The alternating pounding of bass drums vibrated the air while Devon tried to work through the crowd at the coffee shop. He didn't know who booked the almost-punk band into such a small space. Leaning against the short shelf that separated the espresso bar from the main room, he gazed into the hazy evening through a window sheered with yellowed organza.
He touched the string of beads about his neck, finding the rounded curls of rose petals shaped into a rosary that gave off a faint hint of summer no matter where and when he was. People passing by the almost-not-child remarked to themselves of the ethereal seraph surrounded by the mundane trappings of life...the greying dust that fell upon the ground from god's ashes as he slowly died from lack of faith...the clouds that coloured the landscape with an ice paintbrush...and the drab shrouds of Time barely touched by the sacrificed faces of the people that trod the earth. Long shanks of blond hair, wispy and feathered against his face as if it were angel's wings cupping a child's mouth, covered the spray of light freckles fading into nothingness on his paling skin. The sun had become a faint memory...a torch of light that was avoided in exchange for the night that fed him sustenance with its people and the leftovers of society's fashions.
His thin shoulders, clad in a dark turquoise velvet coat three sizes too large, perfumed him with the air of a Byron or Shelley sitting amid the rabble of the gutter...a lord's child fallen on hard times and eking a living on the coppers that he broached from others' pockets. Streams of beads fell from around his neck, a waterfall of colour that shimmered with the promise of innocence that belied the seductive lilt of his mouth as he made eye contact with those that walked near him. Smiling brought an ivory light to his face, a golden promise culled from nightmares and the comfort of sour cheap wine in the middle of the night warmed sweet from his mouth.
The woman working the counter that evening caught his eye, and Devon strained to recall her name, her strawberry blonde hair a vibrant memory from somewhere before...the faint memory of a party held in quiet abandon near a beach house they had all broken into one summer solstice. Lucie had come to him then, seeking out the warmth of his sweater and the touch of his hands over her shoulders...a small reputation of a lengthy touch and gentle muscle relaxation sometimes giving way to an offer of a bed or the promise of breakfast in the morning.
His stomach ached in hollow from hunger pangs...murmuring to coax a beignet or perhaps even juice from the older woman in dreads. Lucie smiled at him knowingly and, with a simple nod of her head, slid a bowl-sized mocha cup over to the radiant wanton edging away from the crowd. His lean hand reached forward and cupped the enormous offering, almost burying his palm with its warmth. Shifting it to his other hand, Devon mouthed a thank-you over the rampaging noise of the band, and his dark-flecked grey eyes widened in surprise as a pastrami sandwich followed the mocha, the bread festooned with chunks of jalapeņo slices and jack cheese. The mouth she craved, moistened with the tip of his tongue, drew back in another smile, the second of the evening from the ghost child that hovered near her clients. Carrying his spoils, he dipped into the crowd to seek out a semi-quiet corner to savour his food. Lucie turned at the disapproving tsk of the other woman working behind the counter with her, the soft lights glaring off her almost-shorn head and fierce scowl.
"I don't know why you feed him," the other woman muttered. "He's just going to keep coming back for handouts."
"If I feed him, he's less inclined to steal from the crowd." Lucie smiled as she took money from a customer. "Besides, he adds colour to the scene." Devon discovered a wide chair in a darkened corner, its patterned tweed worn smooth from decades of abuse and, after settling into its comforting arms, looked out again into the crowd. Taking half of the sandwich, he wrapped it carefully in several napkins and hid it away into his backpack. Sipping at the too-hot coffee, he felt the stinging burn smoothing the bumps on his tongue. Cussing, he rubbed his tongue against his teeth and set the cup on top of the small bookcase next to him and turned the other half of the sandwich over in his hand.
Droplets of mustard mixed with mayonnaise ran down over his hand and threatened to leak onto the cuff of his jacket. Tilting his head around, Devon's tongue snaked out and caught the edge of the rivulet, smearing it up the side of his palm and back onto the bread. Licking the smear clean, his grey, scattered glance caught the motion of a girl ducking her head to avoid his eyes. Craning his neck as he searched the crowd for her again, he noticed her thick boots, the black soles barely scuffed. Her heart-shaped face, dusted with glitter and rimmed with a deep blue, lay pristine beneath expensive foundation and bowed with a deep purple lipstick.
