RL's Dream

Three

The woman at the door wore a cheap cranberry jacket and a skirt of the same color. There was a grease spot on the hem and a weak red stain the size of a fried egg on her white cotton blouse. She had hard brown eyes on a young face that was too round for a white woman’s, Kiki thought. The leather satchel that hung from her shoulder was overflowing with papers in manila folders. It was so heavy that the young woman favored that side. Her brown hair was braided tightly across the top of her head, and the twist to her lips said that she didn’t want to be there.

The stranger stared at her, expecting common courtesy, but Kiki didn’t say a word.

After a while Soupspoon coughed at the back of the room.

“Is that Mr. Wise?” the woman asked.

“Who are you?” Kiki replied.

“Tatum,” the woman said stiffly. “Miss Tatum from Social Services.”

Kiki counted the painful pulses in her side, hoping that Miss Tatum would leave.

“Is Mr. Wise in there?” Miss Tatum asked in a loud voice. Maybe she thought Kiki had tied the old man up; was selling him off for body parts.

“What’s it to you who’s in my house?”

“I’m from Social Services.”

“So? I’m from Arkansas. Does that mean I could go and bother you at your table?”

“I’m here to pick up Mr. Wise. I’m supposed to help him get to the Bryant Shelter.”

“That was a long time ago, honey. Back when the sun was still up and they had that poor man down in the street. That was hours ago. The man you wanted would’ve froze up and died waitin’ for you.”

“I thank you for taking him in, Miss...?”

Kiki stayed quiet and held the doorknob for support.

“...I know a lot of people wouldn’t have taken him in. I appreciate your, um, concern.”

“Soupspoon’s with me now,” Kiki said. “We don’t need you.”

“I’m sorry, but I will have to check that for myself.” Miss Tatum looked over Kiki’s shoulder, trying to see into the room.

“Tell me something?” Kiki asked.

The social worker’s lips twisted so that she could barely ask, “What?”

“What would you do with him now, even if he wanted to go with you?”

“I’d take him to the shelter tonight and the hospital tomorrow. Mr. Wise is a sick man.”

“You waited until he couldn’t even talk to decide he’s sick?”

“There are a lot of people at the shelter, Miss, um... Sometimes it takes a little longer than we’d like.”

“Well, he’s with me now.”

“If you don’t let me speak to Mr. Wise, I will have to get the police.”

“You can come in, but that’s all. Just ask him if he wants to stay and then get your butt away from us.”

Soupspoon was tilted over to the left side in his chair. He gaped at the women. His face, handsome at one time, was shrunken with deep furrows where his cheeks sagged and caved in from lost molars. His lower eyelids hung open, exposing their glistening red membranes.

“Mr. Wise?” Miss Tatum said.

Soupspoon’s mouth opened and closed as he nodded.

“I’ve come to take you back home to the shelter.”

The jaw swung loosely on its hinges when he shook his head.

“I don’t know if you understand me, Mr. Wise. I’ve come to take you back to the shelter.”

The loose jaw answered back. Then the sick man leaned forward, looking as if he might topple sideways out of the chair, and made a sound that was unintelligible and obviously painful to his throat.

“I can’t understand you, sir!” Miss Tatum shouted. “Can’t you speak up?”

Soupspoon sat back, a look of frustration on his emaciated face. The bags of his eyelids filled with tears.

“Can’t you see that he’s hoarse?” Kiki said. “Can’t you see that you got to get up next to him?”

By example she went over to Soupspoon and bent over.

“I... can’t... live... in... no... shelter,” he rasped. His lips brushed against Kiki’s ear.

Kiki blushed and felt a twinge in her side.

“He said that he’s staying here with me.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“He said that he likes it here and that I’m his girlfriend now and that you better get your Yankee butt outta this house.”

“I will not leave without knowing that it’s his decision to stay,” she declared. And then to Soupspoon, a little loud, “There’s already a hospital bed assigned for you, Mr. Wise. I can take you there tomorrow.”

“If you want to hear what he has to say, then go put your ear to his mouth so you could understand him,” Kiki said.

“That’s ridiculous.”

Kiki wanted to slap her face but that would have torn stitches and she needed to be healthy. She needed to be strong.

Soupspoon lifted his hand three inches from the table, beckoning Miss Tatum.

“What?” she asked, not moving.

He waved her to him again.

She took slow steps around the table. When she was in reach he took her hand.

“Oh.”

He pulled her hand until he could grab her lower arm. He pulled that until he could reach her biceps.

It looked to Kiki like a drowning man trying to pull himself out of the drink.

From her shoulder he reached her neck, and she said “Oh” again but still she allowed him to pull her head to his mouth.

“Please... please...” he said.

“What?” Miss Tatum was trying to pull away but Soupspoon had her with both hands and he was holding on for his life.

“Don’t take me from outta here... I’ll die... please leave me here,” he said. Then he lost all strength and let her go, falling back into his chair.

“Oh! Oh!” Miss Tatum pulled away as quick as she could. She went right for the door, stopping only to pick up her bag on the way.

“A senior agent will be sent,” she said while looking around the floor for something, anything, she might have dropped. “An agent will be notified.”

She left without getting Kiki’s name. But that didn’t matter, Kiki knew, because they knew where she lived.

An agent never came. Miss Tatum took her report back to her office the next morning. It was flagged with a red paper clip and filed in a cabinet labeled Open Files. An agent was even assigned. But there was some confusion and he went to Soupspoon’s old apartment on the first floor. When he found the apartment empty he marked Soupspoon’s open file Deceased.