I swear I had just closed my eyes. Had it really been four hours already? I hoped, in my half-asleep stupor, that perhaps I was dreaming the Banging of the Pipes this time.
That worked for about five minutes, and I finally surrendered to the noise and opened my eyes. It sounded kind of strange today, as if someone had run the racket through surround-sound in my apartment. Maybe it was just how tired I was, but man was that bothersome. I swear it was louder, even. And there was some other weird noise infiltrating the normal pipe banging. Like scraping metal.
For a brief second, I couldn't hear any of it, though, since an enormous clap of thunder interrupted everything. Crap, was it raining? Since the living room's in the middle of the apartment, there weren't any windows in sight. At least not from my limited, lying-on-my-back-on-the-couch position. I groaned and sat up. Fuzzballe had vanished at some point in the night, but not without leaving a copious amount of cat fur at my feet. I brushed off my socks and walked into my bedroom.
Ha. Was it raining? Maybe I should have rephrased my question a bit. But it was too early for gloomy sarcasm, even for me. Point being, it was incredibly stormy. My memory woke up at that moment, and reminded me that I was a mailman, and therefore would have to be out in the storm all day. Ugh. What a miserable way to start a morning.
An impressively loud meow greeted my ears over the roar of the rain, metal, and shower pipes, and I obligingly shuffled my cat-hair-endowed sock feet into the kitchen to feed Fuzzballe. I scratched her between the ears. I reassured myself that at least the cat was happy. Probably because she had free food and didn't have to push a shopping cart through a tropical storm. (I actually don't know if it even was a tropical storm. I was too scared to check.)
I had a pressing urge to go up to the roof, even in the downpour, just to see whether or not the people were still there. At first I tried to talk myself out of it, since it was really rainy, after all. But the other part of my brain laughed and told me to suck it up, since I would have to get used to it later anyway. After my short mental debate, I walked up the stairs to the roof. It occurred to me as I passed the ninth floor that I hadn't ever been on the roof and had no earthly idea how to get up there. Ah, sleep deprivation. What a lovely anticatalyst for forethought. Thankfully, I didn't really have to look that long, since the door was bright yellow and labeled "ROOF ACCESS: NOT AN EXIT."
Technically, I thought, it was an exit. Just not a safe one. I hoped nothing would come to that point. I stepped through the door and shivered slightly at the heavy rainfall. It didn't take long for my clothes to soak all the way through. But I was on a mission!
Sure enough, there was a little tent on the roof. (How on earth had I managed to see that from the pet store?) Over the rain, I could hear snoring emanating from behind the fabric, which made me feel strangely creepy. It was still really dark outside, so of course they would still be asleep. What was I up here for? My curiosity was still unsatisfied, however, and I tiptoed towards the tent. Dang, someone was an accomplished snorer. But I'd seen two people on the roof. I found myself wondering which of them snored, and laughed to myself that it was probably the woman. I crept around the side and opened the flap just wide enough to put one eye up to the gap.
In addition to horrifying myself as to whether or not this espionage qualified me as a full-fledged stalker, I was baffled. Only one silhouette lay snoozing in the early morning light.
I'd had about enough of this nonsense, though; I didn't want to be staring into someone's tent when they woke up. I moved away from the tent and walked back across the roof to the access door. Strangely enough, an array of colors caught my eye from the edge of the roof. The normally deserted field behind the parking deck next to the apartments was filled with 1, 2, 3, 4-- twelve tents. That was odd. I was starting to get goosebumps from the rain, though, and I quickly pulled myself away from the spectacle and back to the alluring yellow door.
I headed back down the stairs to the apartment, where I made myself some coffee and had a nice warm shower. I tried fervently and unsuccessfully not to think about how cold and miserable I felt after just a short time outside, and took my time under the stream of warm water. I think I was trying to imprint the warmth on my body or something. Alas.
I headed back down the stairs to the apartment, where I made myself some coffee and had a nice warm shower. I tried fervently and unsuccessfully not to think about how cold and miserable I felt after just a short time outside, and took my time under the stream of warm water. I think I was trying to imprint the warmth on my body or something. Alas.
I got out of the shower and put on dry clothes, a luxury I was to be without for the rest of the day. I put on my mail jacket and a couple of extra layers and headed out into the stairwell for the second time. I descended the stairs to the wonderful tune of the torrential hell that gleefully awaited me. As I exited the building, my hair started dripping into my eyes almost immediately, which almost prevented me from marveling at the scene before me. Downpour and all, there were some Jehovah's witnesses out in the early morning light. I waited to cross the street, and two of them approached me.
"Did you know," said the first one, a tall man with bushy eyebrows (he was blinking a lot, since his eyebrows were dripping in his face), "that in Revelation it says storms are an indicator of the Second Coming of Christ?" I gave him what I hoped was a look of withering condescension and replied "No, I wasn't aware." He completely missed my intent and quickly went on a tirade about how now was the time to repent and be redeemed, since the Savior would surely arrive promptly and I wanted to be among the blessed who accompanied him on his return journey to the Father. His friend, a slightly less tall man who seemed to be playing the role of Jehovah's Padawan, nodded and occasionally inserted outbursts of "Matthew 24:6!" and "It says so in Revelation!"
