This is the eleventh homeless encampment Roly and I have walked through together. It wasn’t on the list that Baby Paris had given me, but now that I know what to look for, we stopped when we saw the collection of colorful tents hidden in the dense tree line along 183. It’s closing in on the third night of him being out in the wind somewhere, and I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.
We pull off the road, getting as close as we can, then trek through several yards of overgrown weeds to get to the tree line. It’s been raining and sleeting all afternoon, so pretty much everybody is in their tent. Some of the structures aren’t even tents; a few are just a length of tarp thrown over a branch, their only protection from the wind and the cold and the wet.
A small pup tent under a tree catches my eye, if only because it’s slightly newer than the rest of the options. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I know it’s him. Roly nods in agreement. We make our way quickly to the tent, and without ceremony I drop to my knee and unzip it. Tears burn in my tired, aching eyes. He’s curled up into a ball underneath layers of filthy, tattered blankets and clothing. The Wrecked T-shirt peeking out cracks my heart wide open.
Roly grabs my arm. “It’s going to be okay. He’s got us.”
I know I’m not going to leave him any choice in the matter as I crawl into the microscopic tent and pull him into my arms, much the way one might cradle a baby. I then knee-peg walk out into the muck. Roly braces me with his strong arms, and I stand up. Elijah is breathing fine, but he hasn’t stirred, and it breaks my heart even further.
Roly grabs the keys from me and makes his way to the truck, unlocking it and opening the back door for us. I hoist both of us into the back of the cab and know that I’ll need an adjustment to my leg as Roly shuts the door.
Elijah is in my arms, still mostly asleep, nuzzled into my neck, smelling of dank sweat and dirt and rain. I practically sob with relief and tighten my hold on him as we head toward home.
* * *
Elijah
I am having the best dream. I am warm, I am comfortable, everything smellsgreat. Like Nick’s cologne, if Nick lived in a tent by the highway.
I chuckle at the thought and adjust in my comfortable space. Hmn. Something doesn’t sound quite right. I hear the rain, but it’s rain on metal, not canvas. I blink my dry, gritty eyes and Nick’s face swims into view. It takes me a bleary minute to realize I’m not still dreaming. He hasn’t shaved, his hair is a mess, and his eyes are dark and rimmed in red. His eyes catch mine, and his expression… crumples. He buries his face against my neck. “Please.” His voice is ragged. “Please forgive me. I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve been more careful with my words. I’m so sorry, baby.”
Now that I’m fully awake, I realize that I’m in his arms in the back of his truck and that someone else is driving. Since I can’t see the person’s head, I assume it’s Roly.
“You kidnapped me.”
Nick’s iron jaw trembles, and he bites his lip. “Please forgive me. Please don’t go back out there. Please let me take care of you.Please,” he begs, the sound of his voice plucking at my will.
“I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for long enough.”
“Too long, baby. You’ve been taking care of yourself for far too long. Please let me take care of you.”
“And what? Be your sugar baby?”
“I don’t mean it that way, I swear.I swear to god.I was attempting—poorly—to tell you that you are, and have always been safe, without obligation.”
I look up into his face, and the anger of the last few days cracks and breaks away. The depth of his sadness, the need in his eyes. My heart starts to pound in my chest, and tears flow. I hesitate, then tuck my head up under his chin. “You can’t ever do that again. I’ve given up too much. Gone hungry instead of becoming something I’m not.”
He shivers at my touch, then shakes his head vigorously. “Never again, I promise. I think Baby Paris would kill me, to be honest.”
“She helped you, didn’t she?”
The tiniest little snot bubble forms at the edge of his nostril, as he snorts and laughs. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”
“Roly, you got any tissues up there? This one’s a snotty mess.”
A tissue lands on my head, and I wipe Nick’s nose with it, laughing at him. “Crybaby.”
He laughs again, and so does Roly, but then Nick’s face goes serious. “Baby, I’m—I’m falling for you, and that scares the shit out of me, and sometimes the wrong thing falls out of my mouth. But this is it for me, and watching you walk out the door, not being able to reach you… It was the worst feeling in the world. This isn’t quid pro quo. I just want to take care of you, and even if you don’t feel the same way about me, I have an extra room that is just sitting there empty, and it’s yours. Please, Elijah. Please let me.”
I sit there for a while, trying to figure out how I feel, trying to figure out the right move. And in all of that figuring, and for the first time in a year, I can remember my aunt’s soft voice. She’s telling me it’s okay to let somebody take care of me, that I take care everyone around me, and that I deserve it.
I nod, tears spilling down my face.
“Roly, you got any more tissues up there? This one’s the crybaby now.” Nick chuckles at me.
More tissue lands on my head, and I sniff. “You two are assholes.”
Roly pipes up, “We might be assholes, but we’re also your family. And don’t you fucking forget it. I swear to Jesus, if you fucking do that again, I will fuck you up so bad.”
