Hunger

Austin: Safe

The rain has stopped, and the streets are shiny black as I weave through traffic, trying to keep up with Rory's little Mustang. The Mustang is named after Darth Vader, so I figure that makes my van Jabba the Hutt. I'm having to floor this giant ugly beast to keep on her tail, and stuff is vibrating and rattling so much it feels like the van is just gonna fall to pieces like in a cartoon, with me sitting there still holding the wheel with an oh-shit face, suspended in mid-air.

When we stop at a light my eyes try to drink in all of her bumper stickers. It seems her passions in life consists of ballet, Star Wars and a few bands I've never heard of. I wonder what else lies beneath the surface of this girl, this girl who seems to have no fear of a homeless guy sleeping in her house. This girl with autumn hair and winter eyes.

We're driving through a part of the city I've never seen. Creepy bus stops, liquor stores, and crowds of homeless people have been replaced by Pottery Barn and Starbucks. I know Rory's rich, or at least Daddy is, and I'm starting to feel nervous about staying in her house. Her turn signal blinks left, and I follow her onto a quiet neighborhood street. The houses are the biggest I've ever seen, all brick and gates and perfectly manicured lawns. Does she live in one of these? I glance over at Pixie in the passenger's seat. She's staring wide-eyed at the houses, no doubt realizing for the first time that some people, luckier than us, actually live like this.

Rory finally turns right into a cul-de-sac with a big gate. She punches in the code, and the gate jerks open at a snail's pace. I stay right on her ass until we're both through, the gate narrowly missing the van as it closes behind us. At first I'm not sure if we're in another housing division or on Rory's actual property. There's a long, dark, winding road or driveway lined with tall trees. On the other side of it is a massive brick house, standing alone like something out of a Dracula movie.

"She lives in a palace," I hear Pixie whisper to herself.

Rory keeps driving past the garage to the back of the house, where there's a wooded area that stretches back as far as I can see. I park behind her, and she jumps out of the car, motioning for me to roll down my window as she jogs over.

"Park underneath those trees. No one's ever gonna see your car back here. Then I'll drive you to the front," she says.

I follow her instructions and park on the grass underneath a shady curtain of leafy branches. Then I get Pixie, and we both climb into Rory's car.  There's a little Darth Vader plush hanging from the rear view mirror and one of those foam toppers shaped like Darth's head on the antenna. She drives us back to the front of the house.

"Dad's not here, and I'm sure Seth is parked in front of the TV like always. We can just walk in," Rory says, parking in the circle driveway.

"You seriously live here?" I ask.

Rory looks at me and raises her eyebrows. "No, I just had you park in the back of some random person's house. Yes, it's where I live. At least until next year, then I'm out of this hell hole."

To a kid who grew up hungry most nights in motels, trailers, and shitty apartments, this does not make sense to me. "Don't know why you'd leave."

"That's true. You don't," she says, and she doesn't sound pissed, but I can tell the conversation's over. 

Carrying Pixie, I follow Rory up to the front doors. Yes, there are two front doors made of intricately carved wood and shimmering stained glass. From far away, the stained glass makes it looks like the windows are busted, but up close you can see it was intentional. Inside, it's all dark, but I can feel how big the space is, our footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. It smells like food, and my stomach rumbles. I can't even remember the last time I ate something. Maybe yesterday. Everything's been such a blur with Pixie being sick, but I'm used to being hungry, so I don't dare start begging Rory for food like a whiny-ass Oliver Twist.