Brooke slowed her pace to a walk for the last block, needing to cool off. The rain had picked up toward the end of her run, and even though the miles counted double, she was happy to turn left into the courtyard, a warm shower would feel good. As she started to climb the fire escape, she bumped smack into Melissa.
“Mel, it’s so exciting! I can’t wait another minute. It’s going to be so much fun,” Brooke said, not being able to control her happiness.
“Hold on Honey. Did you win the Powerball last night?” Mel asked, taking both of Brooke’s hands and looking straight at her so she could hear her friend’s reply.
“I’m getting a dog,” was the next blast from Brooks’ mouth, letting go of Mel’s hands to give her a hug.
“A what? A dog? You don’t need a dog. You need a new job! Blair told me the news, and I’m sorry you got fired, but we need to talk about this, just not here in the rain.”
Mel had gone to enough meetings to know about a crisis and the things people do when they are in shock. That’s why people need buddies or sponsors as her NA friends call them. Mel didn’t want Brooke doing anything foolish.
“Let’s have lunch after I finish my next class? We’ll get some fried chicken from the gas station, and bring it back to your place. We’ll talk there.” Mel said as she peddled off to yoga, trying to stay dry.
Brooke went upstairs to shower and put away a few things. She didn’t entertain often, and her small apartment was a mess. The only thing she brought from home was her bed. The rest was from a thrift shop where the profits went to build houses for the poor. If there was a theme to Brooke’s decorating, it was hard to find.
The rain slowed as she walked the few blocks to the gas station, going past her favorite chicken spot by the tracks. The smells were inviting on this rainy day, and people were already lining up. She wondered why Mel picked the gas station over this, everyone knew the chicken at The Coop was better.
As usual, Brooke was early. Why was she like this, she wondered? Was it some sort of insecurity in her little slice of a generation, did the few of them who didn’t fit think they could blend in easier if they were already there?
But Mel was the same age; she was a Xennial. Brooke hadn’t thought about that. Maybe they were more alike than different, these two cross country runners, one white and one black, who were now becoming best friends. She needed to think about that more, maybe talk with Mel about it. Perhaps that’s what they should talk about over lunch instead of arguing about a dog. Besides, that question was settled, Brooke was getting a dog.
The gas station was nothing special. It was just a convenience store with the usual gas pumps outside and some food and drinks inside. It wasn’t “gas station chicken” at all. It was chicken from a store inside a gas station. They just played with its name. She laughed thinking about how confused she’d been. Marketing does that with words, Brooke thought. Maybe she should give up on the banks, even real estate, and look for something in marketing. Social media management was something her degree had prepared her for, the college catalog said.
Mel arrived, interrupting Brooke’s wandering thoughts. “What you havin’ Honey?” she asked, without saying hello.
“I don’t know, maybe we could get a whole chicken, they don’t look too big, and we could split it,” was Brooke’s reply.
“I’ll have a breast and a wing with fries and slaw, thanks,” Mel said, sounding the way Brooke remembered from high school.
With that, Brooke ordered the same, and they headed back to the freshly straightened apartment.
After crossing the tracks, and turning right, Brooke asked, “Mel, do you ever worry about not fitting in; I mean being a Xennial and all. It’s a problem you know?”
“Honey, I’ve heard you use that word, and you’ve even told me what it means, but for the life of me, that ain’t my worry. If you want to not fit in, just trade places with me. Then your cute-little-white-ass-self will know what it’s like to not fit in!” Mel said.
Those were the last words between the two friends until they climbed the fire escape and Brooke opened the door.
“Nice place,” Mel said, “It’s small and cozy. I like it.” Maybe Brooke could handle a dog, but only after she got a job, Mel thought.
The gas station chicken was good, really good, but Brooke still liked the Coop’s better. It was the conversation that was the best part of the afternoon.
After lunch, Mel sat across the table with one hand resting on her shoulder and the other under her chin; her eyes fixed on Brooke’s mouth as each word came across the table.
They talked about having a dog, but mostly they talked about how Mel had felt when her parents split up. Why she dropped out of college, how she was patching together so many gigs to keep herself housed and fed. What she wanted to do next — things like that.
