It didn’t matter how they met.
She was related to someone who knew someone who worked with someone who worked with Albert. He didn’t ask deeper than that, however curious he may have been. He knew better now than he had when he was young, and he knew that questions didn’t make you seem stupid, but he didn’t want to be asked questions in return. He didn’t want anyone else involved. They always seemed to find a way to get involved, and they always had that name. In some form, in some way, they had the same name that could bury into the folds of his mind like the parasites of biblical plagues and wouldn’t leave. The one that haunted him like a ghost from another plane of existence, only able to cross the barrier as a memory, a sign, a word.
It didn’t matter how he met her when he was 22 and she was 18. He tried his best not to meet her at all, but she was insistent. She didn’t take his refusals for what they meant. He may have even come off as mean in the way he tried to dismiss her, to drive her off. How could he know better than to challenge people when that kept getting them killed? Albert was not an attractive man and he had no home, no money, and nothing left to offer anyone save his backpack of tricks. His kingdom for an endless walk towards no destination. What did she even want from him?
She wanted to know his name, that was one thing. He didn’t bother to lie since she was sort of an associate, and she decided she was one of those people to call him ‘Al’. He didn’t fight her on it, since it wasn’t something he was so hung up on anymore. He asked for her name as well, but she wasn’t so straightforward. She danced around the answer, telling him to call her the nicknames the others called her when she was around. Her friends would call her ‘Tink’ or ‘Minx’ and other cute things like that. It seemed everyone called her something different and the prospect sat sharply on Albert's tongue, forbidding him from using any of them. He pushed harder, not angrily, he never got angry anymore, but firmly in his need to know. He needed to be sure what he was getting into and he was done with the shock factors of the sudden death.
She wouldn’t tell him, but she would share with him. She shared the water bottle of Fireball she kept in her purse. She shared the medicine she took from an empty tic tac box. Albert wasn't sure why it made sense when she explained it, but it makes perfect sense that he would share too. He had a sizable backpack of fun things after all.
It wasn't where he was supposed to be going, and it wasn't what he was supposed to be doing, but it was company. The thing he missed most about getting to know people was company. He took one look at her and he couldn't say no to anything she asked. She was beautiful, that was true, but her company was unlike any he’d had before. It was the kind that dragged you out of bed at ungodly hours of the night to go train-dodging. It was the kind that made you feel like the world was just the backdrop to the adventure she was taking you on. It was the feeling that there was always a parade happening somewhere else and you were missing it. She made the night as bright as the surface of the sun, and it was hot, but you weren’t allowed to burn out.
Maybe Albert was getting old, but it was hard to keep up with her.
She had a way of making him let his guard down, whether he was drunk or under some other influence, she knew how to make him ignore his own better judgment. He told her about what he was doing in Ohio, and what he was looking for. He told her about Locust, but he'd tell anyone who'd listen. It had been a while since he'd let anyone listen. He felt the bone on the woven string woven by her hand and he prayed to anything worth praying to that the curse was just another one of his delusions. He asked her name again, but he'd already told her too much. He'd told her about the name that haunted his waking days more than it already haunted his vivid dreams and she didn't answer. She said he was looking for something in particular and all he needed was her. She nicknamed herself 'Locust'.
He supposed on some level he knew that was messed up, but everything was messed up, so why not?
He was heavy, every time he woke up his head would hurt and his mind would scream that the world was too much. It was too different. He'd solve it with his medication for the sadness and hopelessness and fear. He would forget his fears and introspection and need for help, and he'd just be heavy. Happy, and sloppy, and hopeful, and so so heavy.
Her name was Locust since she refused to give him another. She was young and she spoke often of her father. She hated her father and Albert could see why from the things she said, the stories she told. She let Albert stay in her shed and he was grateful, she didn’t have to do that. He knew he was less than appealing company after a year on the road without even a car to crash in.
She wasn’t perfect, but no one was perfect. She would come up with strange reasons to be angry at him, things that hadn’t bothered her the week or even the day before. He’d known lots of girls like that, and at least she wasn’t the type to send people after him when she was mad, she just threw things until she wore herself out. She was honestly easier to handle since she was so much smaller than the people Albert had been close to in the past. He took pride in being able to handle her when so many had found it too tall a task. Albert knew he was no prize, and it was nice to feel successful, there was merit in being useful. He got angry at her sometimes, but he was older, he’d been doing this longer, and he knew where his anger could usually lead and he quelled it. He’d leave situations and conversations if the only cause was the dramatic.
He would keep his rage in perspective by reminding himself of the things he’d learned. The lessons she’d affirm for him. He didn’t really have a direction before he’d met her and he wouldn’t have one once she was gone. Who was he to be angry? With everything she had to put up with from Albert? His anger made less and less sense the more he thought about the logic of it. It left him feeling melancholy and strangely…empty. He’d never liked the empty feeling but at least reminding himself he wasn’t worth feeling anything for didn’t make him lose his head. Do something he wouldn’t remember.
She was the first to convince him, however briefly, that he’d never find his Locust. He’d never been more grateful to anyone.
