Hunger

Austin: War Paint

September bleeds into October, bringing a misty haze of rain and fog with it. I've spent most of my time this week working my ass off to stay in a motel room, scraping together the sixty-five bucks we need each night to stay there. Panhandling and odd jobs are all I do or think about. 

Pixie and I are still sick. In fact, Pixie's getting worse and worse. She never completely got better after that first round of sickness. Her cough went away for a couple days last week, only to turn back in on itself and become a fever all over again, worse than before. Today she was above a hundred degrees on the thermometer, and she's throwing up what little food she can keep down.

I know she's dehydrated so I'm trying my hardest to keep liquids in her, but I can't be here 24/7 to make sure she's getting what she needs. The most important thing right now is to keep her inside and out of the weather. I know I can't dip into my saved money to pay for this room, but as long as I can make sixty-five bucks a day, we're good. For now.

It's four in the morning, and I'm somehow awake. I've turned on the bedside lamp and have my notebook open on my lap, trying to write. Beside me, Pixie whimpers in her sleep from fever aches.

"You can't plan for everything," I write, "I didn't plan on being sick this long. I didn't plan on meeting Rory. I didn't plan on finding that letter from Nikki. I definetely didn't plan on Pixie being this sick. If I'm honest I have no cloo what to do Im not sure I can keep up working so much. I wunder if I should just cave and take her to a hospitle. I wish I new a docter. I can't pay a docter much but I could work something out to get her treated."

I stop there. It's early, but I might as well start my day.

I feel good about leaving Pixie at the motel during the day while I work, because there's a lock on the door. Even though the chain lock is broken off the wall, the deadbolt still works, and she can stay busy watching TV. The motel's a dive in a shitty part of town, and it's dingy inside, but there's a bathroom and a bed so who am I to complain?

"I'll be back tonight, Pixie," I whisper softly in her ear, "I'm gonna go work. I've made your lunch and it's in the little fridge. Do you want me to turn on the TV for you?"

She nods her head weakly. I turn on some kid's channel and then force her to gulp down a tablespoon of medicine and a glass of water.

"Austin?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we go see Anna today?" she asks hopefully.

"You're too sick, Pixie," I reply.

"But I miss her..."

She hasn't seen Rory since the night she doctored my foot, two weeks ago.

"Well maybe when you get better, we can both go," I say.

True to my word, I've met with Rory every week. It's the highlight of my week, and being near her makes me feel lighter, like a little bit of this ever-present weight on my shoulders lifts, even if just for a few minutes. We've started spending more time just chatting. On slow nights I can hang around her register for up to fifteen minutes, listening to her tell me about her day, her brother, her life... so different from mine. I'll visit her tonight, and the thought strengthens me and fills me with hope despite how shitty I feel.

"Where's Olaf?" Pixie asks.

The plush toy has fallen off the bed and out of her reach. I pick it up and tuck it next to her.

"He's right here to keep you safe. Stay in bed today," I say as I open up the door. Then I blow her a kiss, "I love you."

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