Brooke told Mel how lonely she sometimes felt, how she wished she had a boyfriend, how she had met this guy downstairs who was cute. But how there was a long list of reasons he was not for her. He was geeky, messy, rude, pretty sure he had OCD and was nothing like any man she ever dated.
Plus, his name was Peter, Jr. and he wanted to be called Peter. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t just be Pete or Junior, or something less formal. Oh, and then there was the worry of what her parents would say if she brought a homeless guy to lunch at the club. Yikes! Anyway, a dog was what she needed.
Brooke decided to ask Mel why her chicken place was so special.
“Well, Brooke, it’s like this,” Mel slowly started, drawing out each word as she pushed the plates, stacked with bones, off to one side. “When I hit rock bottom and couldn’t do anything but fly a flag, I started working that corner….”
“Wait, flying a flag? What’s that mean?”
“Jeez girl, you don’t know nothin’. It’s holding up a cardboard sign with bold letters that spell out, “Will work for food,” or whatever. You’ve seen ‘um, right? When you work the same corner, you kinda own it, and the other dudes leave the spot alone. Honor among thieves or somthin’. Anyway, I was doin’ okay but spending every dollar on my habit. When you’re couch surfin’ and eaten’ chicken scraps, you can get by, as long as the habit gets fed.
“One day this white dude drives up and asked me if I really want to work, or just need money for drugs? He’s kinda serious like, so I don’t say nothin’. He just sits in his car, and I get nervous. A girl can’t be too careful, you know. Finally the dude gives me his card and says he’s got a skateboard shop in the ‘hood and thinks I’d fit if I’d clean up a bit. That’s when I started working for him in the afternoon, going to meetings every night and getting things straightened out. He was good with that, I love him for the trust.
“So, it ain’t about the chicken, Brooke; it’s about the corner and what it means to me. About being able to walk in and order and not need to pick up half-eaten dinners off a table. That’s why gas station chicken is better.
“These days when I ride my bike in the neighborhood I can hold my head up high and be grateful for the chance that came my way. Like I said, “I’m not walkin’ out on this one, just watch me.”
Brooke had listened, almost without breathing, to a story she’d never heard before, her eyes getting wide, until she finally doubled over, put her head between her knees and locking her fingers behind her neck, pulled down so hard her knuckles turned white. Her fitful sobs came in irregular waves until Brooke inhaled for so long her head popped up.
Brooke was going to be sick, started for the bathroom, but turned around as several deep breaths calmed the feeling. She had no idea these things went on. Was that why the guys at the shelter wanted bus passes? Did they trade them for drugs? Was Peter one of them, was that why he was so strange and lived in his car? None of this went on in her world.
And what about Mel? How was this possible? She was a good cross-country runner, the tougher the course, the better. Sure, her grades weren’t so great, but she had started community college, only to end up on the streets.
Brooke had more questions than answers this Tuesday afternoon. Everything was coming at her too fast.
The next time Brooke came up for a gulp, Mel jumped in before she could start crying again. “Okay Brooke, enough of this. I’ve got an idea. You want a dog, and maybe a dog would help.”
Brooke stopped crying, listening now, as Mel went on. “But why get your own dog when there are so many you could borrow, take for a walk, even invite over to spend the night when their owners need to be away?”
Brooke clouded up again. “Do what? Like I would babysit dogs? I didn’t go to college for that. I want a full-time job with benefits and vacations and expense accounts. I’m no dog walker person.”
Brooke sat up straight and folded her arms, at least she had stopped crying.
“Call it what you want, honey, but think of all the people who have a dog, work all day, and live in a small place like yours,” Mel said. “Those dogs get lonely, like you, they need companionship and love, so you could be their answer.” Mel went on, “You could schedule times to be with them and make a few bucks, what’s wrong with that?
“Besides, these are hard times, and everyone is just doing what they can to hold it together. I’m working three jobs, and you’re working none. Maybe one of the dog owners will fall in love with you and carry you off to the suburbs to raise kids.” Mel said, laughing at the thought. “Then, when your kids are out of diapers, you can come to my yoga classes.”
“Stop it, Mel, I get the idea.”
Brooke agreed to think about it. But it would only be temporary until the right job came along. Just temporary.
At least she wouldn’t be flying a flag.