The Atlas

BRANDI'S JACKET

I hadn't seen her for years, and every time I happened to be in town and got a chance to go to Haight Street, I wondered if she was still alive.

One day I saw her and called out her street name. She didn't come flying to me as she used to do; she was older and a little more tired. But she came; she came. She remembered me right off. — Sure, you're the one I used to con all the time and you'd never get mad!

I remembered a little boy who used to panhandle with her, and whomever's hand I'd put the quarter into, the other's hand would fight to snatch it. — How's your son? I said.

Her face lit up. — Only twelve, she said proudly, and he's already doin' time for armed robbery! He's so bad!

She dug a scrap of greasy paper out of the trash can and wrote her phone number on it. The next time I was in town I called her and said if she wanted to come over she could make some money.

She came running upstairs throwing herself into my arms and kissing me with delicious greasy lips. Her hair was well oiled. Even in that first embrace I felt her trying to pick my pocket.

We went upstairs and she said: I wanna have your baby. Please will you gimme your baby? I wanna little girl. I had one but she died in a crib death. How about it? You wanna make a little love? Just gimme some money so I can go and get some rock. I'll be right back — I promise!

So she was a crackhead now. Before it had just been freebase and some other things.

I knew she wouldn't come back, but I wanted to see what she'd do. I gave her twenty and told her to leave her jacket behind as a hostage.

Lemme borrow yours then! she said.

You just go out without any jacket, I said.

OK, OK, OK. An' I'll even leave my pipe — you know I won't be goin' nowhere without my pipe!

She put it ostentatiously into her coat. I pretended not to notice when she palmed it back.

After an hour had gone by, I had to go away myself, but I thought that since the jacket really belonged to me now I might as well see what was in the pockets, whose domain had been considerably expanded by holes, so that the whole lining of the jacket was hen to store things and hide things — how precious!

There was no crack pipe, of course, but I found three lighters, a tube of Vaseline, lots of dirty tissues, a hamburger wrapper wet and yellow with oil, a broken cigarette, some matches, and finally, like some sweet secret, a little Tootsie Roll. Something about the Tootsie Roll touched me, I don't know why. It was like her, the dearness of her hidden inside all the greed and the lies, the goodness of her that the badness drew on and exhibited and used for its own selfish work.

I left the coat in the hallway where she could get it if she ever came back. I wanted to keep the Tootsie Roll but that would have been like robbing her of her soul. In the end, just so I wouldn't feel like a complete chump, I stole one of her cigarette lighters. The bus took me down Haight Street. Suddenly I saw her, soundlessly arguing and pleading and whining with a man. I waved to her but she didn't see me. Later I took the lighter out in order to strike an idle flame, but then I saw that it had no flint. I wondered what would have been wrong with the Tootsie Roll.