"Oh, golly," muttered David at the sight outside the window. The rain sure had gotten worse during the drive from Campbell's Café, the downtown bus groaning away as water smashed against the pavement outside. Unlike most, rain didn't faze him, his trusty backpack at his feet, filled with gear required for a whole array of possibilities.
The bus swung familiarly onto Chorus Street and David pinged the grubby STOP button with his thumb. He stood up in preparation, holding onto the rails and making his way towards the exit. It wasn't too crowded and David had managed to snag a seat for once. He had had to take the route an hour later than usual, Mr Campbell having requested (told) David stay behind a little longer to sort out some new coffee deliveries.
The bus rolled to a stop and when Q opened the doors a loud whoosh of air rushed inside, tousling David's hair and sending a shiver through him.
It was stormy, a distant crackle of thunder reminding the city that it wasn't going anywhere soon. At least being soaked through gave David the excuse of a long bubble bath and some hot tea when he got home. He should make a soup with the mushrooms he'd collected during lunch break, too.
They were fortunate enough to have a little woodland behind the café. A man-made clearing had been constructed in the middle for picnics and gatherings, and the trees were bimonthly trimmed to keep them neat, but it was the best nature David had access to in the city and he was going to take full advantage of it. That afternoon, David had discovered big swells of chanterelles at the back of the forest; delighted, he had rushed back to the café for a plastic bag to collect them.
Upon return, Gwen had tried to make him throw them out. She was sure he'd poison himself when she'd seen their yellow colour and despite David's attempts to convince her they were only chanterelles, one of the safest mushrooms a person could possibly forage, she wasn't having any of it. David had ended up hiding them in his locker to save them from the garbage can.
He wasn't worried about poisoning himself in the slightest - one tended to be confident about these things after spending nearly every summer of your childhood and adolescence out in the Canadian wilderness with your Dad.
"Ya getting off or what, David?"
David hummed. He looked to Quarter with content, questioning eyes.
Quarter, who was the 408's usual weekday afternoon driver, stared back, eyes bloodshot and unimpressed.
David then realised he was holding up the bus. "Oh. Oh! Sorry, Q," he laughed. "In a world of my own just then."
Q shook his head.
David hopped off, looking over his shoulder to give Quarter a bright smile. "Thanks for the ride! See you tomorrow!"
Before he could finish his sentence, the doors were already closed. David continued to smile anyway, understanding that being a bus driver meant keeping to a schedule, even if it involved not having time to return pleasantries. Through the water-stained window he watched Quarter wipe his prosthetic hand under his nose, disturbing his bushy moustache before he set off again.
He spoke again, to himself this time. "Wowie, it sure is coming down." David hurried towards the shelter of the bus stop, swinging his rucksack off his shoulder and onto the bench so he could rummage inside. He found what he was looking for after a moment - his retractable umbrella - rezipping his backpack.
David pushed open the umbrella, taking a moment to admire its pine tree design before stepping out and the turquoise colour of it darkened against the patter of the rain. He set off down the street, shifting around a puddle that had gathered where some of the concrete had dipped.
At least the frost was gone, spring in full swing, although the wind meant there was a chill in the air that wasn't particularly pleasant. The walk was familiar to David so the lack of visibility from the rainfall didn't matter, the man humming to himself a popular song that had been played on the café's radio on-and-off throughout the day.
(Gwen had stated that if the radio DJ played it one more time she was going to kill herself, but David thought it was catchy and cheerful enough.)
David began to sing once he determined he was enough out of earshot to not be heard, a brisk swing in his step, wanting to get home as quickly as possible. He avoided a few more potholes that were filling with rain, watching the side of the road to his left rush with water which was being guzzled up by the sporadic drain. The streets were emptier than usual. Most had hurried inside buildings or under shelters to wait for the downpour to pass.
