The Hungry Tramp

I was always the last one to wake up. The last one at the breakfast table, only left with ice-cold coffee and the wimpy butter sliding off my pancakes. If I’m lucky enough for pancakes. I’m usually not, though. In a house of fourteen kids, it’s first come first serve, and being the last one up doesn’t help. But tonight, I was the first one up. My sleepy head bounced between my shoulders and my hair had fallen loose around my head. My legs, which felt like wood planks, drove me towards the doorway, with the faint remembrance of a loud knock.

My legs felt bare and cold when I stepped outside onto the icy steps, a December breeze swirling around in the lot. I punched my stomach with a fist as it roared with hunger, pained by days of starving.

“Why am I here?” I asked no one in particular, pulling on the edges of my ratty robe. “Hello? Who knocked on the door? Anyone out there?!” I turned around, looking up at the falling neon signs written in loopy letters decorating the doorway. Miss Darla's home for orphaned girls. My breath formed icy clouds in front of my nose. Home. Nope. No way. I shuddered, and not from the cold.

The door had jarred open, so that I could hear all the sounds coming from inside the orphanage. Miss. Darla’s snoring. Some of the girls whispering to each other. And the eerie sound of shifting cloaks. Wait. That wasn’t from inside. I looked out into the big iron gate that separated us from the world, where the noise had come from. Though it was normally closed, it was swinging around from it’s post now, giving me a clear path out. But I didn’t dare to run. Instead, I looked for the person who unlocked it. They'd be in big trouble with Miss Darla.

“Hello? I know that you’re there.” I shouted, tiptoeing towards the iron grill. It was red and rusty from years of age, so rusty that holding on to it too long could make blisters pop up on your fingers like mosquito bites. A small, cloaked figure emerged from behind the gate. Even though she had a hunchback, the woman had small, clawed fingers, which were easily experts at pickpocketing. My blood froze. The tramp. 

“H-hello dearrr.” The tramp said. She was an old hag, with a warty chin and platinum hair. I wrinkled my nose. 

“Go away! You’ll be in big trouble!” I exclaimed, trying to keep my distance. Her fingernails were long, abhorrent, and sharp. Maybe even sharp enough to pierce through my skull. The woman shuddered in the cold.

“Tsk tsk. I’m n-not here to harm you. I am j-just in want of some bread. Maybe a spot of tea? Just s-some of your time, mizzy.” I let my shoulders drop. She didn’t want to kill me. She was just hungry. Phew. 

“Um, I don’t know if we have much food to spare, but I could go check.” At the mention of food, my stomach silently churned. The woman’s wrinkly lips turned up into a smile.

“V-very much obliged. W-what is y-your blessed name?”

“Charlotte. But everyone calls me Charlie. I’ll be right back.” I turned back into the orphanage and climbed up the stairs, taking a right into the room for the big girls, the ones who were eighteen or older. Most of them were asleep. My spot on the five-girl bed was empty, the blanket stuffed up with a pillow so that if Miss Darla came up, she wouldn’t miss me. Slung across the creaking iron frame was a satchel, stuffed with some of the bread I stole from the breakfast table. I gingerly opened the latch and removed the loaf from the bag, stuffing it under my apron, hungrily, longing for just a bite. The bread was stale and hard, maybe too hard for an elderly woman, but I didn’t dare to go down into the kitchen. For all I knew, the bread there was stale, too.

“Here, madam.” I carefully slipped her the loaf. My stomach growled, aching to put some of the bread into my watery mouth, but I clenched my jaw and held on. She stretched the bread between her fingers, making it break in two.

“You look like a hungry girl, n-no? Take some.” She handed me the other half of the loaf. 

“Thank you, madam.” She smiled.

“Alas, I’m a-afraid I don’t have anything to give you, other than a conversation. Would you give me the pleasure of going on a stroll?” I was about to say no, but there was a pleading way in her demeanor. I nodded.

“Alright, but we’ll have to be quick, or else we’ll freeze to death.” I pulled on my apron once again. It wasn’t enough for a December night, but I put one foot in front of the other, until I was waiting outside the gate. The woman crossed through the jarring door, but I stayed frozen, like a statue.

“W-won’t you come?” She asked. I shivered.

“Sorry, it’s just… I’ve never been out of here. Not for eighteen years.” The woman chuckled, taking my hand and leading me out the gate. A weight flaked off of my shoulders as I took a step into the real world. 

“Hurry.” She looked both ways before walking across the street. I followed her.

“Are you gonna eat your bread?” I asked, pointing towards the loaf. She stood up a little straighter, unlike the stuttering old hag that I had seen at the orphanage. Her face, though still wrinkly, showed signs of prettiness from long ago, and her hunch became a simple slump on her shoulders, like something was weighing her down.

“Yes.” She tore off a chunk and popped it into her mouth, but didn’t take any more.