It was a cloudy, humid, dreadfully hot day. Albert awoke like he’d done so many days before, to the righteous anger of someone he didn’t hear approach. He’d learned from experience to sleep light as an errant leaf on the trail, but it didn’t help him much. He was already awake, but not fast enough to miss the old rusty shovel to the face. Of course, it hurt, but it was always the shock that was worse. From half asleep to wide awake and frightened in less than an instant, his vision was blinded by white as he stumbled off the ground to stand. He didn’t yet know what he’d have to do or what the situation was, but standing was always the better option than staying down. When his blurred vision returned to what had become normal for Albert, his racing mind caught up to it as he stared at the old man before him in tense silence, waiting for one of them to make a move. A couple of rats scurried out of the burlap sacks in the corner and out into the yard. He was slightly shorter than Albert and gripped the shovel tightly, Albert gave in once his senses fully returned.
“I’ll get out.” He said immediately, grabbing his backpack of belongings and slinging it over his aching shoulders before trying to leave.
“What are you doing?” The man asked instead of letting Albert pass. Even though Albert had gotten permission to sleep in the shed, he had to assume this man didn’t know that from how he reacted. It was best to leave and not ask. Questions and explanations made people angrier than immediate compliance. But the man had asked him and was now blocking his path. The best Albert could do was diffuse the situation.
“The girl who lives here said I could sleep here.” He said, unsure what else to say. It was the truth, and often honesty was an easier deception than a lie.
“She…” The man lowered the shovel a fraction. “I’m gonna kill that kid.” He muttered, taking a tired step back and hanging the shovel back on its hook on the wall of the shed.
Albert didn’t intend to think about who this man was, when someone threatened you with a shovel while you were sleeping it didn’t matter who they were. Just that it was best to leave before things escalated. Still, it didn’t take a genius to put it together, and Albert thought he could still confidently say that he wasn’t an idiot. This was the girl's father she talked so venomously about.
“I’ll leave.” He repeated, no longer trying to get past the man but hoping silently that he’d move.
“Nah I just had to put my shovel away.” The man said, opening the door to the shed and gesturing for Albert to follow. “Why’re you sleeping here? Don’t got a halfway house or something?” He asked. Albert hadn’t expected to talk to the man, but he wasn’t complaining about the change. He wasn’t being threatened anymore at least, and maybe if he was polite he wouldn’t have to lose a solid place to sleep.
“No sir,” He answered evenly, following him out of the shed. He put a hand to his sore face, feeling the sting and pulling away again. It probably looked as bad as it felt, but nothing was broken this time.
“So you’re just a hobo?” He asked, wheezing slightly as he made his way up the hill to his house, still not indicating that Albert should leave. He couldn’t imagine wanting to talk to this man extensively, but he still held out hope of a place to sleep. It was interesting the things he’d do for a place to sleep.
“...yes sir.” He answered reluctantly, following the man to the stairs leading to his porch. Albert's head swam at the light from the cloudy sky and he couldn’t tell if it was from the injury or the hangover.
“Figures…” The man scowled at the floor, taking a box of reservation cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. “My girls runnin’ around with a hobo, just like her.” He muttered. “Probably trying to get on my nerves.” Albert didn’t feel surprised by the scorn, it was an accurate assessment, but it still hollowed him out a little farther to hear from a stranger he’d spoken to for less than five minutes.
“I’m sorry, I thought you would’ve known when she offered to let me stay here.” Albert decided it was a diplomatic response. It was still true after all, how was he supposed to know it was a secret?
“That kid doesn’t tell me anything.” He laughed, a self-deprecating sound and Albert could feel for the man. “Smoke?” He offered from the box. Albert accepted gratefully, it was at least something after the morning he’d been having. The man let Albert use his lighter and he was grateful for the stimulating sensation of the smoke to help wake his mind from its residual grogginess. Though it wasn’t his flavor, he usually didn’t smoke menthol.
The man was unusually chatty compared to people who’d kicked Albert off their property in the past. He spoke to Albert about his daughter and how she’d been running wild since her mother disappeared two years prior. Albert already knew about this, but he let the man talk about it. The more he spoke the less he seemed like the person she was always describing in her stories of him. Some were easier to understand with context and it was hard to believe some were even true, but Albert didn’t pretend to know the man after one conversation. The man just laughed when he learned Albert didn’t even know his daughter's proper name. He made unsavory remarks about her giving things up to just anyone. Albert didn’t know how to comment on this, but he did learn that the girl's name was Tori Ortiz. He felt relief, however silly that was, that he’d never heard the name before.
The man spoke about his daughter like a warden did with a troublesome prisoner. Or like a young blue-collar worker spoke about the responsibility of a job he didn’t want but needed to keep. He seemed tired and sad, and like he needed help he didn’t know how to ask for. He spoke about his life to a stranger he found sleeping in his shed like he just needed someone to hear it, someone, to vent to. Albert didn’t know how to help, or how to even verbalize what that meant, but he could have a cigarette with the man on his porch. He could hear what the man had to say.
The man listened to Albert's story about how he came to be spending his nights in the sheds of strangers. He scoffed at Albert's fixation on Locust and he sympathized greatly with his lost car. He even seemed to understand Albert's inability to get a proper job. He was a good listener, and he didn’t think Albert's story was grand or interesting. He thought it was what it was. He thought it was life taking what it wanted and leaving you out to dry, or however the man had worded it.
His name was Nate, and he didn’t make Albert find somewhere else to sleep.
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