Walking past the laundrette and Goodwill, David sped over the crossing (already green) glanced through the windows of the local Denny's (filled with people) and gripped his umbrella tighter as a gust of nasty wind whipped around him. He took a left at Luna's Daycare, singing through the pang of hurt the sight elicited, relief replacing it as his apartment building finally came into view.
There was a little park nearby David would cut through to save some time when the weather was as bad as it was that day, the man at its entrance by the time he'd finished the song's chorus for the last time.
It was a pitiful excuse for a park, with more concrete and mud than anything green. The only indication of it supposedly being a park was the sign over the archway that said so. There wasn't a scrap of foliage, or even so much as a tree, if you didn't count the few rotting stumps. The main attractions included a trash-filled lake, vandalised benches and a playground that, in David's humble opinion, wasn't fit for purpose.
Although trying to be quick, David's conscience forced him to stop occasionally to help the odd earthworm or two from the path back onto the mushy excuse of a field, muddying his hands in the process.
He reached the playground, unable to hold back a sigh at the sight; more concrete, more steel, more cheap plastic. He didn't know what was worse: the crooked, unusable slide, the sad-looking jungle gym or the rusted-up swings. Each fitting was littered with graffiti, just like the park's benches. A new smattering of broken glass glistened in the rain. It caught David's eye, and he resolutely decided to clear it up tomorrow morning so none of the toddlers from the daycare would hurt themselves on it, often seeing them playing there in the morning.
David's feet slowed to a stop, caught up thinking about his rejected application all over again. He'd really, really wanted that job. All he'd ever wanted was work with children. He adored them. David had studied Childcare back at community college, the best in his class, and on top of all the work experience he did back in Canada he was so sure he'd make the perfect addition to any daycare or nannycare service.
The only problem was, no one would hire him. David wasn't naive. He knew exactly why. It was because he was a man. And men weren't supposed to want to look after kids unless they had an ulterior motive.
David felt sad, then. He allowed himself to feel it since he was alone, cold and homesick.
The swings creaked and that was when David noticed him. A kid. He couldn't have been any older than ten, hunched over, staring at his sneakers. He must have been freezing, in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt. Soaked. Water dripped from black curls in big blobs, tight fists gripped around the swing's chains, trembling.
David observed him for a few moments. He glanced about in a feeble attempt to look for his parents, or an older sibling, or even some friends.
No one. The park was completely deserted.
Concerned, David's long legs were walking him over before he could fully process it. "Are you lost?" he began, offering a friendly smile. His mind leapt to the first logical conclusion quickly as to why a young boy was alone when he should be safe at home eating dinner with his family.
The kid didn't react, perhaps ignoring David, perhaps not hearing him.
David got closer and tried again. "Hello?"
It was only when David moved his umbrella forward to shield the kid from the rain that he actually looked up.
He was underweight and dark-skinned (presumably Indian) and David was taken aback by the nasty swell of a bruise under his eye. After a few fleeting seconds of eye contact the child looked away with a scowl, pushing sideways on the swing slightly to put more distance between them. David automatically moved the umbrella forward to keep him under it.
"Not exactly the weather for the park, is it?" was David's next attempt at breaking the ice. He could feel his hair getting wet from the rain but kept the umbrella where it was.
The boy stayed silent, and David made a strained laugh at his own joke.
Oh gosh, thought David nervously. What was the protocol when you found a young kid, alone in a playground, in the bad part of town, in the middle of a storm, without a jacket and nursing a black eye? The whole thing made David's insides do flip-flops, alarms in his brain screaming wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.
Despite all this, David's plastered smile hadn't gone anywhere. "You mind- you mind if I, uh, sit here on this swing next to you?"
The boy glanced up again warily but ultimately shrugged.
David kept his umbrella over the child, concerned at how his little body trembled. The water was getting in David's eyes now, but he didn't mind getting a bit wet if it meant saving the boy from the rain.
"Hey," began David, searching for comforting words, "I know it seems bad. And I know you're scared right now, but-"
"I'm not scared, I'm fucking cold!" the kid finally snapped, kicking a worn sneaker against the ground.