I listened as politely as possible, but was nonetheless relieved when the light turned green. I continued on my way to work, and two more Witnesses accosted me not a block later with tales of earthquakes, repenting, Satan tempting us into sin, and Jesus. I wanted to tell them that Satan was probably no match for my boss, and that I needed to go, but the weather was somewhat mellowing and I felt that it was a tad too early for conflict. I nodded and smiled, and when one of them took a breath, I said, "Thank you so much for your time. I need to go-- uh, pray now," and walked briskly away.
As I passed the theatre, I noticed a poster advertising some new play entitled "The Producers." With all the rain, I figured the poster wouldn't be up for much longer, since the corners were already dripping. The visual of the unfortunate sopping paper reminded me that by now, all of the remaining MISSING DAUGHTER posters were probably toast. Of course, I didn't know how many had been taken down by my mysterious Flier Snatcher, so maybe it wasn't an issue.
Unfortunately, I hadn't managed to fend off the Jehovah's Witnesses fast enough, and I was fifteen minutes late by the time I walked into the post office. Mr. DuBolaire was waiting for me in his usual fashion, and no sooner had I set one squeaky shoe inside the building that he bellowed, "CHEN!" Ugh. I wasn't in the mood to deal with him today, but what with him being my boss, I really couldn't avoid it. I drew myself up to full height, which wasn't that much, and tried to put on my intimidating face.
Childhood flashbacks don't frequent my thought process, but I was briefly reminded of my mother laughing at my wholehearted, seven-year-old-style attempt to look foreboding in the face of punishment. (I'd borrowed my dad's shoes and stomped in some mud puddles.) As I recalled that slightly embarrassing incident, I realized my current situation wasn't that different-- I was sopping wet, failing at intimidating an authority figure, and probably about to receive a punishment despite my best efforts.
Mr. DuBolaire, sure enough, was unfazed by my facial expression. "Are you scowling at me, Mr. Chen?" He threw his head back and laughed uproariously. He sounded like a squawking bird. I guess it shouldn't have surprised me that his scornful laughter felt more insulting than my mother's good-natured chuckle. After he'd had his fill of bellowing guffaws, he stopped abruptly and got right up in my face. Well, he got right up in my face for a few seconds, then noticed the puddle forming at my feet from my dripping clothes and backed off a bit. "I thought we'd had our little run-in with tardiness already," he said. "I suppose you haven't learned your lesson after all. And just when I was about to give you a raise, too!" Lies. This man wouldn't give me a raise if I threatened to email porn videos to his grandmother. Actually, that's probably because he already sold his grandmother into the industry, with the evil mindset he's got. "Chen, I'm disappointed in you," he went on. "Since I'm sure you are dying to redeem yourself, let's say you skip your lunch break today to make up the time you've lost." Ooh, starving his employees. That was a new form of torture. I noticed that very few people were in the post office today, and fleetingly wondered if they'd all quit or been fired. Honestly, I was shocked that the asshole hadn't fired me yet, and the possibility of everyone else leaving would have explained that.
He walked calmly back to his office and slammed the door. I found it ironic that the poster on his door is one of those motivational ones, emblazoned with the word "PRAISE" and a picture of a man patting his dog. I couldn't read the small text beneath it, so I thought a slogan up myself: "You can't spell 'praise' without 'raise,' and frankly, we don't have enough money." Not one of my best, I admit, but neither was my day so far.
I gathered up a couple things and went over to Forever 21 for my daily shopping cart loan. The woman at the counter recognized me, and we made some small talk about the pesky Jehovah's witnesses and the crappy weather. As I wheeled my cart towards the exit, I was struck with a wave of spontaneity, and turned around. She saw me stop and looked up. "What is it?"
"You wouldn't have happened to see my daughter in the store at all, would you? She's blonde, medium height, and athletic?" The girl giggled. "That's, like, every girl who comes in this store, I swear. Sorry, though."
Well, that was stupid. I took my cart and left before I could ask any other stupid questions. The automatic doors shut behind me, and a bolt of lightning lit up the sky in the distance. I realized suddenly that the mail would get ruined in the cart, and I needed some way to cover up the letters. At this moment, I remembered the campers behind the parking garage. Maybe they'd have some extra rain gear or something. I hoped they weren't crazy people or anything, since I didn't even really know what they were doing there.
I ran as fast as I could with my cart, being late and all that, and arrived at the parking garage to hear people chanting from the field behind it. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but it scared me a little bit. I went around to the back and realized it was an Occupy group. The notion of Occupy Castle Apartments amused me, but I was on a mission. I went up to one of the chanters and awkwardly tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, do you have any extra rain gear, like a poncho or something?"
"WHAT?" he yelled. It was really loud with all the chanting.
"DO YOU HAVE ANY PONCHOS OR RAIN GEAR?" I yelled back.
"WELL, THERE'S AN EXTRA TENT," he replied, and we moved away from the crowd to hear better. "Ask around, but I don't think anyone's sleeping in the blue one. No one seems to know how it got there."
