White Fox--Chapter 4, Part 4

They crossed a four-way intersection and maintained their route along E Street.  There were no large buildings in this area of the city.  Here was an abandoned and unkempt field enclosed by an ancient, chain-link fence; here was an empty, worn billboard that towered above the trees; here rested a squat building of austere design, untouched by man for a decade.  Clusters of homes with a Victorian flare rose up on his left and added a sense of style to the otherwise dreary and rundown neighborhood.  Most pedestrians or bicyclists passed by Renardo without as much as a glance at him; when someone did notice him, he thought that the swaggering youths would sooner rob him than shake his hand.  He mumbled to himself, avoided eye contact, and continued.  The park that he and Sancho frequented appeared to his left, so he crossed the street and stepped onto the dirt path that cut through grass and under trees.

He passed a homeless woman hugging herself for warmth and sat on a bench that stretched beneath a thin oak tree.  Sancho hopped onto the vacant spot beside him and nuzzled against his arm.  Renardo looked out at the park and could not help but notice how its beauty contrasted with its unsightly surroundings.  Even Consumo Tower, that brilliant new skyscraper guarding the Sacramento River, could not compete with the effortless architecture of nature.  Patches of grass reached up between masses of red and yellow leaves that served as an autumnal floor for the park.  The young man rubbed his arms as a chill ran through his body, and he turned his head when he heard a high-pitched cry to his right.  A small family was playing a game that resembled football; a boy was running circles around his parents and shrieking with delight as they attempted to catch him.  Even when he tripped and planted his face in mud, his pure excitement was not diminished.  He leapt to his feet and proceeded to engage in some sort of victory dance while his parents laughed with him.

“Stop being so emotional, Renardo.” Sancho’s ears perked at his master’s voice.  Sensing his sadness, the dog watched him closely.  “You’re like a woman sometimes.  Just stop.”

“I hope talking to yourself isn’t a habit of yours,” said a voice coming from behind him.  “If so, you need to get that checked.”

Renardo smirked.  “How ever did you find me, Nate?”

His friend petted Sancho and gently forced him off the bench.  He sat beside Renardo.  “Firstly, it’s Nathan.  Secondly, you really seem to like this park, for some reason.  It’s a little too close to the road for my taste.  I went to your house, but you weren’t there, so I thought I’d check here.”

“Yeah, I thought I’d go for a walk.  It’s better than being inside all day.”

“And I see you brought your sidekick, Sancho, with you.”

The dog cocked his head to the side at the mention of his name.  He stared at Nathan intently, hoping that the young man would produce a hidden ball or treat.

“So, are you still planning to go to Philadelphia? Or was it Pennsylvania? Whatever.”

Renardo chuckled.  “Nate, Philadelphia is in Pennsylvania.  You’ve always been terrible at geography.”

Nate made a face at him.  “Dude, I’m getting my degree in criminal justice, OK? I don’t need to memorize the states and all that junk.  Have you looked at a map lately? There are like fifty of them now.”

“Since when?” Renardo retorted playfully.  He stared blankly at the homeless woman sitting against a tree, about ten yards to his left.  Her face was hard and contemplative as she observed her surroundings.  “But to answer your question, yes, I’m going to book the flight tonight.  I just had some things to think about in the past few days.  I wanted to make sure I had all of my bases covered.”

“One of those bases being that girl you told me about,” Nate pointed out.

“Man, don’t remind me,” said Renardo, his voice sour.  “That’s going nowhere fast.”

His friend frowned.  “Didn’t turn out well, I take it?”

“I’m sure we can talk about that later.  Unless you’d really like to see me unleash my anger on an innocent tree right now.”

“That would be hilarious,” Nate replied, “but I wouldn’t want you to re-bloody your scabbed knuckles.”

A small fleet of black birds landed on the grass before them and began to peck at the ground.  Some of the creatures watched Sancho warily, hopping back and forth in expectation of a sudden attack.  The dog looked at them for a moment, and an expression of incurable boredom marked his face.  He lay down on the grass and planted his head on the soft earth.  The homeless woman rose to her feet with sudden excitement and, after fumbling through a weatherworn knapsack, she seized a ball of foil and approached Renardo’s bench.  With a toothless smile, she unwrapped the foil and revealed the crust of an old hamburger bun.  She broke the bread, handed a piece to Renardo, and proceeded to throw crumbs on the grass.  Renardo and Nate exchanged a nonplussed glance; then, awkwardly, Renardo followed her example.

“Renardo, what are you doing?” Nate asked dryly, failing to sound serious.  “Stop feeding birds.  You have to save the city from Malvin.”

            “I know, really.” 

White Fox--Chapter 4, Part 3

The road veered northwest again, and he made a mental note that he was now on E Street.  The trees, hale and washed with color, bowed to one another across the shaded street and beckoned him on toward the west.  Renardo stepped into a crosswalk area and was amazed when a driver paused for more than three seconds to let him and his dog cross to the other side.  Of course, he was not amazed when he observed a driver behind this gracious person, fuming noticeably and inching forward.

“I’m telling you, Sancho,” said the young man, “after I save this city from Malvin, I’m going to invest in some sort of charity that helps the poor victims of road rage.  But I don’t think there’s enough money in the world for that.”