David was a little taken aback. He'd certainly done a 180 from the shy, nervous boy David assumed he'd be from the lack of a guardian and the signs of abuse.
"Oh," was all David could manage. He wavered.
The kid smirked. Smirked. "Nothing else to say, umbrella man?"
"No." David opened and closed his mouth. "I mean, yes. Yes, I do. You know-" David cleared his throat, putting on his best authoritative voice- "You know, kids your age shouldn't be using language like that."
"Suck a dick, David."
David blinked both in shock and in awe. "How do you know my name?"
Kid bared his teeth in something David supposed could be defined as a smile. "I'm psychic," he claimed.
"Really?" exclaimed David.
"No," kid dead-panned. He gestured to David's chest. "It's on your name badge, idiot."
David looked down, seeing he had forgotten to remove it. DAVID stared back at him in big, bold letters, the man in question having drawn on a little smiley face at the end. David's cheeks flushed. He was supposed to be comforting a lost kid, but why did it feel like he had been transported back to his old elementary playground where he was being bullied by Oscar and Noah?
"Well, would you look at that," David laughed it off, smiling through the bad memory. He unclipped the badge, slipping it into his pocket. "Must have forgotten to take it off after my shift. Ha, ha."
Kid didn't look amused.
David steamrolled on. "I guess if you know my name, then I might as well know yours. Wouldn't you agree?"
The kid pushed back on his swing. David moved his umbrella with his movement.
"Well, my parents like to call me The One we Should Have Aborted," the kid informed. He snorted in laughter at the horrified look that crossed David's face. The kid loosened his legs, swinging lightly back into a relaxed position. "Ah, I'm just fucking wit' ya," he said. "It's Max."
"Oh-oh-okay!" replied David, unsure as his face morphed into another grin. "It is nice to meet you, Max. I'm David."
"I know. We already established that earlier. Remember?" Max paused, looking David up and down. "God. Has anyone ever told you that smile makes you look like a maniac?" asked Max, kicking a stone. "Because they should. It's super unflattering."
David was a little lost for words.
"Okay. I'm done talking to you," decided Max. "You can leave me alone now. Bye, David."
David recovered. "Now, Max, we both know I can't do that. I know I'm a stranger," Max nodded pointedly at that with a raised brow, "but it's going to be late soon, and I can't leave you alone out here on a good conscience."
"Then leave me on a bad conscience," said Max.
David frowned. "It's dangerous around here at night. Teenagers come here to drink and take drugs."
"How would you know? Are you their dealer?"
"What?" David's voice scratched up a few octaves. "No. I just- I've seen them before."
"Uh-huh. That's what they all say, but I'm onto you, umbrella man."
"I'm not a drug dealer, Max."
"Sure."
"I'm not!"
"Then why're you over here trying to sell me drugs?"
"Would you please listen?" pleaded David. "I'm trying to help you."
"Ugh. What are you even trying to prove? You trying to make sure the Big Man in the sky will let you into Heaven? Want to earn some karma? 'Cause I'm sorry to have to be the first to break it to you, David, but it's all bullshit."
David was unsuccessfully offended. "I don't want to prove anything. I just want to make sure you're safe. Do you want my jacket? You're going to get hypothermia at this rate."
Max screwed up his nose. "Ew, no. I don't know what gross diseases you're carrying."
"I'm not carrying anything."
"Sure," Max said slyly, repeating, "that's what all they all say."
David shifted. He changed the subject. "Look, the Police station is just up the road. We could-"
"No."
"Why?" said David.
"Because I said so."
"But, Max, if we go to the police, then they'll be able to-"
"You say 'police' one more time, and I'm gonna run," threatened Max.
David sighed anxiously. He looked over Max's bruised up little face, realising then that the offer of an ER trip was no doubt going to provoke the same response. "What else would you suggest?"
Max hummed dramatically, tapping his lips with a finger before he gasped with mock enlightenment. "I know!" He smiled sweetly up at David. "How about you fuck off? You know, because this isn't any of your fucking business."