I took a quick survey in the crowd of chanters. The tent didn't seem to belong to anyone.
Two women were standing on the opposite side of the crowd, chanting back at the crowd. When I walked up to ask about the blue tent, one of the women informed me that the Occupy movement was stupid. "That's lovely," I told her, "but I'm not with them. I was wondering if you knew if the blue tent belongs to anyone." She didn't think so. So I walked up to the tent and peeked in. There was no one in there, and no belongings. It was one of those dismal tents with no bottom, the kind you have to use a separate ground pad for. Ironically, that kind of tent was exactly what I needed, since it would fit nicely over my shopping cart. I dragged it over to where I'd left my cart and tied in on. I unzipped the front of the tent so that I could still use the handle of the cart. Perfect. It looked ridiculous, I'm sure. But some days are the tent-on-wheels kind of days, and I ignored the AquaCart's outward appearance in favor of its utility.
I listened as politely as possible, but was nonetheless relieved when the light turned green. I continued on my way to work, and two more Witnesses accosted me not a block later with tales of earthquakes, repenting, Satan tempting us into sin, and Jesus. I wanted to tell them that Satan was probably no match for my boss, and that I needed to go, but the weather was somewhat mellowing and I felt that it was a tad too early for conflict. I nodded and smiled, and when one of them took a breath, I said, "Thank you so much for your time. I need to go-- uh, pray now," and walked briskly away.
As I passed the theatre, I noticed a poster advertising some new play entitled "The Producers." With all the rain, I figured the poster wouldn't be up for much longer, since the corners were already dripping. The visual of the unfortunate sopping paper reminded me that by now, all of the remaining MISSING DAUGHTER posters were probably toast. Of course, I didn't know how many had been taken down by my mysterious Flier Snatcher, so maybe it wasn't an issue.
Unfortunately, I hadn't managed to fend off the Jehovah's Witnesses fast enough, and I was fifteen minutes late by the time I walked into the post office. Mr. DuBolaire was waiting for me in his usual fashion, and no sooner had I set one squeaky shoe inside the building that he bellowed, "CHEN!" Ugh. I wasn't in the mood to deal with him today, but what with him being my boss, I really couldn't avoid it. I drew myself up to full height, which wasn't that much, and tried to put on my intimidating face.
Childhood flashbacks don't frequent my thought process, but I was briefly reminded of my mother laughing at my wholehearted, seven-year-old-style attempt to look foreboding in the face of punishment. (I'd borrowed my dad's shoes and stomped in some mud puddles.) As I recalled that slightly embarrassing incident, I realized my current situation wasn't that different-- I was sopping wet, failing at intimidating an authority figure, and probably about to receive a punishment despite my best efforts.
Mr. DuBolaire, sure enough, was unfazed by my facial expression. "Are you scowling at me, Mr. Chen?" He threw his head back and laughed uproariously. He sounded like a squawking bird. I guess it shouldn't have surprised me that his scornful laughter felt more insulting than my mother's good-natured chuckle. After he'd had his fill of bellowing guffaws, he stopped abruptly and got right up in my face. Well, he got right up in my face for a few seconds, then noticed the puddle forming at my feet from my dripping clothes and backed off a bit. "I thought we'd had our little run-in with tardiness already," he said. "I suppose you haven't learned your lesson after all. And just when I was about to give you a raise, too!" Lies. This man wouldn't give me a raise if I threatened to email porn videos to his grandmother. Actually, that's probably because he already sold his grandmother into the industry, with the evil mindset he's got. "Chen, I'm disappointed in you," he went on. "Since I'm sure you are dying to redeem yourself, let's say you skip your lunch break today to make up the time you've lost." Ooh, starving his employees. That was a new form of torture. I noticed that very few people were in the post office today, and fleetingly wondered if they'd all quit or been fired. Honestly, I was shocked that the asshole hadn't fired me yet, and the possibility of everyone else leaving would have explained that.
He walked calmly back to his office and slammed the door. I found it ironic that the poster on his door is one of those motivational ones, emblazoned with the word "PRAISE" and a picture of a man patting his dog. I couldn't read the small text beneath it, so I thought a slogan up myself: "You can't spell 'praise' without 'raise,' and frankly, we don't have enough money." Not one of my best, I admit, but neither was my day so far.
I gathered up a couple things and went over to Forever 21 for my daily shopping cart loan. The woman at the counter recognized me, and we made some small talk about the pesky Jehovah's witnesses and the crappy weather. As I wheeled my cart towards the exit, I was struck with a wave of spontaneity, and turned around. She saw me stop and looked up. "What is it?"
"You wouldn't have happened to see my daughter in the store at all, would you? She's blonde, medium height, and athletic?" The girl giggled. "That's, like, every girl who comes in this store, I swear. Sorry, though."
Well, that was stupid. I took my cart and left before I could ask any other stupid questions. The automatic doors shut behind me, and a bolt of lightning lit up the sky in the distance. I realized suddenly that the mail would get ruined in the cart, and I needed some way to cover up the letters. At this moment, I remembered the campers behind the parking garage. Maybe they'd have some extra rain gear or something. I hoped they weren't crazy people or anything, since I didn't even really know what they were doing there.
