He nods, accepting this, like this kind of loss is a part of his family too. “That’s a tough break, kid.” He lights up his cigarette and inhales deeply. “Never knew my folks. Got dragged up in Brooklyn by a bunch of fucking pedos.”
“What’s Brooklyn?”
His red lips curve into a smile. “Well, it’s not Manhattan, darlin’,” he says, waving his arm at all the smart buildings glaring down at us. “I can tell you that much.”
“Why is your face all banged up?” I ask him curiously.
There’s a pause as he blows out a fresh cloud of smoke. “That story’s not for sharing… Didn’t your mama ever warn you 'bout talking to strangers?”
I say nothing. A sudden rush of tears is making my vision go all blurry again.
“Ah, shit.” He grimaces, more out of frustration with himself than the pain. “Here, come closer a moment, I ain’t gonna bite ya.”
I shuffle forward a few steps as he tosses away his half-smoked cigarette and bends down to run his fingers through the dirt by our feet.
“Good girl. Now, hold out your hand.”
I do as he says, and I feel a light sprinkling of dust across my palm before he’s folding it into a fist. His touch is warm and gentle; his skin is stained pink. Again, I should feel frightened, but I don’t. He’s like the role-play we did at kindergarten once. He’s a good man pretending to be bad.
“It doesn’t matter what side of the bridge we live on,” he mutters, staring down at my fist. “We all have this in common.”
“What, dirt?” I say, my nose wrinkling in confusion.
His face creases up again, and I see a trickle of light behind his weird-looking eyes. “You might have a point there, sweetheart. Sounds like we’ve both had to eat our fair share of it recently.”
I turn my fist over and study my knuckles. “Can I throw it away now?”
“Not until I’m done talking.” He slumps back against the bench again. The stain on his T-shirt is getting worse. His skin is white beneath his tan.
“We come from the ground, remember that, and we go back to the ground when we’re done. It’s what we do in between that counts.” He pauses to light another cigarette, and as he raises it to his mouth I can see his hand is shaking. “I ain’t gonna be sitting here on this bench with a hole in my stomach forever. Neither will you always look so lost in that expensive dress next to your ivory tower, with fucked-up grown-up words like sad and fierce chasing you around all over town.” He gestures to the scary buildings again. “Make it count, no matter what they throw at you, kid. Can you do that for me?”
I think about what he just said. I think about mama. Did she make it count?
I know I won't remember this moment—his face will fade into the dark, along with her memory—but for some reason I want to so badly. I can almost taste it. It’s silky-smooth on my tongue like chocolate ice cream.
“Okay, I guess.”
“You guess?” He shakes his head and tuts at me. “Guesses are for assholes still fumbling around for their dicks in the dark. I want your promises, or nothing.”
Now it’s my turn to straighten up. “Okay, I will… But you have to do it, too.”
There’s a challenge hiding behind my words, and it takes us both by surprise.
“Done.” His next smile is a slow and lazy thing. It looks like my cat, Zoya, stretching out in a patch of sunlight. “Don’t you worry about that, princess. There’s a whole world beneath the dirt of this city, and I'm planning on ruling over every square inch of it.”