Don't I Know You? by Karen Shepard Page B

like shopping for drugs in a dollhouse.
    They went to Central Park, one of those little gazebo things bythe pond. There was Burger King stuff on the bench that someone had just left there, and a crumpled condom in the corner.
    They sat on the edge of the railing, their backs to the path. The feeling of being stoned was good. The feeling about being stoned wasn’t. Nothing could get rid of the weirdness in his stomach.
    â€œIt could be Manuel,” Juan said, like he knew Steven didn’t want to hear it.
    The sky was the color of sour milk. The backs of his thighs were sweating. Everything smelled worse in the heat.
    â€œHe liked her,” Steven said. He’d started thinking about her in the past tense. Just in the last day. “He likes me,” he said.
    â€œHe lied to you,” Juan said.
    â€œI know,” Steven said. “I was there.”
    â€œSo why’d he lie?” Juan asked, again.
    â€œWhy’d he lie?” Steven repeated, as if repeating it enough would make an answer appear.
    â€œHe didn’t really lie,” Steven said. “He didn’t tell the whole truth.”
    Juan was quiet.
    They heard tiny bells behind them. It was the Cat Man, an old black man dressed in layers of beige clothes who circled the park pulling a haphazard train of little red wagons, tricycles, toddlers’ bikes with training wheels, and a shopping cart behind him. On every handlebar, seat, and basket, a cat. Some with one eye. Some with three legs. One with eight toes. The Cat Man rang finger-bells, clanged tiny cymbals, hit small metal wind chimes, a one-man concert for his cats.
    They watched him make his slow way down the path and out of sight.
    â€œYou gotta tell someone,” Juan said.
    â€œOkay,” Steven said.
    â€œPeople don’t really like people they work for,” Juan said.
    â€œHe liked us,” Steven said again.
    â€œWho liked you?” Phil asked from the path.
    Juan glanced at Steven. Steven could tell he was thinking: I can outrun him. Steven didn’t think he could. His hand was in his pocket. He closed it around the damp manila envelope.
    Phil ducked into the gazebo and sat on the bench across from them. He looked out at the pond. Some guy was rowing a girl and a baby around. He didn’t look so happy.
    Tell him about Manuel, Steven thought.
    Phil moved his feet inches one way, then inches the other. He asked how he’d been.
    Steven shrugged. “Good,” he said. It felt like he was keeping everything from everyone.
    Phil didn’t seem to have heard. “Listen,” he said to Juan. “I need to talk to Steven. He’ll meet you at home.”
    Juan looked skeptical. “We’re supposed to hang out together,” he said.
    â€œHe’ll be fine,” Phil said. He didn’t sound like a murderer.
    â€œI’ll wait,” Juan said, pointing at a bench up on the path.
    Phil shrugged, and Juan left. He didn’t sit on the bench; he walked around it, keeping an eye on them.
    â€œThey think I did it,” Phil said.
    Steven didn’t say anything. Some of the leaves behind thegazebo were already yellow and orange. There were years ahead of him without her.
    â€œDo you?” Phil asked.
    â€œNo,” Steven said. He could feel his heart, but he didn’t know if that was because he believed himself or because he didn’t.
    He waited for Phil to tell him he hadn’t.
    Phil swept the Burger King stuff off the bench and out the back end of the gazebo with his forearm. Steven watched the cup of soda spill and roll down the short hill to the mud at the edge of the pond.
    â€œI loved your mom,” Phil said. He waited.
    â€œYeah,” Steven said.
    â€œThink she loved me?” he asked.
    Steven still thought of him as his teacher. Phil used to bring green peppers to school for his lunch. He ate them whole, like an apple. It was weird to have this conversation with him. “I