I ran as fast as I could with my cart, being late and all that, and arrived at the parking garage to hear people chanting from the field behind it. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but it scared me a little bit. I went around to the back and realized it was an Occupy group. The notion of Occupy Castle Apartments amused me, but I was on a mission. I went up to one of the chanters and awkwardly tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, do you have any extra rain gear, like a poncho or something?"
"WHAT?" he yelled. It was really loud with all the chanting.
"DO YOU HAVE ANY PONCHOS OR RAIN GEAR?" I yelled back.
"WELL, THERE'S AN EXTRA TENT," he replied, and we moved away from the crowd to hear better. "Ask around, but I don't think anyone's sleeping in the blue one. No one seems to know how it got there."
I took a quick survey in the crowd of chanters. The tent didn't seem to belong to anyone.
Two women were standing on the opposite side of the crowd, chanting back at the crowd. When I walked up to ask about the blue tent, one of the women informed me that the Occupy movement was stupid. "That's lovely," I told her, "but I'm not with them. I was wondering if you knew if the blue tent belongs to anyone." She didn't think so. So I walked up to the tent and peeked in. There was no one in there, and no belongings. It was one of those dismal tents with no bottom, the kind you have to use a separate ground pad for. Ironically, that kind of tent was exactly what I needed, since it would fit nicely over my shopping cart. I dragged it over to where I'd left my cart and tied in on. I unzipped the front of the tent so that I could still use the handle of the cart. Perfect. It looked ridiculous, I'm sure. But some days are the tent-on-wheels kind of days, and I ignored the AquaCart's outward appearance in favor of its utility.
I ran with my blue pyramidal masterpiece back towards the post office, right past a couple more Witnesses. (One of them was missing a shoe, come to think of it.) They moved out of my way and looked scared. That was probably a bad sign. Maybe there's something in Revelation about crazy Chinese men with wheelie tents.
Without further ado (although I'd had my fair share of ado already, thank you very much), I gathered my envelopes and packages and set out on my mail route. The rain had let up a bit, and now it was pouring rather than gushing. I was starting to shiver a bit from being outside so much. Oh, and I was now an hour and forty-five minutes behind schedule. That was just peachy.
I slogged through the streets, which were essentially giant rivers by this time, and made my way to the orphanage. I had a package to deliver. When I knocked on the door, the same guy who had helped me with the copy machine opened it almost immediately. He looked a little paler than he had before, and was a little out of it. I had to ask him twice before he came out of his thoughts to sign the package. I hurried off with my tent-cart, and I think he yelled something after me, but I was running so late that I didn't turn around.
A few blocks later, on Sobchak, there was an enormous block party blocking my path. It slowed me down considerably as I tried to deliver the mail to the shops on that block. When I came out of the liquor store, having delivered a couple of bills to the establishment, my eye caught a familiar face in the crowd.
Xiu Li?
I bolted towards her, cart and all, but she turned around and ran. Maybe it wasn't her after all, but I had to know. I didn't even stop to consider that the sight of a strange man running towards you with a blue tent on wheels would make anyone run. As I pushed past a huge fat guy, I tripped all of a sudden and fell face first in a mud puddle. I rubbed the gunk out of my eyes as fast as I could and looked up, but the blonde girl was gone. She was replaced by a huge circle of people who were all staring at me and laughing. I brushed myself off and stood up with a squelch. My cart had fallen over, and a few letters had flown out into the mud puddle, too. Oh, joy. The crowd got quite a laugh out of the sight of me picking wet, filthy envelopes out of the small lake I was standing in. I couldn't really read the ink on most of them. Ugh. What was I supposed to do now? I pushed my cart forlornly down the street, shivering. I hadn't thought it possible to be any more wet than I already was, but falling in the puddle had disproved my little theory. My nose was running, too. I went back down the street and into Casa D'Waffle to warm up and grab a quick bite to eat.
I washed the rest of the mud off my face in the bathroom and then ate a hot waffle. I'd set the wet letters on the stool next to me, hoping that maybe they'd be able to dry some before I had to go back out into the rainy mud pit. I was three-fourths of the way finished with the waffle and adding syrup to the last part when the bell on the door dinged behind me. In came Mr. DuBolaire. I had completely forgotten his ultimatum about no lunch, and immediately began hoping that he hadn't seen me, which was ridiculous, since I was sitting at the bar. Maybe I could convince him that this didn't count, since it was breakfast. He walked right up to me.
"Hello, Chen," he hissed. I'd noticed that he'd done me the courtesy of dropping the "Mr." altogether.
"Hello, Mr. DuBolaire," I said.
"I see it's break time, hm?"
"Uh, yes, sir." I decided my breakfast retort probably wasn't going to work.
He looked down and noticed the letters on the stool. "What are those?"
Uh-oh. "Letters, sir. They got wet in the rain."
