Hunger

Austin: Pixie's Problem

Late August 2016

I wake up one morning alone in the van. I sense Pixie's absence before I confirm it, glancing behind the passenger's seat to see the wadded up clothes/bed soaked with urine. Oh shit. I know what this means. In a second I'm up and frantically looking for her.

The last time this happened she ran into a Target and hid in the dressing room for an hour. She goes into these fits sometimes. It's like she gets trapped inside her own head, in the memories, and she can't come back. Anything from a nightmare to a smell or song can trigger them.

"Pixie!" I yell through the open back door.

My heart is racing, and I'm out of that van in a second, running around the parking lot like a lunatic. Last night I parked in front of a gym so we could get showers. Saturdays are always shower days because the larger crowds give us more cover. In the same strip-mall there's a little grocery store too. I was planning on going in there and stocking up on some supplies later today.

God, what if the cops already have her? Or what if she wandered near the road and someone grabbed her? I try to calm down and think rationally.

That's when I spot Olaf on the ground next to a drainage ditch by the road. I run as fast as I can. She couldn't have drowned. God, I hope she didn't drown! I follow the trickling, dirty water to its source, which is a gaping drainage pipe. There's less than five inches of dirty rain water and garbage trickling out of the mouth, and there's Pixie inside of it like a little water-logged bird, knees up, head down.

"Pixie!" I shout, crouching into the pipe to grab her.

She screams and starts flailing as soon as I touch her. I don't have time to talk her back to reality or calm her down. Someone will hear and call the cops. I scoop her up, grab Olaf and run for the van. Her feet and hands are kicking and hitting me with all the force in her five-year-old body as she tries to twist out of my arms. I lift her into the back of the van and climb in behind her, shutting the heavy doors behind us. We're safe for now but not in the clear. I take her two tiny shoulders and hold her in place as she kicks and screams.

"Pixie, it's okay. Look at me," I say, and I force her chin up.

Her eyes... God I hate that look. I call them doll's eyes. I don't know where she goes inside her head when she has those eyes, but Pixie sure as hell ain't here. To her, I'm just another monster who's going to hurt her. She's completely detached from reality.

I have no clue how to bring her back, so I start singing: "Do you want to build a snowman?" I hear her breathing change from frightened gasps to a more even rhythm. Her eyes are starting to focus on my face, and I can tell she's coming back. Encouraged, I keep going. "Come on let's go and play. I never see you anymore, come out the door, it's like you've gone away-"

"We used to be best buddies," she whispers, hiccuping.

"And now we're not."

"I wish you would tell me why." And now she's sniffling and the ghost of a smile appears on her face.

I almost collapse with relief as I pull her into my arms. She keeps singing that stupid song, and I rock her back and forth and kiss her hair. Her pajama bottoms are soaked and muddy, and she reeks of piss. Good thing it's shower day.

"Come on, let's get cleaned up," I say with a smile.

"But I'm all wet and dirty! I look gross!" she sobs again, pulling at her pajamas.

"Come on, we'll clean up and then get breakfast," I assure her, "You're always pretty, Pixie. You never look gross."

I finally get her out of the van and into the two-story gym. The man at the front desk looks up at us and his expression changes from welcoming to wary.