Chapter 23 #2
After that, I fall asleep around three. And in the morning I’m up and off with cheap gas station coffee and an equally cheap gas station sandwich.
I drive those eight straight hours through as I crawl up the east coast through traffic that alternates between stop-and-go and utter smoothness.
I don’t stop for lunch or to piss or for any other reason until I cross over into the state of Rhode Island.
Mostly, it’s a nice ride. I think. By the time I roll into Providence proper in the early evening I can’t actually remember it that well. Sorta like I just phased through it.
At another gas station I stop to buy a local map, and the cashier asks me where I’m headed. I show her the address on the postcard. “Surprising a good friend,” I tell her. “He’s got no idea I’m in town.”
“He’s local?”
“Yep.”
“Forget the map, kid. I can save you twenty bucks right now.” And she proceeds to give me directions right to Ash’s doorstep.
Even scribbles them down on a little sticky note for me to refer to, which is good, because half of her instructions will fly right out of my head the moment I get behind the wheel.
“You know they’re doing this on the computer now?
There’s a website called MapQuest or something.
Gives you step by step directions to wherever you want to go. ”
“Huh,” I say. “Like, what, on the internet?”
“Yeah. Imagine that! Never needing a map again.” She peels off the note and sticks it in my hand. “Just printing out a buncha instructions like this at home? Sounds too good to be true.”
After the last week, I really can’t imagine that. But I’ll be happy to never have to look at one again. “Well, thanks,” I say. “This is a big help.”
“No problem. Hope he likes his surprise.”
Here in his town. Breathing his same air. Who would’ve fuckin’ thought? Visiting Providence was certainly never on my bucket list. Actually, ever leaving the state of Florida again after finally getting back there was also not on my bucket list.
But there are few things I wouldn’t do for Ash at this point. Chasing him halfway across the country is proof of that, surely.
So I stick the note to my steering wheel and follow the directions around what seems to be Providence’s industrial district, and I only get lost a couple times before I wind up on a street with a row of buildings and shops that look abandoned at worst and barely operating at best. The address from Ben’s postcard directs me to a tattoo shop that looks slightly less bombed out than its surrounding buildings, and I park across the street before I get out.
I figure out pretty quickly that he must not live inside the shop but atop it—there’s a set of sketchy-ass metal stairs wrapping around the side of the building and leading to what looks like some kind of walkup apartment.
I take a deep breath and cross the street. I don’t see much movement inside the shop beyond the windows, and no one appears to yell at me as I begin to mount the stairs. They groan and whine somewhat alarmingly as I go, but maybe the rust is load-bearing.
I stop in front of the door on the landing. There’s a placard with the street number affixed below the peephole. No doorbell or buzzer, so I knock politely and wait.
A few seconds later I hear the deadbolt disengage as the door inches open. A face appears in the crack, peering suspiciously at me. It’s not Ash’s—the eyes are a soft brown lined in smudged makeup, auburn curls tumbling across the smooth forehead—but he has roommates, I remember.
“Can I help you?” the boy asks.
“Uh, hi.” I give him my most charismatic smile. At least I hope I do. “I’m looking for Ash. Is he home?”
“No.” His tone is curt. He’s already moving away to shut the door. “Look, Ash isn’t taking any dates right now, so…”
“Wait.” I jam my foot in the crack before he can shut it on me. “I’m not looking for a date. I’m his—” His what? Boyfriend? I’m frickin’ trying to be. “We, uh, met on the road. I’m looking for him.”
The face reappears. He eyes me up and down slowly, deliberately. “Is your name Sam, by any chance?” he asks at length.
I perk up. “He told you about me?”
The boy seems to weigh his next words, chewing on the inside of his mouth. “Here,” he says at last. “You can come in.”
I follow him inside. Contrary to the building’s exterior, the inside is pretty okay. Not nice, I guess—the walls are textured and whitewashed, the floor is cheap laminate, and the furniture is an eclectic mix of cheap and thrifted—but it’s clean and well-lit, and it smells a little of lavender.
“I’m Mike, by the way,” he offers over his shoulder as he leads me to the tiny living room. He’s a little guy, no taller than my ex-girlfriend and just as petite. His ears sparkle with glittery, dangly earrings. “You want a drink or something?”
“Water would be great,” I say, sitting down on the worn out couch. It’s a bright floral atrocity that looks like it belongs in my abuela’s house, but it’s broken in, comfortable. I toss some of the mismatching throw pillows to the other side to give myself more room.
Moments later I’m given a glass of ice water in one of those Welsch’s jelly jars.
This one in particular has Tom and Jerry on it.
“Ash got in early this morning,” Mike tells me, sitting in a leather recliner that’s been patched up with duct tape.
“He went with Julian to get some stuff from the store. Told him he should rest, but does he listen to me?”
My heart beats a little faster. “Is he okay?”
“A little worse for the wear, I guess. Being in the car’s hard on him.”
“Yeah. I know.”
He studies me, drawing his knees up. “You’re here to take him to Miami? Ash said he met his dream guy, but then you found out about, you know. The hooking stuff.”
His dream guy, huh? Then why the hell did he bail out on me?
I put my water down on the coffee table.
There’s no coasters, but that’s okay, I guess.
The surface is already topped with old water stain rings.
“Yeah, I mean. We sorta had it out about all that. I didn’t know he was gonna come all the way back here though. ”
“How’d you even find him?”
I shift on my butt and pull out the postcard from my pocket. It’s creased up now and I feel little bad about that. I offer it to Mike. “He left this behind.”
He leans forward to peer at it. “Ah. That’s from Ben.”
“Yeah.”
“Pretty smart.”
“I guess so.” I clear my throat. “So are you all, uh…um.” I realize too late it’s a stupid question I shouldn’t ask and try to back track. “Actually, never mind.”
“What. Hustlers? Kinda. Julian’s just your run of the mill pot dealer.” He whips out a cigarette from the pocket of his shorts. “You mind?”
“Nah. Go ahead.”
He lights up. “I work at one of the strip clubs downtown now. Ben was a hustler, though, when he was alive. He’s the one who kinda took Ash in, you know.
Plucked him off the street, gave him a house and some safety.
” He exhales smoke over his shoulder. “Ash has never really thrived, though. It’s just not his thing. ”
“I got that,” I say. “From what he told me, anyway.”
“Some people just aren’t cut out for it.
Ben wasn’t, either, but I guess he was more…
” Mike tips his head. “Resilient? Like he could take it. It didn’t take him apart like it does Ash.
” One hand plays with his lighter, clicking it over and over.
“Ben was one of those relentlessly optimistic bastards, anyway. Figures he had to be the one to catch the virus.”
I swallow. “Yeah,” I say softly.
His gaze flicks up to meet mine. “So, what, you in love with him or something?”
“I don’t know,” I lie, because it feels weird to tell a total stranger that I’m in love with his friend.
“You drove a million miles just to chase him down, so I’m gonna assume you are.
” He finally cracks a smile. “Look, I don’t know you beyond the stuff Ash was sobbing to me this morning about.
You could be totally evil for all I know.
But if you’re worth half of those tears, you should get him out of here.
Don’t take no for an answer.” He levels me with a look. “Got it?”
I blink. “Okay? Yeah. That was the plan, anyway. To take him home.”
“Good.” He cocks his head. “Think I hear Jules’ car. Might be them now.”