Mr. DuBolaire turned purple and looked like he was going to explode. "I should fire you, Chen. But I won't." (Again, my theory about my fellow employees... just saying.) He continued, "Instead, you get the privilege of staying until 8:30 tonight. And those letters had better get delivered."
The rest of the customers in Casa D'Waffle were staring at both of us, and I had no intention of causing any more of a spectacle. "Okay, sir. I'll be there."
To my great relief, he left.
I felt like punching something. Staying late again? I still had another week's worth of pay in order to get my truck back, and I was having to work my ass off just to get my regular salary. A man sitting at the other end of the bar looked up and said, "Bosses, huh?" I think I would have normally been reassured, had I not had so much else to worry about.
Like a missing daughter. I vowed at that moment that I was going to talk to the mysterious tent people tonight. Well, person. However many there were. Even if they didn't know anything about her, it was worth a shot. I refused to consider the possibility of my roof interview being a dead end. Something in the back of my mind told me that I'd been jumping to conclusions yesterday, and I probably shouldn't have been so suspicious. But I was really worried about Xiu Li. I still hadn't managed to decipher my memory well enough to determine if I'd seen her or not.
The rest of my mail route was fairly uneventful. Except the rain, obviously. The only thing I really remember is that the Occupy people had procured a megaphone and were yelling something about corporate greed. Their message is fine and all, but if they were really the 99%, would they have time to take out of their workday to bitch and whine? I realized sadly that someone in the city could probably find my situation envious. The thought depressed me.
Near the end of the route, I delivered a letter to Alfonso at the pet shop. I asked him if he'd seen anyone like Xiu Li around, and he said no. He did, however, make me the "irresistible" offer of two mice for the price of one. I reminded him that I had a cat, and he got that suspicious look again. He asked me where I'd gotten the cat. I was going to tell him that it was none of his business, but I stopped myself. I still had a bit of a hunch that maybe Fuzzballe had come from the store, so I lied and told him I'd found the cat on my mail route, and that it was a stray from behind the roller rink. Before I left, I took a look up at the roof again. Through the rain, it looked like there was at least one person up there. I hoped they wouldn't kill me or anything when I talked to them later.
At long last, I finished my mail route and went back to the post office. Well, not before I returned the blue tent to the Occupy lot. I should've done that earlier when I passed the parking garage, but I didn't want to risk ruining the last few letters. I dragged the tent, now brown and blue from the mud I'd added, back to its previous spot, and left without anyone seeming to notice me.
I searched around in the post office for something to clean the ruined envelopes with. I managed to find a hairdryer, which made no sense. I let my imagination take off as to why the post office had a hairdryer, and set about drying the sopping letters with it. I resented having to work after hours, but at least I was inside now. Even so, I wished that I'd had a chance to check the police station to inquire about Xiu Li.
After the letters were dry, I brushed the dirt off of them as best I could. I managed to read the addresses on all but one. Six of them were for the apartments, and one was for the park. The last one was stained with mud, and I couldn't even tell that it had had any writing on it in the first place. The water seemed to have overwhelmed the seal on the envelope, though, because when I turned it over in an attempt to figure out which side was the top, the letter fell out onto the floor.
I then faced the awkward dilemma of whether or not to read the letter. That didn't last long. I picked it up, promising myself I would only read enough to figure out who it was for. I unfolded the letter, and a bunch of money fell out into my lap. Oh, wow, that was tempting. But I would've felt like a total asshole to ruin someone's letter and then steal their money, so I added a second promise that I would deliver the money with the letter. The note itself was for someone named Dmitri, and the rest of the note was in Russian. Well, that was helpful. I picked up the envelope again, knowing which way was up, and was able to decipher the marking "castel aprtmnets" on the front. At least I could leave it in the lobby for this Dmitri person. I only hoped he would find it. I stuck the letter, money and all, into my pocket.
Now to deliver the remaining seven letters. I went back over to the apartments and stuck all the embarrassingly soiled letters into their respective boxes. I then headed for the park, and realized that I'd forgotten to leave Dmitri's letter. Oh, well. I would have to go back there later to sleep anyway. If I didn't drown first in the flooded streets.
Something stuck to my shoe as I walked down the sidewalk towards the park. It was one of my MISSING DAUGHTER posters. I picked it up sadly and carried it with me. At least it hadn't been stolen, I suppose.
I delivered the letter in the park. It was dark by this time, and the park was dimly lit. Especially remembering that I was carrying money, I moved as fast as I could in hopes of not being mugged. But even with my breakneck walking pace, I managed to notice the slumped figure at the edge of the woods. That wasn't good.
My heart rate increased to that of a small rodent as I crept towards the person. From the looks of it, they-- no, she, I realized as I got closer-- was either sleeping or unconscious. I wondered how she'd gotten there. I took one more step, and I suddenly realized who it was: the girl from Forever 21 who'd let me borrow the cart. I took a deep breath. That was pretty scary. I'd talked to her that morning.
My heart rate increased to that of a small rodent as I crept towards the person. From the looks of it, they-- no, she, I realized as I got closer-- was either sleeping or unconscious. I wondered how she'd gotten there. I took one more step, and I suddenly realized who it was: the girl from Forever 21 who'd let me borrow the cart. I took a deep breath. That was pretty scary. I'd talked to her that morning.
