Sketches by Eric Walters Page A

can’t just let him do that to us!” Brent snapped.
    â€œWe won’t,” Ashley said. “We won’t let him get away with anything. We just need to let it go for now.”
    Brent stopped straining against us and I could feel him relax. Ashley let go of his arm and I did the same.
    â€œYou know when he said to remember him?” Brent asked, his voice barely a whisper.
    Both Ashley and I nodded. I didn’t think I’d ever forget him.
    â€œI’ll remember him,” Brent said. “And maybe not today, or tomorrow, but sooner or later it’ll happen.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Ashley said. “Now let’s just go and get cleaned up and find someplace to stay tonight.”
    â€œShouldn’t we go to the hospital?” I asked. “Why?” Brent asked.
    â€œYour nose, and Ashley’s ribs . . . you two are hurt!” I exclaimed.
    â€œI just need to lie down,” Ashley said.
    â€œMe too. Let me get cleaned up first and then just lie down . . . I feel a little bit dizzy.” Brent staggered a bit and Ashley and I both grabbed him again to steady him on his feet.
    â€œI know a place where we can crash for the night,” Brent said. “It’s not far from here. We’ll just cut down the alley and—”
    â€œYou want us to go down the alley?” I said.
    â€œIt’s shorter that way.”
    â€œBut they went down the alley.”
    â€œThey’re long gone,” Brent pointed out. “Probably using our money to buy some chemicals.”
    â€œI just don’t think we should go that way,” I protested.
    â€œIt’ll be okay,” Brent said. “Come on.”
    He started walking, with Ashley still supporting him. I hesitated for a few seconds and then started after them. I didn’t want to go, but I couldn’t stay there by myself. Cautiously we moved. I strained to look up ahead, trying to see behind every dumpster and trash can, and into the depressions of the doors and the shadows cast by the buildings. I couldn’t see anybody, but then again I didn’t see those kids either.
    We reached the end of the alley and Brent directed us through a hole in a fence where three boards were missing. He went through first, followed by Ashley and then me. We were standing in a parking lot. The pavement was all buckled and there were weeds growing in the cracks. There was a shed sitting behind a building and trash bags and furniture all around it. As we closed in I realized it was a clothing drop box and there was a big sign on the building: “Salvation Army.” We stopped beside the drop box.
    â€œHere we are,” Brent said. “This is where we’re going to sleep tonight.”
    â€œWe’re going to sleep in the Salvation Army shelter?” I asked. We’d never done that before. Shelters asked for ID and I didn’t have any and—
    â€œNot in the Salvation Army shelter,” he said. “In the shelter of the Salvation Army clothing drop box.”
    â€œWe’re going to what?”
    â€œWe’re going to sleep in the box.” He pointed at the gigantic wood-and-metal box where people dropped off clothes and things for the Salvation Army to sell.
    He reached over and pulled open the big drawer-like slot. It was a large opening—big enough to take a green garbage bag filled with clothes. I’d gone with my mother before to put some of our old clothes in a box just like this one where we live . . . where they live.
    â€œGive me a boost,” Ashley said.
    Brent bent down and cupped his hands together, and Ashley put her foot into his hands, using them as a step. She climbed up into the slot and disappeared from sight. Her head reappeared a couple of seconds later.
    â€œThere’s enough space for all of us,” she said.
    â€œIs there anything for us to sleep on in there?” Brent asked.
    â€œLots of bags filled with clothes.