Tess and All Kinds, Page 2

Dawdling to miss the bus was not permitted.

  Tess pushed the office door open and waved wordlessly as she walked toward the bus stop, less than half a block away.

  "There's my girl," came a raspy voice a few yards ahead of her.

  Mr. Youngtree was almost always the first one in when Grandma set the gate computer to let people in for the day. Tess knew that if you slept in the shelter you had to be out of there by seven a.m. He must leave a little early. Most people seemed to stay as long as they could, especially when it was cold.

  "Hi, Mr. Youngtree." Tess walked steadily toward the gate.

  "How about a little bit of apple today, miss?" He pulled a wadded napkin from the over-flowing pocket of his worn coat.

  "Thanks, but I had breakfast. Can't be late."

  "Maybe this afternoon, then. Cut you a chunk with my knife. Just for you.."

  "Maybe." Tess knew she wouldn't. He was easy to avoid in the afternoon. All you had to do was walk behind the back row of storage lockers and he couldn't see you.

  Tess pulled the chain link gate tight, listening for the loud click that meant the lock was in place. She glanced at the bus stop, where four other children waited. Gina, from the kindergarten class, was hopping first on one foot and then the other. When one foot was on the ground, the other was tucked up under her skirt. Thank goodness Grandma didn't buy Tess any skirts. Pants were 50 cents at Salvation Army, and shirts were a quarter. Dresses were one dollar. Tess had one dress. It was for school picture days.

  She looked down the street, away from the bus stop. No Mr. Jasper. Maybe he wouldn't come until after she got home from school. She walked toward the bus stop. If she sucked the cold air in short breaths, it didn't make her chest hurt.

  After school, Tess ran from the bus stop toward the strip of low buildings that housed the storage lockers. It was windy now, and the breeze wandered behind her head and down the back of her neck. Grandma looked at the Salvation Army every week to see if there were any coats with hoods. Tess didn't really care, but Grandma always said a person had to keep their head warm, else their heart would freeze. Tess thought she just said that so Tess would keep the old scarf on her head.

  She punched the code on the security pad, each number a quick jab. Perhaps she could still see Mr. Jasper. A quick look down the main row of storage lockers showed no sign of Mr. Youngtree, but he could be out of sight in his locker. She darted behind the back row, impatient to be rid of her knapsack.

  The door to Grandma's office jingled as she opened it. "Afternoon. Mind the floor." Tess looked at the damp floor and the mop in the corner. "What happened?"

  "New tenant brought me some wine he made." Grandma looked up from the work she was doing. "Dropped it, he did."

  "He brought you wine?" It was too early for Christmas. All of the regulars gave her something then. Usually it was what one of the charity people gave them for Christmas. Grandma said it was the thought that counted.

  "Said he makes it every summer. Had more left than usual."

  Tess eyed her grandmother. "So, I guess," Tess tried to hide her disappointment, "he's gone, huh?"

  "I expect he's still there. You can..." Tess didn't wait for permission.

  Mr. Jasper was shoving a box toward the back of his nine by twelve. Tess could see it was more space than he needed, especially because of the shelves. Mostly it was the "have-it-all" types who built shelves. The people who had the locker before Mr. Jasper had the white boxes you had to buy. Every box had a label and was stacked neatly on top of another.

  He straightened when he saw Tess standing in the doorway. "Afternoon. Tess, isn't it?"

  She nodded. When she said nothing more, he resumed rearranging his boxes. "Are those your memories?"

  "My..?" His puzzled look changed to a slow smile. "I suppose you could say that."

  "Why did you bring them here?"

  His smile was gone. "Needed a place to put 'em." Mr. Jasper returned to his work, and Tess looked around the storage bin. Most of the boxes were the kind you get at the supermarket. A few were from liquor stores.

  "Where's your kin?" she asked

  "Where's yours?" he replied.

  "Don't know. Except for Grandma."

  Mr. Jasper looked at her hard, and Tess thought his eyes got a little more friendly. "Mine are all here. Mostly, anyway." He paused as he lifted a box from the floor and put it on one of the lower shelves. "Sold my house. Moved in with my daughter."

  Tess thought about this for a moment. Most people who sold houses seemed to use the money to buy another one. She said so.

  "Got some other uses for it." He regarded her again. "Does your Grandma know where you are?"

  When people asked that, they usually wanted her to leave. Tess looked at him for a moment and walked slowly back to Grandma's office.

  The shoe box was where she always left it, in the bottom drawer of the oldest file cabinet. The drawer squeaked when you opened it. She squeezed between the file cabinet and the wall and sat the worn box on her lap.

  Her favorite treasure was the sea shell. Her mother's best boyfriend had given it to her. Her mother hated it when her boyfriends gave Tess presents. They were supposed to give all their gifts to her. Tess kept the shell rolled in a paper towel. She unwrapped it gently, looking at how the folds of the shell turned around on each other. She loved its sleek lines and soft colors. The boyfriend--what was his name? Bill, maybe--had said if she held it to her ear she could hear the ocean. She hadn't, but she still liked it.

  The tiny pink barrette was her other best thing. Tess had it when she was 3 or 4. When she wore it, she felt sort of like the other little girls she saw. They wore a lot of pink and yellow clothes, and their hair ribbons or barrettes always matched their shirts or dresses. Tess' clothes never matched, but when she wore the pink barrette she could pretend they did.

  "Tess." Grandma's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Come out and start on your homework."

  "Yes ma'am." She put the barrette back and carefully rolled up the shell. She had to practice her cursive. When she wrote a "G" it reminded her of the shell.

  She still didn't know what Mr. Jasper's memories looked like. Maybe tomorrow.