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| Lorelei | |
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| Passengers began to collect their bags from overhead storage long before the dusty bus lurched to a stop in the terminal | |
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| Lorelei pressed her forehead against the window and peered out through the ghostly fingerprints of previous riders | |
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| People bumped into each other and apologized as they shuffled around | |
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| She followed their reflections in the smudged glass as they inched toward the exit | |
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| Mothers caressed the damp curls of their heavy-eyed children | |
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| They planted kisses on smooth cheeks to rouse their babies | |
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| Longing drew sharp on Lorelei's heart, but she pushed it down | |
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| Emotions were the enemy. | |
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| The bus driver eyed her in his rearview, the young straggler with no one waiting for her, nowhere in particular to go | |
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| She expected him to be impatient, but he seemed content to merely watch her make her way toward the front. | |
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| "Good luck, honey," the driver said when she finally stepped off | |
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| "Girl like you, you got to be careful out there." | |
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| The accordion doors hissed closed and she was left in a gas-flavored fog. | |
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| She could use a little luck | |
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| And food | |
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| She could definitely use some food. | |
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| Lorelei tried to ignore hunger, to force her body to forget the purpose of that ache | |
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| The times she was able to endure the black gnaw in her gut she felt strong and in control. | |
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| This wasn't one of those times. | |
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| She had eaten her last Slim Jim in the Phoenix Greyhound terminal while she waited for some guy to pay her fare through to Austin | |
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| She had picked him because he seemed gentle, like he would help her when she told him about searching for her brother | |
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| She could read people now, which ones were easy targets, which ones to avoid. | |
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| For more than a year she had been walking and hitching, cramming into rattletrap cars and vans with other worn out travelers | |
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| She left home for Portland then worked her way down the coast to L.A. and across the rocky flatlands of the Southwest | |
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| If she didn't have luck in Austin she'd move on to New Orleans, maybe Miami before winter | |
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| Being homeless in winter sucked. | |
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| Outside the station she spotted kindred spirits, a group with tattoos and lived-in clothes, packs and bedrolls | |
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| One had a thin dog on a frayed rope | |
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| She waited, hoping they would be cool, but one of the girls gave her a warning look, so she moved on. | |
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| Austin's heat blanketed her | |
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| The sun was low in the sky but still strong enough to force her into the shadows of buildings and trees | |
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| The sidewalk radiated heat | |
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| A digital bank sign read 107 degrees | |
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| She was parched | |
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| Her mouth, even her eyes were dehydrated | |
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| Texas was the sort of dry hot that smothered a person's spirit. | |
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| The Salvation Army was close to the terminal | |
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| She waited a block away, watching | |
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| Dozens of men were hanging around outside smoking | |
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| Some stood on the corner peering up and down the busy street as if waiting on their limo | |
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| But she knew they were just drunks and mentals, the usual down-on-their-luck scary losers. | |
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| The dazzling glass towers of downtown promised better opportunity, so she moved on | |
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| In a few blocks she was on the famous Sixth Street | |
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| Pubs, coffee bars and Mexican restaurants lined the sidewalks | |
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| Pulsing neon marked the clubs-guitars, tilted martini glasses, funky retro signs | |
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| Music pounded out of open doors | |
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| Light poles were plastered with hand flyers for bands | |
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| The road was blocked and happy hour humanity flowed down the sidewalks and pooled in the wide streets, laughing, staggering along. | |
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| She stopped to admire an historic hotel with arches and a large columned balcony | |
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| It reminded her of a castle or a wedding cake | |
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| A valet jogged out to meet a sleek black sedan and beautiful people emerged. | |
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| Musicians strummed guitars and sang in front of a music store, an open instrument case at their feet littered with a few dollar bills | |
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| The tangy air outside a barbecue joint made her stomach throb | |
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| She searched the crowd for someone to help her, a mark. | |
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| Amidst the movement stood an eddy of blonde girls in short dresses and slouchy boots | |
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| Their enormous earrings brushed their shoulders | |
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| One held out her phone and her giddy friends leaned into the picture | |
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| They froze in a parody of their drunken happiness, colorful birds chirping away. | |
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| "Can you please help me?". she asked. | |
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| Four sets of coal-rimmed eyes turned her way | |
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| She saw the moment their fuzzy minds focused | |
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| Their eyes flashed up and down her dirty cargo pants, her scarred Doc Martens, her tats | |
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| She could hear their thoughts-street rat, gutter punk, trash. | |
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| Would they freak or would they help? You could never tell with college girls. | |
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| One clutched her purse tighter. | |
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| "Is there a church around here that serves food?" | |
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| Lorelei asked | |
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| "Or may a shelter, you know, for young people?" | |
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| "Oh,". one said | |
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| She snapped her fingers trying to recall | |
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| "I know that place | |
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| It's by the University Tower | |
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| What's it called?" | |
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| "It's some plant name, right?" | |
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| the one with the phone said. | |
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| "Yeah | |
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| Like Tumbleweed or something | |
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| Look it up." | |
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| The girl touched her phone with glistening nails | |
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| "Here it is | |
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| Tumbleweed Young Adult Center | |
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| It's not far." | |
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| She held the screen forward | |
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| "It's like, um, a fifteen minute walk or something | |
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| It's right by the university, along The Drag." | |
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| It seemed wrong to press for money after they had helped, so she thanked them and walked on. | |
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| Lorelei worked her way toward campus | |
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| She didn't bother to panhandle on the way since she was focused only on food and something to drink | |
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| As she walked, the University of Texas grew around her, pale stone buildings and walks, an important place for important people | |
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| The grounds were trimmed and impressive, although the whole city seemed to need a good watering. | |
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| To her left, pockmarked sidewalks fronted student bookstores, taco stands, churches and food co-ops | |
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| In a barren space between two buildings a cluster of kids were hunched over paper plates | |
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| She had arrived. | |
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| The drop-in entrance was down concrete steps tucked into a corner of a church basement | |
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| She'd done this enough to know that on the other side of that weathered steel door would be a ratty couch, mismatched chairs scattered around and inspirational posters of kittens and puppies and sunsets. | |
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| And food | |
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| There would be no mouth-watering barbecue | |
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| Only foil containers of salad and pasta | |
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| Brittle cookies | |
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| Fake lemonade. | |
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| She hesitated | |
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| Going in meant revealing herself | |
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| Usually she could hang in a new place for weeks before she had to find the shelter, but once her presence was known things had a way of changing fast | |
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| Counselors would want to talk | |
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| She never gave them her real name, never told them where she was from | |
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| Still, information would start to spread | |
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| A white girl, under eighteen, alone on the streets worried certain people | |
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| Sometimes the cops got involved, or worse, sometimes parents got found. | |
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| There were clear advantages to keeping a low profile, but the double blades of thirst and hunger had long ago carved caution from her empty hull. | |