I then indulged myself in a brief moment of panic. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't just leave her there, but I had no clue what to do with her. I poked her awkwardly in the shoulder, but she didn't budge. She appeared to be breathing, and I confirmed with a quick touch to the wrist that she had a pulse. I finally made up my mind that I would just take her back to Forever 21.
I picked her up like a baby and managed to carry her for about three yards before I finally gave in to my own lack of upper body strength. She wasn't fat. She wasn't even a large person. But I'm a mailman, not a weight-lifter. Then I remembered the cart. I picked her up again just long enough to put her in the cart. I took a look at my handiwork. It looked a bit like I was too cheap for a hearse or something. She was wedged in the cart at a pretty awkward angle. I unceremoniously began wheeling the cart down the road, which was, of course, the bumpiest road in the city. I tried to move quickly so that I could drop her off before she woke up.
Too late. She stirred, and then sat up suddenly and screeched at the top of her lungs. I was so surprised that I screamed back. I wasn't even finished screaming when she shouted at me.
"Where are you taking me?"
I hadn't even thought about what the whole scene would look like to her. I'd been worrying too much about bystanders watching me. What was I supposed to tell her? Crapcrapcrap. She probably thought I was kidnapping her or something.
"Where are you taking me?"
I hadn't even thought about what the whole scene would look like to her. I'd been worrying too much about bystanders watching me. What was I supposed to tell her? Crapcrapcrap. She probably thought I was kidnapping her or something.
Still running with the cart, I said, "Look, I-- uh--"
Oh, fabulous, that was smooth. I tried to reassure her.
"I'm not a bad person--" Nope.
"I saw you sleeping--" Ooh... even worse.
"I mean, I found you all alone--" Ugh. What was I doing?
"What I mean to say is that I remember you from before!" The last sentence was a bit of an outburst. Maybe she didn't recognize me, but even if she did, I'd done plenty to creep her out by this point. I was hardly surprised when she started squirming to try to get out of the cart. Unfortunately, she managed to wrench it out of my grasp, and the shopping cart, girl and all, went careening off down the road. I ran after it, panting.
Just when I'd finally caught up to the cart, I reached out to grab it and tripped over a pothole. The cart hit the pothole, too (it was a very large pothole. Remember that part about this being the bumpiest road in the city?), and fell over. I landed in another puddle, face first again. Forever 21 Girl came flying out of the cart and landed on top of me just as I tried to sit up.
OOF.
I finally managed to push her off of me, once she realized what was going on. She stood up hurriedly and asked me, "Mister, are you okay?"
Oh, thanks. That was just what I needed her to say. I was pretty angry by this point, at myself, at her, and at the world. So I yelled, "Does it look like I'm okay? All I was trying to say was that I remember you as the girl from Forever 21 who let me borrow this cart and that I found you in the woods when I was on my way returning from my mail delivery. I didn't want to leave you there, so I was bringing you back to the store. I'm not a pervert or a crazy person. I'm really not."
I took a deep breath. Hopefully that would calm her down a bit. I only hoped she'd believe me. Thankfully, she seemed to. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know you were helping me that much. And thank you for saving me again, you know, from falling, even though it was your fault for letting go of the cart."
Oh, fabulous, that was smooth. I tried to reassure her.
"I'm not a bad person--" Nope.
"I saw you sleeping--" Ooh... even worse.
"I mean, I found you all alone--" Ugh. What was I doing?
"What I mean to say is that I remember you from before!" The last sentence was a bit of an outburst. Maybe she didn't recognize me, but even if she did, I'd done plenty to creep her out by this point. I was hardly surprised when she started squirming to try to get out of the cart. Unfortunately, she managed to wrench it out of my grasp, and the shopping cart, girl and all, went careening off down the road. I ran after it, panting.
Just when I'd finally caught up to the cart, I reached out to grab it and tripped over a pothole. The cart hit the pothole, too (it was a very large pothole. Remember that part about this being the bumpiest road in the city?), and fell over. I landed in another puddle, face first again. Forever 21 Girl came flying out of the cart and landed on top of me just as I tried to sit up.
OOF.
I finally managed to push her off of me, once she realized what was going on. She stood up hurriedly and asked me, "Mister, are you okay?"
Oh, thanks. That was just what I needed her to say. I was pretty angry by this point, at myself, at her, and at the world. So I yelled, "Does it look like I'm okay? All I was trying to say was that I remember you as the girl from Forever 21 who let me borrow this cart and that I found you in the woods when I was on my way returning from my mail delivery. I didn't want to leave you there, so I was bringing you back to the store. I'm not a pervert or a crazy person. I'm really not."
I took a deep breath. Hopefully that would calm her down a bit. I only hoped she'd believe me. Thankfully, she seemed to. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know you were helping me that much. And thank you for saving me again, you know, from falling, even though it was your fault for letting go of the cart."
Well, you were squirming, I thought. But I didn't say that. I was just grateful that she didn't think I was a rapist or something.
