And I’m not sure why,
but I get this really weird feeling
in the pit of my stomach . . .
A Minute Later
We see another crowd
up ahead,
gathered to watch some people
dancing to the salsa music.
And when we finally work our way
to the front,
my heart stars thudding
in my chest.
Because there,
surrounded by a dozen other couples,
dancing
all by herself,
is the girl
with red hair!
Her Arms Are Raised Above Her Head
And she’s shaking her hips,
shimmying like a belly dancer,
wiggling every part of her body.
It’s probably fifty degrees outside,
but her rusty curls are damp,
her forehead dripping with sweat . . .
Now some of the other couples
stop dancing to stare at her.
And soon everyone’s watching her.
She keeps on gyrating while stripping off
her jacket and flinging it into the crowd.
A rowdy cheer goes up.
Then she slips off her sweatshirt,
twirls it over her head,
and flings that, too.
My mouth goes strangely dry . . .
I take a closer look at her eyes
and can suddenly see it so clearly.
I should have recognized that look.
She’s not just a wild girl—
she’s crazy.
I mean, like actually crazy.
The kind of crazy that you have to
take medication for.
Red Tears Her T-Shirt Off
And flings that at the crowd, too.
The guys start
shoving each other,
pushing closer for a better view.
She’s only wearing
some tight black leggings now
and a flimsy pink tank top
with no bra underneath.
I steal a quick peek at Cristo.
He’s got this weird look on his face—
like he’s staring at the scene
of a crime.
The other guys are practically drooling,
leering at her and snickering.
They start chanting,
“Take it off! Take it off!”
The girl licks her lips,
bats her lashes at them,
and runs her fingers along
the bottom of her tank top.
My stomach clenches . . .
There’s a ringing in my ears . . .
Pixel nudges his nose into my palm.
She wouldn’t really do it . . .
Would she?
The Guys Are Chanting Faster Now
“Take it off!
Take it off! Take it off!”
Why won’t they
leave her alone?
I’ve got to do something . . .
Do something!
I look over at Cristo—his face is pale,
his lips a thin straight line.
The girl’s taking hold of the hem
of her tank top now.
There’s a scream
stuck in my throat.
I feel like I’m watching a spark
rushing up the fuse
on a stick of dynamite . . .
Pixel’s Straining on His Leash
Every muscle
in his body quivering,
his nostrils flaring.
He looks
from the guys to the girl
and then back again to the guys.
And then
he does something
he never does:
he barks.
The Girl Looks Toward the Sound
And that’s
when she notices me.
She grins and waves me over.
“Hey!” she calls out.
“It’s my favorite dancing partner!”
Cristo’s eyebrows shoot up.
“That girl,” he says,
searching my eyes with his.
“Is she . . . Is she a friend of yours?”
“Um . . . not really,” I say. “I mean, sort of.
It’s . . . it’s hard to explain . . .
We . . . we haven’t exactly been introduced.”
Cristo stares at me, letting my words sink in.
And for a minute he seems like
he’s thinking about ditching me.
“Well . . . ,” he finally says.
“She’s . . . she’s a really great dancer.”
Then he flashes me a heart-stopping smile.
And before I even know what I’m doing,
I’m grabbing the sleeve of his jacket and
tugging him with me as I race toward her.
Then Red and I Are Dancing
While Cristo hangs back,
standing off to the side,
looking sort of awkward
and self-conscious.
Red laughs and takes hold of his hand,
pulling him right into our orbit.
At first he seems flustered and uneasy,
moving stiffly as he eyes the crowd.
But then
she twirls him around—
and it’s like she’s flipped some kind of
invisible switch inside him or something.
Because suddenly all three of us are spinning
around each other like do-si-do-ing dreidels,
our heads
thrown back,
our arms
outstretched,
our feet pounding
the rhythm of the drums.
“Let’s dance together forever!” she cries.
“Let’s dance till infinity comes!”
Pixel’s Glowering at the Guys in the Crowd
As if to say, “If you value your ankles,
you won’t come any closer.”
But there’s
really no need.