David's brows pulled together. Max's behaviour was very concerning. He shook his head resolutely. "I can't do that."
"Yes," said Max, "you can."
"No," said David, "I can't. You're a minor, Max. Look, if you're- if you're refusing to go to the-"
Max gave a pointed look.
"Station. To the station," David finished carefully, "then… then…" David looked around for inspiration, catching sight of his apartment building again. "Then at least come back with me to my place so you're out of the storm." He put on his most determined tone, free hand coming to his hip. "I am not leaving you here."
"That's exactly what you're gonna do," replied Max without missing a beat, hot-headed. "Like I keep saying, this has got nothing to do with you. Besides, I'm not stupid; you think I'm gonna let myself go home with some guy I met in the park? Talk about a one-way ticket to getting ass-raped."
The colour drained from David's face. "What? I would- What?"
Max met his eyes in a hard glare. "Oh, come on. What am I supposed to think? Some old dude coming over here telling me I should go with him to his place."
"Old?" David looked mortified. "I'm twenty-three."
Max rolled his eyes, wiping his nose on the back of his hand before he continued. "Whatever. You gotta have some self-awareness, dude. It's pretty fucking creepy."
David deflated. He must be doing something wrong. Was it the way he dressed? Spoke? Behaved? It must be. Why else would this be assumed of him everywhere he went? It stung. "I'm only trying to help. And you- you wouldn't let me take you to the… the P-O-L-I-C-E." David got worked up. "What else was I supposed to do?"
Max didn't have anything witty to retort with that time. He went back to staring at his sneakers.
"I'm sorry," said David after a beat, feeling guilty. "I didn't mean to be creepy."
"Just fuck off, then," Max instantly reiterated.
The atmosphere turned awkward and quiet. Max stayed hunched over, waiting for David to give up. David, on the other hand, had no plans of going anywhere, desperately trying to think of a solution. The rain began to fall against the fabric of David's umbrella harder and his arm ached from being outstretched for so long.
What am I supposed to do? It was torture. Unable to leave Max there, unable to take him to him to the police station, unable to take him home. Think, David. Think. Think.
Then, it came to him. David nodded to himself, a good-natured smile lighting up his face.
"I know, Max!" he shared, "How about we go to Goodwill instead? That way I can buy you some dry clothes and a jacket, and you could get changed in the changing rooms."
Max straightened up and blinked David's way.
David gave a nod of encouragement.
Max squinted suspiciously. "What's the catch, umbrella man?"
"There isn't one! I keep trying to tell you," insisted David, "I just want to help."
Max scowled, David's kindness making him uncomfortable. "Gay."
David concealed a sad smile with (what he hoped was, at least) a reassuring one. "So, is that a yes?"
Max pointed an accusing, trembling finger. "Just as long as you wipe that disgusting smile off your dumb face."
"How about this one?" David wrestled out another jacket that looked about Max's size from the rails.
It was red, a black stripe up the back. It was so old the coated metal of its black zippers had worn away to the point it was exposing chips of steel underneath. The coat was just as ugly as the last five David had picked out, and Max shook his head in disdain.
"Okay-Dokay." David put it back on the rail, not saying anything further.
Max chewed on the inside of his cheek, shifting from foot to foot as he kept his distance. They had everything else: a yellow t-shirt, dark jeans, some red sneakers that hung from David's long fingers that he'd stuffed with a pair of socks, an old bath towel draped over his arm.
"I don't want to rush you," reminded David, "but they're going to be closing up soon, so you need to pick something quick, so you have enough time to change."
Max didn't reply. His arms were crossed. He shrugged up his shoulders and repressed a shiver. A little water from his hair had dribbled down the back of his neck.
There was a pause, before David tried being more direct. "How about you pick out the jacket?"
Max just shrugged again and looked even more disinterested.
"You have to work with me on this, buddy. My fashion sense can't be that bad." David laughed.
