Stargazer

by Teresa Zemaitis


He stargazes in the Astronomy section imagining the cool dark spaces scattered throughout the universe. He draws constellations in his ragged spiral notebook. It doesn’t matter that the cover is torn, the blue faded, the color erased by the folding and unfolding and the putting it in and out of his satchel. What matters is that later, when he unfolds his box and lays out his only blanket—the one that is not to keep him warm but rather to soften the concrete—he will have those images. And he will write. 

He will write of Lyra because it reminds him of his mother. She was gentle and beautiful with fingers that combed his hair as she hummed him to sleep. Aries always interrupted. She tried to protect him, but her hands were not strong enough. Her will was not strong enough.
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Now, he nestles into another book, but tonight he will write. 




​Armed Robbery

Desperation seeps under the crack of the door with rusty hinges and an eviction notice. I look through muddy windows and metal bars as people go about their business while my hunger makes me feel my body is eating itself to stay alive. 

Across the street, people come and go, happier on the way out under the neon yellow glow that reads Cash Advance. They have managed to survive for another week. But you have to have a pay stub. It would be easy. I still have my 9mm. I could wear my sweats and baseball hat with a bandana to hide my face so the camera wouldn’t know I was a woman. I could get enough to pay the rent. Eat every day. 

An old black car screeches to a stop in front of the door as I contemplate my crime.  A person—smaller, jeans, black hoodie—looks up and down the graffiti covered, grimy street and goes in, runs out. Sirens scream to the scene two minutes later. Black hoodie long gone. 
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Tomorrow the streets will be my home. I will hunt for food and keep my gun ready for I will become prey. I walk outside. Breathe in the stench of the block, the scarceness of hope. I head across the street towards an officer and raise my arms in the air. He looks at me quizzically. 

“I did it.”

My gun is tucked in my belt. My face hits the window as my arms are pulled back. I am dizzy. What’s going on? I am pushed in a car. The day is a blur. I did it. I did it. I did it. 

The day has gone dark and I am finally allowed to rest. My clothes are clean and my hair is damp as I lay on bleached sheets. I look through the bars watching people come and go. Music is drifting on the air, dancing through the cells. A tray is placed on a ledge nestled in the gate that secures me. I don’t have to rush, eat like a wild animal. I know another tray will come in the morning. 


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