"You're welcome, I guess," I said.
She helped me get back on my feet.
She helped me get back on my feet.
"Renshu Zheng," I said.
"Eli Rosenthal," she replied.
We shook hands, which was really awkward, since I was dripping wet again.
We shook hands, which was really awkward, since I was dripping wet again.
We walked in silence for the rest of the block, back towards Forever 21.
As we walked, it seemed to be getting foggier, which was odd. Well, at least, that's what I thought, until I smelled the smoke. Eli was daintily attempting to avoid a puddle (a lost cause, after a day like this) when I saw the flames. Forever 21 was on fire.
As we walked, it seemed to be getting foggier, which was odd. Well, at least, that's what I thought, until I smelled the smoke. Eli was daintily attempting to avoid a puddle (a lost cause, after a day like this) when I saw the flames. Forever 21 was on fire.
"Eli, LOOK!" I yelled, and ran towards the building. She let out a sort of wail and ran after me. We got as close to the building as we dared, and she pulled out her phone. I'd never been in the awkward position of standing around while someone calls 911 before, and so I kept my distance. The fire department arrived surprisingly quickly. I suppose there weren't many fires in this weather. The rain didn't seem to make much of a difference, though. The fire was enormous, and hardly slowed down when the firemen turned their hoses on it. Some police officers arrived, too, and discussed the possibility of arson just loudly enough for me to overhear. Eli was distraught, and I thought it best not to talk to her. She was also holding my Xiu Li poster, which I hadn't noticed before. She must've caught it when she flew out of the cart. Oh, well. I decided to let her have it, since there wasn't any harm.
With all the police officers discussing arson, I suddenly noticed that I had a Forever 21 shopping cart sitting next to me, giving the illusion that I'd been in the store during the incident. Damn. Whether or not it was arson, I hadn't set the fire, and I didn't want to take the blame for it. But if I left now, it would look even more suspicious. I felt helpless.
I watched the building burn and felt that it was a somewhat appropriate ending to my day. Everything was going wrong. I hadn't even gone to the police station to check for Xiu Li. How long had she been gone now? I didn't even know. That was pathetic.
In a moment of desperation, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. It was soaked, and I was surprised it turned on at all. When it did, I called Xiu Li's phone again, just to hear her voice on the voicemail. (Don't judge me. She's my daughter, and I was really upset.)
To my surprise, the phone actually picked up. But it wasn't Xiu Li's voice on the other end of the line. I heard the rush of the rain, and then an accented voice, saying, "So we forced to sell, you know. Was not good time for anyone." Then I thought I was going to have a heart attack, because Xiu Li's voice did appear in the conversation. It said, "Oh my!" and then my call cut off.
I dropped to my knees and yelled "NO!" and tried to redial. It went straight to voicemail, which had been my original intention, but I didn't want to hear it now, not after Xiu Li's actual voice. She was there, and she was alive, and she hung up on me. And who was that other guy!?
Yelling dramatically was probably not my best idea, though, since it called attention to my presence. One of the police officers came over to talk to me. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "I notice you have a shopping cart here. Were you, by any chance, here when the fire was lit?" I had never seen anyone look that accusing before. "No, sir," I said. He scowled. "So you don't know anything about the arson?"
"No, sir," I said again. "I was bringing back Miss Rosenthal in this here cart, because she was in the woods and I had just delivered a letter."
His facial expression changed from suspicious to confused. I wonder if he thought I was crazy. At any rate, I was spared any further interrogation, since Officer Richard came over.
"Don't waste your time, John," he said. "I know this guy. He didn't burn down Forever 21."
An odd vote of confidence from a man who's met me twice, but I was fine with it.
I took this as my cue to leave, and left my shopping cart behind before heading back to the apartments. I ascended the stairs, leaving soggy footprints behind me, and felt like collapsing by the time I got up to the sixth floor. I was greeted at the door by a hungry Fuzzballe, who meowed persistently until the food was in her bowl. While she ate, I sat there and talked to her.
"You've never even met Xiu Li," I told the cat. "You don't know anything about her. You know, she always liked animals." I caught this last sentence quickly, and corrected myself. "She still does. I'm sure she'd like you. She's always been a compassionate kid. She volunteered at the orphanage starting in sixth grade, and used to watch out the window and cry when people ran over squirrels." Fuzzballe just sat there eating.
What was I doing, talking to a cat? I'd made myself a promise to go talk to the elusive Roof People. I changed into a dry shirt and went up the stairs again. It may as well have been a week since I had been up there, with how long the day had been.
I pushed open the yellow door and looked out. A disheveled-looking man was sitting out on the roof. It was only spitting now, thankfully. The smoke from the fire was wafting out across the city, easily visible from up here. The man saw me come out onto the roof and asked, "Why there is smoke?"
I jumped. I'd heard his voice before.
Recently.
On the phone.
Oh my god.
I lost it. "YOU!" I screamed. "YOU KIDNAPPED MY DAUGHTER, YOU BASTARD!"
He looked surprised and then genuinely confused.
"Daughter? What?"