A soft hand, filled with glistening golden rings, covered her mouth momentarily as she leaned in to whisper to a friend dressed in the red, white and blue of a designer tucked into pages stinking of designer oils. She lost his attention as she looked towards him again, motioning for him to join her and her friend as they moved about the coffee shop. Devon shrugged to himself and nibbled at the pepper-encrusted meat that shoved at the brim of the sandwich. She moved closer...a beribboned moth to a flame that would consume everything she was without leaving even the ashen remains of her dignity. For a brief moment, he contemplated coaxing her into his normal dance, but the flash of a class ring on her finger and the small golden cross swinging at her collar shouted that she would offer him no shelter...not from the rain nor from the night's bruising hands. His eyes slid over her, unseeingly cruel for the moment, and her stride towards him faltered and turned unsure and insecure for the first time in her life wrapped in bubble gum and daddy's hugs.
The bite of the bread burned his throat as the jalapeņos met with the tender flesh of his scalded tongue. Wincing, he tried to swallow but ended up choking against the taste. A tap on his shoulder and the offer of a sip from a glass of iced tea warmed him more than the bread. Nodding his thanks as he swallowed, he handed the tumbler back and spun down into the enraptured face near him. Devon turned toward the low stage, usually filled with acoustic guitars and bad poetry, and tried to see what the young woman found in the singer belting out a tortured version of an old Misfits song. He could only see the rising red wave of hair as the musician drove his body against the chords of the guitar wail...reaching out to the crowd as a Judas seeking forgiveness.
As his torso twisted, an inked phoenix rose from his shoulder blades, the artwork burying down past the rolled waistline of his pants. Devon grinned and touched the spot on his arm that a friend has started to ink in exchange for a week of cooked meals and a warm bed for each sitting. Devon figured Erin would try to stretch the artwork out for seven or eight sessions, an arrangement that satisfied him in the fullest.
Leaning back against the chair, he dazed off into the noise of the shop, smelling the heat of the bodies as they pressed tightly against the counter and near the stage. Devon watched as Lucie hurriedly exchanged food for money, and he avoided the accusing stare of the other woman whose name he didn't even know. His stomach rumbled in defiance and loosed a soft belch that surfaced unexpectedly and was lost in the dissonance of the flatlanders trying to capture a beacher's sound in their borrowed songs. Tucking the sandwich's platter under the cup, Devon rose to take the dinnerware back to the counter but was intercepted by one of the kitchen boys, who snagged it from the blond wraith prowling the outer fringes of their society, sipping with a feigned carefulness from the nectar offered.
Devon shouted his thanks just as the music died into a whisper, the shout sliding from its hiding place out to the open. The blond merely laughed and patted the young Mexican boy on the shoulder. A hand wrapped itself around his waist, and Devon tried to move away from the touch, but the motion merely served to slide him into the body of the boy that cut him off. Screwing his nose up, the blond stepped back and pursed his mouth, letting his hair fall down over his face and hiding his emotions. A veiled oil of a proposition turned his stomach, and he caught the sour stench of coke coming from the boy. Within a breath the music started again, and Devon ducked his head down, followed the movement with his body, and tucked into the crowd.
His momentum drifted him around the spaces in the stream until he ended up near the counter again and mingled with the people gathered there. Glancing down, he noted the gaping purses laden with several days of food and the promise of a shower or three at the Y. His fingers, supple and taut, unsnapped billfolds and tucked out bills, stopping quickly when a hint of movement around him warned him off.
Shoving the money into the inner pocket of his longish coat, Devon eventually looked up and saw Lucie watching him. Waves of panic ran through him before she shook her head and told him to get behind the counter with her. The other woman came back from where she had buried herself and took up the business as Lucie led Devon back into the office space.
Settling down into her chair, she stretched her legs out and took measure of the lean boy reclining belligerently against the wall. At the party she thought he was about her age but in the full light, years pared from his face and manner, leaving a child holding Time in his hands. Deep lashes hooded his eyes, a falcon waiting for the jesses to tighten him to the glove. The damning sheaf of gold silk moved and covered his beatific face, lending the air of a disenchanted saint walking the soil for penance. The boy smiled and asked "Do you want me to pay for the food?"
"No. I just want to help you out somehow."
"Help out how?" Devon's voice, sultry and seductive, knew this tango...this drawing in of game to the reclining lion dressed as a lamb.
"You can work here for money, casually, and below the table." Lucie ran her hands over her face and stared at the start in the boy's grey eyes. "Just think about it...and if you find yourself short on cash, stop by and ask me. I'll find you something to do."
"Thanks. You're sweet, but I am looking for something else...I just don't know where I left it....unlike my parents."
A short kiss on her cheek and the feel of his hair against her exposed chest made her shiver as she recalled his hands over her shoulders and back that night, expert in coaxing out every lingering sigh of passion in her body. With a tilt of a smile, Devon slid back out into the evening...in the hopes of finding something in the void around him.
(Copyright by CatZachrid - No reproduction without express permission from the author)