Almost Home by Jessica Blank Page B

open air, finding our own food and surviving. We even had plans.
    But within a week of landing in L.A. Annabelle was headed up to Berkeley, following some stupid band she heard was there, and my head started roaring again.
    Those first two weeks were pretty goddamn loud. When I met Critter underneath the 101 I stopped noticing the noise so much. First of all, just having another person’s voice there drowned it out. And Critter always makes sure you eat, when he’s around. He strolls down the Hollywood sidewalks like he’s lived on them forever, and everybody knows him. It was nice having someone look out for me a little bit; I’d forgot what it felt like.
    But Critter’s just too fucking good-looking to be considered reliable, so things never really quieted down for real. Those four months that it was me and him it used to make me nervous: he’s the kind of guy you might sometimes love but you don’t really want to need, because he’ll never ever need you back.
    A month or so ago we found Eeyore back by the Dumpsters. Three days after that Rusty came along. Since then I was happier, and for the first time I could sleep: there’s enough of us now that it’s almost like a little family. Eeyore mostly only talks to Critter, but Rusty and me are perfect. He fits with what I’m missing somehow: our sentences match when we talk to each other. That never happened to me with anyone except Annabelle. I thought you only got it once per life until I bought Rusty some burritos and we started talking. I mean, he’s not a girl, so I guess it’s different that way. But he needs me and that part’s the same.
    But now Rusty’s gone and he didn’t say where he was going. I know he’s not used to being out here, and I didn’t think he was the type to just leave. I’ve been wondering what he’s gonna eat since this morning. How he’ll find his way back here, no bread crumbs. And I keep trying to keep track of everything I did and said, in case I made him go away by accident. I can’t stop. I lean over into Germ and listen to him snore, hoping it’ll drown out all the other noise. At least Germ’s not going anywhere. Nobody’s gonna feed him but me.
    Of course right when I finally get to sleep, the sun comes up. I roll over into my backpack to stretch out the dark, but one sound gets in, and then another and another, and I’m up. I keep my eyes shut anyway. Against the black-eyelid backdrop my mind picks up where it stopped last night, keeping track. I’m not worried about Critter: he’s always leaving to buy shit or sell it, and he always comes back. I know Eeyore went with Critter because that’s what she does, and she’ll be back when he’s back for the same exact reason. But that still leaves Rusty.
    The light gets brighter and brighter through my eyelids while I lie there till everything looks blank and red. Halfway into rush hour Germ hears something near us. He picks up his head. His collars clink together before the leash tugs on my hand; then he’s up and jumping, happy; shitty watchdog. I open my eyes and he pulls me with him: slobbers his face into the bag Eeyore’s holding, rustling the grease-stained white till Critter grabs it away from both of them, takes a glazed donut and gives it to Germ. Critter slaps my hand hi. Eeyore copies his smile. They’re back.
    Their voices take the edge off my alone—at least I’ve got something else to listen to—but after hello they mostly talk to each other, as usual. Nobody needs anything from me. I could turn invisible and they probably wouldn’t notice. I pick at the sole of my boot and talk to Germ. Rusty’s still gone. I spend the next two hours wondering if he’s coming back.
    At ten the 217 bus pulls up and I get my answer. He’s the fourth one out the door, after two Mexican guys and an old white lady who looks like she’s made out of dust. He seems nervous in a happy way, the way I guess you’re supposed to be before the first day of school, or