I was kind of ashamed of myself. Was I wrong? "My daughter," I said defiantly, shaking with anger. "Xiu Li Zheng. Blonde girl. Short hair. And you have her somewhere."
Something dawned on his tired face.
"Juli! Yes, she was here. Comes every day, brings food. I tell her stories of home country."
Oh...
"Where is she now?" I was feeling pretty awkward now for yelling at him. But at least I had a clue on where she was.
"Do not know. She leaves, never stays."
So Xiu Li hadn't been kidnapped after all. I briefly felt really relieved, until I realized what this meant. She'd left willingly. What had I done? I blinked back tears, feeling angry and betrayed. I kicked the ground. Ow.
There was a stack of ruined posters next to the tent. I supposed it must have been Xiu Li herself taking them down. That stung.
"Hey..." I wasn't sure what to say to the guy. "I'm really sorry, you know, for yelling at you and all that. I didn't mean to accuse you of kidnapping her."
"Is fine," he said. He actually looked really unfazed.
"Would you be willing to ask her about her father tomorrow?" I blurted out. He looked slightly caught off guard by that one, but he finally replied, "I will try."
I wished beyond all wishes that I didn't have work in the morning. I could even come up here to wait for her myself. But maybe this man could help.
Suddenly, something occurred to me. "Are you Russian?" I asked. Oops, that was a bit rude. Or was it? I can never tell.
"Yes. I am from Russia."
"Can you read this for me? I'm trying to figure out who this is for." I brought out Dmitri's letter from my pocket and unfolded it. I left the money in there, just in case. After all, he might have tried to steal it, living on the roof and all that.
He began to read the letter to himself, and then a big smile lit up his face. "This is letter for me!" he exclaimed. Oh. Oops. "So you're Dmitri?" I said. "Yes, yes," he said. Then he frowned. "Brother says letter had money. Is lost?"
Oh, right.
"No," I said. "It's right here." I gave him the wad of money. He smiled again.
Feeling a little better about myself, I said good night to Dmitri and went back down the stairs. I tried to sleep in my own bed, but I've been sleeping on the couch so much that I quickly figured out that was a lost cause. I lay awake in bed, wondering to myself why Xiu Li was avoiding me and where she was sleeping.
After about an hour of tossing and turning, I got up and moved to the couch. Fuzzballe was already there. Cats can usually tell when something is wrong.
I finally drifted off to sleep, wondering why my daughter hated me.
I jumped. I'd heard his voice before.
Recently.
On the phone.
Oh my god.
I lost it. "YOU!" I screamed. "YOU KIDNAPPED MY DAUGHTER, YOU BASTARD!"
He looked surprised and then genuinely confused.
"Daughter? What?"
I was kind of ashamed of myself. Was I wrong? "My daughter," I said defiantly, shaking with anger. "Xiu Li Zheng. Blonde girl. Short hair. And you have her somewhere."
Something dawned on his tired face.
"Juli! Yes, she was here. Comes every day, brings food. I tell her stories of home country."
Oh...
"Where is she now?" I was feeling pretty awkward now for yelling at him. But at least I had a clue on where she was.
"Do not know. She leaves, never stays."
So Xiu Li hadn't been kidnapped after all. I briefly felt really relieved, until I realized what this meant. She'd left willingly. What had I done? I blinked back tears, feeling angry and betrayed. I kicked the ground. Ow.
There was a stack of ruined posters next to the tent. I supposed it must have been Xiu Li herself taking them down. That stung.
"Hey..." I wasn't sure what to say to the guy. "I'm really sorry, you know, for yelling at you and all that. I didn't mean to accuse you of kidnapping her."
"Is fine," he said. He actually looked really unfazed.
"Would you be willing to ask her about her father tomorrow?" I blurted out. He looked slightly caught off guard by that one, but he finally replied, "I will try."
I wished beyond all wishes that I didn't have work in the morning. I could even come up here to wait for her myself. But maybe this man could help.
Suddenly, something occurred to me. "Are you Russian?" I asked. Oops, that was a bit rude. Or was it? I can never tell.
"Yes. I am from Russia."
"Can you read this for me? I'm trying to figure out who this is for." I brought out Dmitri's letter from my pocket and unfolded it. I left the money in there, just in case. After all, he might have tried to steal it, living on the roof and all that.
He began to read the letter to himself, and then a big smile lit up his face. "This is letter for me!" he exclaimed. Oh. Oops. "So you're Dmitri?" I said. "Yes, yes," he said. Then he frowned. "Brother says letter had money. Is lost?"
Oh, right.
"No," I said. "It's right here." I gave him the wad of money. He smiled again.
Feeling a little better about myself, I said good night to Dmitri and went back down the stairs. I tried to sleep in my own bed, but I've been sleeping on the couch so much that I quickly figured out that was a lost cause. I lay awake in bed, wondering to myself why Xiu Li was avoiding me and where she was sleeping.
After about an hour of tossing and turning, I got up and moved to the couch. Fuzzballe was already there. Cats can usually tell when something is wrong.
I finally drifted off to sleep, wondering why my daughter hated me.