Nothing. Max didn't even crack an insult. It was strange - as soon as they'd left the isolation of the park he hadn't uttered a single word. Everything about the situation seemed to be putting him on edge, and David couldn't understand why. They were in public and inside. He'd have thought the park would be the place for anxiety if you were an abused kid getting out of the house for a few hours.
"Alright." David stayed upbeat. "Let's look at the hoodies instead." They walked a few feet forward and David began to flip through the lower-end sizes. He stopped. "This one looks like it would fit you."
He manoeuvred the hanger loose, carefully untangling the blue material from the others. He held it up to show Max with a "what do you think?" and considered the look of apathy he got back a victory. At least it wasn't disgust. That meant Max liked it, right?
It was simpler than some of the other jackets David had offered. It was cotton, and thus wouldn't be waterproof, but the fabric was thick and the colour was inoffensive. It would keep Max warm until summer, the big pocket at the front meaning the kid would be able to have somewhere to put his cold hands since David didn't really have the cash to fork out for some gloves on top of everything else.
"So that's a yes?" David went in for confirmation.
Max averted his eyes. "Whatever."
That's a yes, thought David. "Okay!" he chippered, hanging it over his arm with everything else. "Let's go pay!"
They headed over to the cashier, a little old lady who gave a friendly smile, which David politely returned. He set Max's new clothes onto the counter. "Just these, please," he said, the woman scooping them towards herself, trembling hands beginning to remove everything from their hangers.
"Would you like a bag, deary?" she asked.
"No, thank you. We're…" David changed his mind. "Actually, yes." He turned a little toward Max. "We can put your wet clothes in that," he explained.
"Whatever," Max repeated with a little more force, un-crossing and re-crossing his arms.
The old lady shook her head a little but still smiled. "I don't know," she tittered, scanning the tags and folding David's purchases up into a neat little pile, finishing with the towel on top. "Young people these days."
David gave a polite chuckle. He felt Max tense up beside him.
"That'll be sixteen dollars and fifty cents," she said with another smile and a light pat to the towel.
"Sure." David smiled, weeping internally at the price as he unzipped his rucksack. He found his wallet and removed his card from its sleeve. It was at times like these he wished Mr Campbell would let them keep their tips. Crossing his toes inside his shoe, David pushed the chip into the card machine, tapped in his pin nervously and successfully held in a breath of relief when it beeped happily. The charge hadn't been rejected.
"Here's your receipt, and your bag." The cashier, as unmindful to David's mini meltdown as Max, continued her spiel.
"Thank you very much, ma'am." David turned his attention back to Max. "Okay, you can go get changed now."
Max didn't seem to like that. "I don't need your permission, David."
David opened his mouth to agree that no, Max didn't need his permission, but was cut off by the lady behind the counter.
"You should be nicer to your father, young man," she scolded Max. "Spending his hard-earned pennies on you. Back in my day-"
"Bite me, old lady," interrupted Max. He pushed up onto his toes, draped the towel around himself and collected up his new, second-hand clothes.
"Max!" squeaked David, but it was too late. Max had already sauntered off to the other side of the store. "Sorry," blurted David. He brought up two palms and waved them about. "I'm so sorry."
The old lady, Shirley, David now realised as he read her nametag to avoid her eyes, didn't reply. When he managed the courage to glance up. Shirley looked in shock, her liver-spotted hands now resting on the counter.
"So sorry," was the only thing David could think to say. He backed away, his wet sneakers squelching against the cheap floor. Hunched over submissively, his ears burned as he hurried after his little companion.
David caught up fast with his long legs, Max waiting on him by the changing booths. The towel still hung over his shoulders like a cape, the big bundle of stuff in his arms, chin keeping the sneakers in place on top.
"Max," whispered David once he reached him, "you shouldn't talk to people like that. It's not very nice."
"Shut up," spat Max in return, David cringing as it carried across the store, but Max wasn't done. "By the way, I'm not paying you back."