In response, Sancho urinated on a thick tree rising from a strip of grass.  He then fought against the tension of his leash; Renardo was apparently walking too slowly for him, so they both increased their speed.  They had only moved a few yards before a familiar face appeared on the other side of the street.  An elderly lady with long, grey hair and a smooth complexion walked a long-haired dachshund along the sidewalk, heading southeast.  Although she was old, she seemed as hale as the trees lining the road, and she wore an expression that was both blissful and confident.  When she saw Renardo, she smiled sweetly at him, but a sudden sadness filled her eyes.  She waved at him, and her dog nearly hyperventilated with delight once it noticed Sancho.  Renardo crossed over to her, and the dachshund proceeded to sniff and jump on the small Australian Shepherd.  Sancho did not seem impressed.

“Mrs. Garcia, it’s so good to see you,” the young man said to her, giving her a small hug.  “How are you doing?”

“Well, it’s a beautiful day, I’m still breathing, and my feet aren’t aching too badly,” the old woman replied, studying him like a loving grandmother.  “And dear Renardo, haven’t I told you? You can call me Shelley, you know.  It’s allowed.”

“I know, I know,” Renardo answered with a playful roll of his eyes.  “I grew up calling you ‘Mrs. Garcia,’ though.  Calling you by your first name is pretty weird.”

The lady chuckled.  “So you decided to get some fresh air? As fresh as it gets in Sacramento, I mean.  Don’t get me started on my allergies.”

“Trust me, I won’t.” Renardo grinned.  “I think you kept me two hours past my bedtime the last time we discussed that.”

“You’re probably right.  It sounds like something I would do.” She looked at his eyes searchingly and took one of his hands.  “Now, my dear, how are you doing? Well, I hope?”

He nodded, but did not meet her gaze.  “I—yes, Mrs. Garcia, I’m doing pretty well right now.  Things could always be better, of course.” He had known this kind woman for nearly his entire life; he owed her more than such a lame response.  “I’m still really good friends with Nate.  In fact, he came over just the other day, and we talked over coffee for a little while.  Oh, and there’s this girl I’m sort of interested in.”

“Oh, my boy, it makes me so happy to hear that,” Mrs. Garcia replied.  Her voice thickened with emotion, and happy tears formed in her eyes.  “That’s wonderful.  What’s her name?”

“Corinne,” he answered, desperately hoping that they were not distantly related.  With his luck, Corinne was a niece of hers.

“What a gorgeous name.” She released his hand and watched, amused, as her dachshund continued to vie for Sancho’s attention.  “If you two ever get serious, make sure you bring her by my house.  Any women in your life have to go by me first, Renardo.  It’s my requirement, OK?”

The young man laughed.  “OK, Mrs. Garcia.  I’ll make sure to remember that.” He looked at her, and his smile dropped into a frown.  “I’m so sorry for not coming by lately.  My mind gets distracted easily, and I always find something to occupy my time.  But that’s really no excuse.  I mean, you’re my neighbor, and I’ve known you for so many years.”

“Oh, don’t fret about that,” the lady replied with the wave of a hand.  “You’re young, and you have things to do.  We all go through it.  I’ve definitely been there, believe me.”

“No, I mean it.  I’m going to try to come by more often.  Really.”

Mrs. Garcia beamed at him and took his hand again.  “You’re a sweet boy, Renardo.  You always have been.  Never change that, you understand? You’ll do great things one day.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Garcia.  That’s very nice of you.”

She nodded, looked past him, and let go of his hand.  “Well, I suppose I should continue my exercise.  You don’t look like this at my age by just standing around talking all day.” She tugged at her dog’s leash, and the dachshund—loath to quit her display of unrequited love—followed her southeast.  “Take care of yourself, my boy.  I’ll see you again soon.”

“Take care of yourself, too, Mrs. Garcia,” he called out to her.  “It was great talking to you!”

Somehow, Sancho looked relieved when they continued their walk.  He trotted with brisk tosses of his furry feet, looking here and there with an obtruding tongue.  Renardo glanced back at his neighbor and smiled warmly.  He had met few people as amiable and selfless as Mrs. Garcia.  Shortly after the crime-plague five years ago, he had spent many hours speaking to her and her husband about its atrocious nature.  Although it had not directly affected any of them, they had considered it a healthy exercise to discuss the traumatic event.  Nate was always too busy or disinterested in the crimes—that is, until recently.  Renardo did not have many others with whom he could speak about the subject, especially now that so many years had passed. 

The day Mrs. Garcia came to his door weeping was still fresh in his mind.  Three years ago, her husband of nearly fifty years had passed away.  She did not want to put such a heavy burden on him, she had explained, but she did not know who else she could turn to.  They had spent much of the evening sipping tea in his family room and speaking very little; there was not much to say in such circumstances, after all.  He recalled feeling utterly useless, sitting across from the grieving, grandmotherly woman and aching for her with every frown or tear that marked her face.  “I need to save her,” he remembered thinking.  “If only I could save her from this pain.” But there was not a particular brand of tea, nor a magic word, nor any known gesture of man that could bring her the healing she required.  Not even time could heal this wound, not completely; in her heart, she would always be tied to the man she had married.  Renardo’s eyes traced random lines in the broken sidewalk as he thought that, perhaps, Corinne felt the same way about her husband.