Because once the three of us
start dancing,
it’s as if a fire’s
been extinguished—
the gang of surly onlookers
drifts away,
and all the other couples
go back to dancing,
as though
this crazy girl
hadn’t been just seconds away
from stripping off her tank top.
As though
those awful guys
hadn’t almost just had
their disgusting dreams come true.
As though nothing
has even happened.
Minutes Later
The people who brought the salsa music
start packing up to leave
and switch off their boom box.
The girl looks stunned—
like someone’s just thrown
a bucket of cold water over her head.
Cristo finds her jacket,
dusts it off, and hands it back to her.
I do the same with her sweatshirt.
Then Pixel retrieves her tee
and trots over to give it to her.
She stoops down to take it from him.
She scratches him behind his floppy left ear,
somehow able to sense exactly
where his secret sweet spot is.
“Who are you?” she asks.
“That’s Pixel,” I say.
“What’s your name?” Cristo asks.
She thinks this over for a second.
Then she says, “Call me Red.”
“Hey, Red,” he says.
Then he puts out his hand
for her to shake and says,
“I’m Cristo. And this is Molly.”
Red studies his hand warily,
refusing t
o take it, but then she grins
at him and does a funny little curtsy.
She nudges me
with her elbow and says,
“Cristo’s crushing hard on you, Holy Moly.”
He and I exchange a quick shy glance.
Then both of us turn redder
than Red’s hair.
Cristo Clears His Throat
And changes the subject.
“All that dancing made me hungry.
Anyone wanna get a Wetzel’s Pretzel?”
“They won’t let me in there,”
Red says with a shrug. “I don’t meet
their strict standards of non-stinkyness.”
Cristo and I exchange another glance.
“Then we’ll go in and buy one for you,” I say.
“Our treat,” Cristo adds.
“No thanks,” she says. “No charity.”
Then she digs in her pockets and manages
to scrounge up a handful of change.
And five minutes later,
we’re sitting on a bench
eating warm salty buttery perfection.
Red devours hers
before I’ve even eaten half of mine.
So I offer her the rest.
She licks her lips
and swallows hard.
“No thanks,” she says. “I better not.”
She shoots up from the bench
and does another
funny little curtsy.
Then she darts across the street
against the light—
and almost gets hit by an SUV!
I Stifle a Scream and Shout Her Name
But she doesn’t even glance back.
Pixel nudges his nose into my palm
and advises me to breathe
while Cristo and I wait what seems
like forever for the light to change.
When it finally does, we hurry after her.
And a couple of blocks later,
when we catch up with her, she smiles
and says, “Lovely night for a stroll.”
Like she has no idea she almost just got killed.
As we pass
by the Fairmont Hotel,
she stops to admire the gigantic fig tree
in the courtyard, draped with thousands
of twinkling Christmas lights.
“Look at that thing . . . ,” she says.
“I bet it’s even older than my mother.”
“You must miss your mom,” I say.
“You must miss your whole family.
I mean, with Christmas coming and all.”
“Maybe,” she says.
“But that was then. This is now.
I have to stay in the now.
Can’t go back to the then.”
“But your family must be so worried,” I say.
“Can’t talk about my family,” she says,
her face slamming shut like a door.
Then she runs across Ocean Avenue,
and this time she almost gets flattened
by a truck!
I Stifle Another Scream
Cristo looks over at me, and I guess I must
seem pretty worried, because he says,
“Let’s follow Red for a while,
at a safe distance . . . Just in case.”
And it’s a lucky thing we do.
Because a few minutes later, three guys fall
into step behind her—some of the same jerks
who were watching her dance before.
Then suddenly they surge forward
and form a circle around her,
closing in on her as they chant,
“Take it off! Take it off!”
Cristo and I bolt over
and tell them to leave her alone.
Pixel joins in, baring his teeth,
growling at them, low and deep.
(He’s not that big,
but he can be
pretty scary
when he wants to be.)
After a few seconds, the guys mumble
something about a party they’re late for,
then slither off like
the cowardly worms they are.
Red watches them go,
then collapses onto a bench,
shaking uncontrollably, and I call
a homeless hotline to find out her options.
