset’s really something, isn’t it?” I said, trying to read her face without success.

“The sunset?” She sounded distracted, as though the weather was the last thing on her mind. And then she looked up, and smiled wanly. “Yes. It is.” She looked at me again, and I was struck again by the stark contrast. Rich white girls were supposed to be happy: what was wrong with her?

“Did you find a place to stay?” I asked, after another awkward silence. I have never been good at conversation, and I guess I was putting my foot in my mouth.

“No,” she said. Hollow again. Waiting to be thrown off again. I don’t know why, but something made me spring to her defense.

“–Look…if it’s really that bad,” I said hesitantly, “can’t you ask my dad for a place to sleep again, really nicely? He’s not really as bad as he sounded, he just doesn’t trust strangers.” For a good reason, I thought. But I could see at once that I’d said the wrong thing. She stiffened up like I’d slapped her.

“Thanks, I know you mean well, but I don’t beg charity. Your dad is a smart man.” Her mouth twisted a bit, but not in the way that would mean she was laughing at herself. “I’ll find a place to stay.” She hoisted the backpack over her shoulder again. Then she gave me a look, almost wistful. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Amber.” Then she was gone.

***************

I didn’t see her again until the next morning. I’d gotten up early, so I could slip out before anyone else woke up. The air was still cool, and the dew hung on the grass. I had gone down to the little creek less than a mile from our trailer, on the pretense of getting a drink and seeing if I could catch a frog or two. She was crouched by the bank, not doing anything, her back to me. I could see one hand just barely touching the water, tracing a thin gulley, like you do when you’re on a boat. I could see that she thought she was alone, and for a few moments I thought about turning around and going back. But I was curious–and chances were no one would catch me talking to her right now.

I suppose I’d better tell you right now–it’s not like I was interested in her or anything. Well, I was, but not like that. Sure, I was getting towards fourteen, but she was at least four or five years older than me. All I knew was that she had been hurt, maybe like I had. And something drew me towards her.

It’s hard to make noise approaching when the grass is soft and wet, but I found a few sticks to step on. After the first few she didn’t even budge, but then she started when I stepped especially loud. One hand flashed up to her face, like she was wiping something off, and then she turned so that she could see me. It didn’t take a blind man
to see that she’d been crying, but she was pretty good at pretending she hadn’t been. She managed a smile–why was she always seeming to smile? Did she feel like she had to? I knew how that felt.

I walked down to the bank, distancing myself from her a bit. “Good morning,” I said, pretending to look at a squirrel in a tree across the creek. She looked like she’d had a rough night–twigs and leaves in her hair and tired lines etched by her mouth.

“‘Morning,” she said softly. She was watching me, I knew. I chanced a glance downwards and met her eye briefly. There was a silence, but a bit more meditative than the awkward ones before.

“You can sit, if you like,” she said finally. I looked at her hard, to see if she was patronizing me, giving me permission because I was black, but I didn’t see any arrogance in her eyes. It was a simple offer, from a girl to a boy. Then I nodded, a bit curtly, and settled myself on the ground. We both just looked at the creek for a while. I wanted to ask her questions, but I didn’t know where to start. But I remembered how terrible it could be with people always acting like nothing was wrong.

So, “what are you running from?” I asked bluntly, looking straight across at her. She flinched, avoiding my gaze. She had known the question was coming, hadn’t expected it so fast. There was a long pause, like she was trying to figure out what to say.

“A lot of things,” she answered, finally.

“Police?”

She laughed, a half-cracked, exhausted laugh, but a laugh. “I guess I look like a criminal, but no. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“School?”

“No, actually, I’m going to a college up in Indiana in the fall,” she answered, crossing her legs. “I’m going to study music and medicine.”

I absorbed this in silence. There was a long pause. We both knew what the next question was.

“Don’t ask,” she said, a bit curtly. “I don’t have a family.” I could feel the tension, almost strong enough to pluck like a guitar string. I just nodded. If I pushed too hard, it would do more harm than good. But at the same time, another part of me rebelled. Why did I want to help her, anyway? She was not one of us. She was different.

But we two were still the same.

So we sat in silence, I don’t know how long, just listening to the water. I didn’t realize how much of the morning had flown by, until I heard the shrieks of small children coming our way. People were waking up. I scrambled to my feet, shooting a look at her.

“A bunch of them will be down here soon.”

No response.

“You’d probably best be off.”

She didn’t budge. It was like talking to a stone. I turned my back to her, heading off. But then I stopped and turned around. She was staring out, not seeing anything. I held my hand out to her anyway. “My name is Josh,” I said.

She blinked, shivered, looked up. Puzzled. Then half of a true smile. She shook the offered hand. “Pleased to meet you, Josh.” She looked back towards the woods, as if hearing the approaching kids for the first time. Then she stood up, running a finger through her tangled hair. Looked at me. Almost smiled again. “See you later,” she said.

“Later,” I said.