Story by Barbara Jacksha September 15, Stone angels look down on Danika and me from their high-rafter perch. They got their wings arched high, ready for a fight.
How he came on all smiles, with all kinds of drugs that tangled up her veins. Couple months later, after they fought about some missing cash, Jake went and told her mama about the men and the sweat she traded for drugs. Jake told her daddy, too, and the last time Danika went banging on his door, he opened it wide enough to pitch out her studded jeans and suede jacket.
Like that was enough to keep out the cold. We hooked up there at Easter, over two plates heavy with ham loaf and fixings. I noticed her right off—Goth-black hair, black-ringed eyes, spooky-white skin—scooping spoonfuls before she made it to the end of the food line. I was in my usual spot on the old floral couch. Danika sat next to me, something other girls never dared, and I wanted to keep it that way. So I gave her a look. She gave a look right back. Up close, I could see the pinkest little mouth showing through smears of black-out lipstick.
Had to admire that. Danika smelled good, too. To get dessert and a bed for the night, we had to watch that old movie, The Ten Commandments, and then listen up while Sister Mary-Paul talked about Lilia at the well.
The neighborhood lines, one worse than the next. The line of hopheads jittering outside that dump where Jake hangs. Better than trash pickings and old-man dick. Everyone laughed except Sister, but now, months later, I see that Danika was right.
