2 Chapter 2

The bus ride to and from school took anywhere from forty-five minutes to an hour, it gave us plenty of time to get to know each other and become best friends. The rich kids at our school snubbed us and made fun of our worn, off-brand clothing, but we had each other. Aside from a brief misunderstanding, we were inseparable until circumstances tore us apart. 2

Wes, Summer 1986

My arms were getting sore and heavy from carrying the paper grocery bag containing all of my worldly belongings, my legs ached from the mile-long walk from the bus stop to our new apartment building. My mom’s long, quick strides were almost impossible for me to match, and I had to jog several steps every five minutes or so to keep up with her.

We had spent the seven hour bus ride mostly in silence. This was a familiar journey, if not the same scenery, but the same circumstances. My mother’s last boyfriend didn’t sign on to parent her fatherless child, and kicked us out after six months of living in his crappy one-bedroom apartment. As if I enjoyed sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor in the corner of his living room, and having no privacy.

I had just turned thirteen and my hormones were going haywire. I’d lost count of how many times I had to discreetly wash my underwear from my almost nightly wet dreams.

The breakup came at a good time, all things considered. It was still summertime, and my schooling wouldn’t be interrupted by a move. Through the grapevine, my mother received word of an affordable apartment, and a night job at a factory up north. We stayed a couple of nights in a shelter, until she could scrape together enough money for our bus tickets. She didn’t have a job that I knew of, but I didn’t question where she got the cash in such a short period of time.

The apartment building was three stories of dark brown brick. A chain link fence surrounded the property, dead grass, and dirt. Not the most welcoming looking place. A boy who appeared to be my age was hanging off the fence in front of the building. His dark brown mullet was damp with sweat, his bare feet dirty.

The boy watched with undisguised curiosity as mom and I approached the walkway to the building. I set my paper bag on the ground to unlatch the gate. The boy hopped over and held open the gate. Taking her cue, mom bustled past me, not acknowledging the boy staring at me.

“Wes!” Mom, in the doorway to the lobby, shouted to me around the lit cigarette in her mouth.

I hastily retrieved my bag, gave a curt nod to the boy, and scurried after her.

The lobby was dimly lit and smelled damp. The scuffed white tile looked as though the floor hadn’t had a good cleaning in years. On the left wall was a system of cubbies with peeling numbers stuck to the bottom of each. Mom reached into the cubby labeled 311, and removed a sealed manila envelope. The contents jangled as she ripped it open and shook out two keys into her hand.

The musty, damp smell from the lobby carried into the stairwell. With a single bare bulb on each landing, and no windows, it was full of deep shadows. I waved away the cigarette smoke further obscuring my view.

Our apartment was all the way at the end of the hall. The excitement of having a bedroom of my own was replaced by the anticipation of finding out just who that boy was.

* * * *

Drew, Summer 1986

The day I first laid eyes on Wes changed my life forever. The tall boy trailing behind the painfully thin woman puffing on a cigarette looked like any other boy in my grade. There had been talk in the building about a new family renting Mr. Baxter’s old apartment, and I had been hanging around the yard for days, hoping to get a glimpse of my new neighbors.

My plan was to introduce myself and welcome them to the neighborhood. Nothing exciting ever happened here (well, aside from Mr. Baxter having a stroke and dying in his kitchen). However, when the moment arrived, my rehearsed speech evaporated.

Into the building they went while I remained at the front of the walkway, gate gaping open. I revised my mission to be ready and willing to help them carry up their belongings when the moving truck showed up instead. Turned out, there would be no truck.

* * * *

“You got a phone book?”

I was outside sitting on my haunches and drawing figures in the dirt with a stick when Wes found me. I squinted up at him, shading my eyes with my free hand from the sun.