It’s not easy to talk her into it,
but Red finally agrees to let us
walk her over to this place called Daybreak,
where they’ll give her a safe place to sleep.
At least for tonight.
Before Red Heads into the Shelter
I tell her
I loved dancing with her.
And that I’ll be back to see her
in the morning.
And that I sure hope she won’t
disappear on me again.
She tells me
she doesn’t know what I mean.
She tells me
she can’t disappear.
She tells me she’s tried to disappear,
dozens of times,
but every morning
when she wakes up,
she’s still
here.
She Bumps Fists with Me
And says, “You’re my hero, Holy Moly.”
Then she tousles Cristo’s hair
and adds,
“You’re not so bad either, dude.”
“Oh, I’m just the hero’s sidekick,” he says
with an embarrassed shrug.
Then she turns back to me
and says, “Pick me up tomorrow at ten?”
“Ten o’clock sharp,” I say. “I’ll be here.”
And when she walks away from us and pushes
her stroller into that nice safe building,
I’m so relieved I could cry.
In fact
Just a little.
“Hey . . . ,” Cristo says. “You okay?”
He’s got this look on his face
like he wishes he could give me a hug.
“I’m . . . I’m very okay,” I say.
And for a few seconds
we just stand here smiling,
like two people
who really, really like each other
but don’t quite know what to do about it.
As We Head Away from the Shelter
We see
the Metro car
pulling into Bergamot Station.
“Come on!” Cristo shouts.
Then he grabs my hand
(he grabs my hand!)
and Pixel leads the charge
as we dash down the block
toward the platform—
laughing wildly at nothing.
We Manage
To hop onto the car
just before the doors glide shut.
Then Cristo blushes
and lets go of my hand.
As if he just realized
he was holding it
and wonders if maybe he should have
asked my permission or something.
I try to tell him with my eyes
that I didn’t mind one bit.
And when we flop down onto a seat
to catch our breath,
our thighs
are almost
touching.
Then
It’s like a faucet’s been
turned on full blast—
a you-tell-me-everything-about-you-
and-I’ll-tell-you-everything-about-me faucet.
And five minutes later, when the Metro car
drops us off at 4th and Colorado,
we’ve already found out
that we both love
state fairs and Thanksgiving dinner
and books about spies
and that we both
hate guacamole
&nbs
p; and movies about earthquakes
(and also actual earthquakes)
and that we were both
born in February
and that I’m three days older
than him,
but that that’s okay
because Cristo likes older women.
I Pull Out My Phone to Check the Time
“Wow . . . ,” I say. “It’s eight thirty . . .”
Cristo’s face falls.
“Do you have to head home?” he asks.
“Oh. No!” I say.
“I don’t have to be home till ten.
I’m just surprised it’s still so early!”
And when Cristo hears this,
his whole being lights up brighter
than the flashlight in my iPhone.
“Great!” he says. “I guess we missed the movie . . .
Wanna go sit on the patio at that new café
over on 6th Street and eat some pie?”
I just nod and smile because
I’m afraid if I open my mouth right now
I might say something truly dumb.
Like: “Are you kidding?
I’d go sit on top of the dumpster
behind the 7-Eleven and eat day-old burritos,
as long
as I could sit there
with you.”
When We Walk into the Restaurant
A scowling waitress strides up to us,
crosses her arms over her chest,
and says, “No dogs allowed in here.”
Oh man . . . I really don’t want
to have to explain about Pixel
in front of Cristo . . .
But I guess there’s no way around it.
So I take a quick glance
at the waitress’s name tag and say,
“Margie, meet Pixel.
He’s a service dog. It would be
against the law to kick him out of here.”
The waitress’s hand flies up to her mouth.
“Oh my gosh. So sorry!” she says.
“I didn’t realize . . . I’m new at this . . .”
“That’s okay,” I say. “Happens all the time.”
And while she ushers us out to the patio,
I keep my eyes trained on my high-tops,
so I won’t have to see
the creeped-out expression
that’s probably on Cristo’s face right now.
But As We Ease into Our Seats
I finally sneak a peek at him.
And he doesn’t look creeped out.