“Um, okay.” We walked in silence, the only sound between us being the swooshing of the wind, until a young man walked down the sidewalk, heading our way. He looked down intently at his feet, walking quickly, like he was in a rush. So much of a rush that he walked straight into my body. Ow. I fell down onto the icy pavement, rubbing my shoulder.

“Ouch, watch it!” I hissed. The man walked on, not shooting me a second glance. Instead, he thrust his hands into his shirt and quickened his pace. “What an idiot.” I put my numb fingers into my apron pockets, hoping to be comforted by the feeling of lumpy bread. However, my fingers met nothing. I shoved them in deeper, looking at the pavement to see if I had dropped it, but the loaf was gone. I turned to look at the man, who was now turning down the corner. “YOU LITTLE THIEF!” My legs pumped as fast as they could manage and I chased the man, tackling him at the intersection. He fell as soon as I hit him. 

“Get off me, you idiot!” He screamed, pushing me off of his legs.

“Gimme back my bread!” I grabbed his wrist.

“Gee, you’re that hungry? Then why don’t you go home and make yourself some hot chocolate or whatever.” He tossed the loaf at my feet. I squeezed onto the now bruised crust, holding it like a lifeline.

“You could’ve just asked.” I mumbled.

“Right, because you would’ve just handed it to me.” The boy said. His voice was thick with sarcasm.

“Yeah, I would’ve. Here.” I tore the piece in half and put one into his winter white palm. It was pale, and cold. The boy’s face flushed red.

“Um. Thank you? I guess. What do you want?”

“Excuse me?”

“What are you bribing me for?” I could feel my face grow hot.

“Nothing! I don’t bribe people. Just eat the bread if you want it, and if you don’t, I’m not gonna care. So have a good night.” I growled, turning around to go back to the old lady.

“I’m sorry, geez. Just wanted to know.” The boy stood up, towering above me. I guess ‘young man’ was a better fit. 

“What’s happening here?” The old woman asked, walking over delicately, like if she went too fast her back would break.

“Nothing. Let’s go.” I started to lead the woman away. She shrugged, taking another bite out of her loaf. I looked down at mine. It was half as big, only a few mouthfuls. 

“Would you like to come, too?” The woman asked, turning around to face the young man. She didn’t look very happy, and I’m guessing I didn’t, either. He shrugged.

“Sure. Whatever.” He snorted, sending a puff of smoke through his nose, before eating all his bread in one big bite. I grimaced. 

“Come along, children. We don’t have all night.” The old woman started to walk again, even though she was probably tired. I twisted around my fingers.

“So, um, do you have a destination in mind?” I asked. She grunted.

“You ask too many questions.”

“Are you going to get us kidnapped?” The young man asked. I slugged him in the shoulder.

“Rude!” I crossed my arms over my chest, like his proposition was ludicrous, but inside, I had my own doubts. 

“No.” The old woman slowly shook her head, taking a moment to stifle a laugh, before turning to face us with a serious look, chewing on her bread. “Just be patient. We’ll get there in a minute.” The streets we trudged down were different than before. They weren’t decorated with storefronts or neon signs. Instead, they were shallow with weeds, the trail turning into slush under our feet. I could feel a shiver go up my spine, but I ignored it and turned towards the man.

“So, uh.” He stammered. “Nice to meet you…?”

“Charlie.”

“Charlie.” The boy repeated, like he was kind of confused. “That’s a girl’s name?” I shrugged.

“Yeah.”

“Cool. I’m Dylan. Sorry about…” He scratched the top of his head.

“Yeah, no problem.” I was about to say more, maybe ask him about why he was a thief when all of us stopped in our tracks. There, up ahead of us, was an old, falling castle. The stone was crumbling with erosion, the cement gray with grime. The whole roof was falling into the rooms, and iron scaffolding was exposed and red with rust. The woman sighed.

“Home.” She started to walk in.

“Um, are you sure it’s safe?” I asked, following her through the crumbling remains. It was like stepping into a bombing site.

“Yes. I am. ” The woman let herself into a big, open room that wasn’t completely ruined.

“Sweet place.” Dylan said, turning towards me. “Do you two live here?” 

“No.” I ran a hand across the dusty ground. “I live at an orphanage.” Dylan whipped around, ducking under a cement brick.

“An orphanage? You mean that spooky place with the broken neon sign? I heard that people who go in never come out.” I slowly nodded.

“Yeah, that’s the idea.” I shrugged and settled down next to the woman, who was lighting a match.

“What’s it like to live at an orphanage?” Dylan asked, brushing his hands against the walls. I shrugged, ready to say normal, or okay, or maybe even good, but none of that was true.

“It’s… awful.” My shoulders loosened as the words came out of me. “It’s ironing until your fingers are raw, it’s chopping wood until your arms are sore. It’s sitting in a dark room, all alone, when you’re too slow, until you see the error of your ways. It’s never knowing who you belong to. It’s never knowing if you belong.” The old woman stopped kindling her fire and looked at me with wide eyes.