David's scolding gaze softened. He guessed Max's rudeness towards the cashier perhaps might have been a side effect of him working up the courage for this confrontation. It made sense when he thought about it - Max was embarrassed and didn't want to be in David's debt. Recalling all his lectures on troubled, vulnerable children, David stayed calm. His smile came back. "Oh, Max. You don't have to worry about that."
His reassurance had the opposite effect to what David had wanted, as instead of sagging in relief, Max drew the clothes closer to his chest in defence, glaring at David harder. "I'm not," he snapped, and after a moment, war pathed on. "And just so you know, I don't owe you shit because of this."
David blinked. It was impossible to know what was the right thing to do with this one. He just kept smiling and pretending everything was fine. He was good at that. "Right."
There was another pause on Max's end, David watching the cogs turn in boy's head as he deliberated. The look was short-lived. Max gave one last unimpressed glance, turned silently on his heels and disappeared into the changing room.
David had been expecting to be waiting longer when Max reappeared, towel-dried and redressed.
"That was quick." David spoke his thoughts aloud. He opened out the plastic bag they had been given so that Max could drop his wet clothes and towel inside, which Max did silently. He cut around David and hurried back through the store and onto the street, yanking up his hood.
David barely kept up as he followed after him, halfway through the door when he called a goodbye, and a final apology, to Shirley. She managed back a feeble wave.
"So… what was all that about?" David prodded casually once the door tinkled shut behind them and they were out of earshot. "She was just a sweet old lady, Max."
Max's pace decreased. "She was a nosy old lady."
"She was nice," argued David, matching his own stride to Max's.
The storm had eased off a little, but it was still raining so David expanded his umbrella again.
"Oh, that's what you think, David," replied Max. "You know that gang shooting that happened on this street last week?"
That was a sudden change of topic David wasn't expecting. "…Yeah?"
Max stopped and David almost tripped over him as he stopped, too, nearly dropping his umbrella. The kid stared up at him, hands now buried away in his hoodie's pocket just as David had predicted, where he hoped they were a little more comfortable. Max looked left and right, a dark hand coming out again so it could crane a finger.
David, intrigued, leaned down to be closer, bringing a free hand to his ear.
"She did it," Max whispered into it.
David gasped and pulled back. "No!" he exclaimed much too loudly, eyes wide and comical.
Max nodded solemnly. "They call her Shotgun-Shirley."
"Really?" said David, Goodwill's plastic bag crinkling as he brought a hand to cover his mouth in horror.
Max nodded again.
They stared at one another as David took in the new information.
Max's mouth wobbled before he exploded into a laugh. "Oh my God! You're so gullible!" he yelled in David's face, believing David's naivety to be genuine. David found a finger being pointed at him. "Of course, she didn't kill anyone, dummy. I'm pretty sure firing a shotgun would give her a fucking heart attack!"
"Hey," warned David, narrowing his eyes.
Max smirked, apparently thinking he'd finally gotten under David's skin.
That was until David allowed the corners of his mouth to tilt up, pointing a playful finger of his own. "Language."
Max's eyebrows rose.
"Oh, look." David straightened up fully before Max could recover. He gestured inside the building they'd stopped outside of, a few stores down from Goodwill. "Sleepy Peak's open. You want to get a slice?" he offered.
Max looked but didn't say anything, however David noticed that his scowl had returned, as profound as ever.
"Aren't you hungry?" David was sure he must be if his malnourished state was anything to go by.
"No," replied Max, much too fast.
"Are you sure?" David didn't believe him. "I think I'm going to stop in any way," David continued before he could stop himself. God, what was he doing? He could hear his poor credit card begging not to be overdrawn for the third time that month.
But Max probably didn't have a fridge of food to go home to like David did, and being in debt would be worth making sure the child got a decent meal before they parted ways. David watched Max's ravenous eyes drag over the display of Sleepy Peak's menu.
"…I want pepperoni," requested Max.
Looked like they were getting pizza. David wished he had the money to be happier about it.