“It’s okay, Charlie.” She assured. “You’re never going back.” I nearly jumped.

“What?! But Miss Darla will be on my tail! And I can’t live on my own. I’ve never even been beyond the gates! What about all the other girls?” The old woman laughed.

“You managed to spare some food, when you were starving. The least I can do is return the offer.” She pulled out a large plate, the size of a wheel, and set it above the fire to roast. Tomatoes sprinkled with basil, cheese, crackers, fruits, meats, sauces, and of course, three loaves of bread, crispy and freshly baked. My mouth began to water.

“Why did you come to me when you could pull all this together?” I asked, pinching a tomato to see if it was real. The woman straightened her back and looked at me, then Dylan.

“I used to live here. This home, it was once mine, when I was a young girl.” She closed her eyes. “When I grew old, unable to care for all this, I left it all behind and went to find my own way. And I did. But now, all this treasure has no one to care for it. And I believe you two may want a few dollars to spend?”

“Treasure? This place is just a sand pit.” Dylan grumbled, hugging his knees to his chest like he was angry. Angry that all this money was just sitting here while he was starving on the streets. But in his eyes, I could see disbelief. Wonder. 

“Appearances.” The woman said with a naughty look. “Can be deceiving.”

“What?” Dylan edged closer to her, his face lit up by the fire.

“Eat, first.” She pushed the roasted vegetables towards us. I picked up a tomato. It was awkward, at first. No one said anything. We just grabbed for the food and stuffed as much as we could down our throats. But then things slowed down. Eating with strangers is kind of weird. Watching people watch you eat. It was like a testament to who you were. Slow eaters are delicate people. Fast eaters are too rushed. And messy eaters are messy people. I started to turn my back and chew on the soft bread. It melted in my mouth.

“You don’t have to do that.” Dylan said, grabbing me by the shoulder. “You don’t have to hide.”

“Oh, um, okay.” We didn’t say anything else. Instead, our eyes did the talking. If there’s a treasure here, if there’s really something, I want it to be ours. Not mine. Ours. I watched him carefully. Every bite he took, was a bite of gratitude. A bite of trust.

“All right, what’s all the hype for?” I finally asked, getting up on my feet. My stomach was bulging, more full than it had ever been, so full I wondered if it would pop open.

“Go down the steps. Into the basement.” The woman wheezed. “My old legs are tired. They won’t let me go anywhere, stubborn things. But I have the keys.” She hobbled over to the edge of the room, carefully moving a brick off to the side, revealing a little iron rod. The key. She folded it into my palm. “May your path differ from mine.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, fingering the key, suddenly nervous. 

“You’ll figure it out.” The woman assured, before collapsing onto the mortar floor. In a few seconds, she was snoring.

“C’mon, Charlie.” Dylan whispered, already heading down the creaking steps. One of them broke under his weight. “God!”

“Be careful.” I muttered. My eyes didn’t move from the old woman’s sleeping figure. May your path differ from mine. Dylan chuckled softly as I glided past him.

“Since when do you care if I’m careful?”  His words weren’t harsh. They were light and playful.

“Since we became a team.” I whispered, brushing his face with the tips of my fingers, facing the big basement door. It had knockers the size of my face, embedded with birds.

“Weird choice.” Dylan mumbled, picking up a mortar brick.

“Why do you need that?”

“Protection. We have no idea what’s down here.” I jarred the door open slowly, and as soon as my eyes fell on the room, I could feel my legs grow weak. Dylan dropped his brick with a thud, but the sound was lost to our ears. As far as we could see, were mounds of gold, statues, pillars, and scrolls. Riches beyond our wildest dreams. Opals, rubies, jades. All there.

“My god.” Dylan muttered, searching for my hand, like he needed support. I did, too.

“Wow.” The old woman was right. The old woman was telling the truth. I turned in my tracks and went back up the stairs. With all this, I can save the orphanage. I can escape Miss Darla. Forever. Tears brewed in my eyes.

“You were right! All that gold, all that money. It’s there. I can save the orphanage, I can save the world!” I could just see it, bringing the police to Miss Darla, and paying them handsomely for their work. I could see it all happening. I could see myself standing back up, on my own. But the old woman wasn't smiling. She was lying on her side. Breathing hard.

“Oh no.” I slowly pulled her small body closer to my legs. “Nononono.”

“Hush, child.” The woman pulled something out of her pockets. Bread. Not the good bread she had just served. The stale bread. The one I had given her. She popped it into her mouth and curled up into my arms, like a baby, her chest’s rise and fall slowing down until it came to a gentle stop. I could barely even hear Dylan run back up.

“It’s okay. She’s in a better place.” He whispered, squeezing my arm. But his face drew together, seriously, as he remembered why he had come. “Look what I found.” He flipped out a scroll, yellow with age.

“What is it?” I fingered the loopy writing. 

Dear person,

 If you are reading this, you have made a terrible mistake.