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7. Mi Casa; Tu Casa.

I get up, fast, pull on my shorts, hurry through the darkened trailer without turning on a light. I lift the paper I use to cover the window in the door, peep out, hoping... to see...

It's the landlady, Mrs. Wright. She lives in the house out by the entrance. She walks her dog down through the park several times a day, and night. I often run into her coming home late and get caught talking longer than I want to. She asks me for favors, gives me money off my rent. I never feel adequately compensated for the time and work involved, but, I just do it for favor, in case I do something that gripes her. Probably won't matter when it does happen. I open the door.

"Hi, Mrs. Wright," I say. "Is everything okay?""

"Yes," she says, "I just saw your light on and wanted to see if Caryanne was here. She said she'd paint my fence if I got the paint. I got the paint!"

There ain't a light on inside or out. Mrs. Wright.

"I..."

I don't know what to say.

"I didn't know about that," I tell her. "I'll probably see her tomorrow or sometime this week."

"Okay, just tell her any time she can. I'm gonna put the paint on the porch and she can just do it any time she wants. I'll just put the paint on the porch."

"Okay. Yes ma'am. I'll tell her." I'm hoping the conversation is over. It ain't.

"Did you hear about those kids getting doped downtown?" she says. "Somebody's been catching little girls and doping them up! They had it on the news. This world's gone crazy! Gets crazier every day! Why when I was a kid we rode our bikes and played Hide & Seek 'til the streetlights came on. Some kids went home when the streetlights came on. Some of us stayed and played some more. It was safer then. I don't know if it was safer, but we didn't worry about it. You have to worry about it now! People have to watch their kids to the school bus, be there to meet 'em when they come home. Hell, they ain't safe at school either! This world's gone crazy! Gets crazier every day!"

"A lot of them aren't safe at home!" I observe, regret potentially prolonging the conversation. She doesn't comment on that. She prattles on. I'm wondering when Caryanne and Mrs. Wright made plans to paint the fence. I figure asking will open a whole new area of conversation. I'm just glad she's not raising the rent for having an overnight guest. I regret thinking that, putting that thought out in the universe where it might land in Mrs. Wright's mind.

Her dog is pulling at the leash. She gives a wave, turns and walks away. I pull the door closed. I'm back in bed when I hear her voice. She's talking to someone else, laughing loud. The dog barks. A voice is talking to the dog, sounds like that, 'Who's a good boy?' repetition people use when they're petting their dog or someone else's. It's... it's a woman's voice. There's a knock on the door. I get up, go more slowly than before. Peep out. Caryanne! I hesitate to reach and unlock the door. I don't know why. I do it.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," she says. She crosses her arms. Her bike's leaning against her. She's in jeans and a tank top. She looks out toward the road. "I... I'm sorry to... come knocking. I thought I was good for tonight but... the place... I was going to stay... is... just not ready to spend time in. Can I...?" She stops, studies the ground, takes hold of her bike. "Can I stay here one more night?"

"Come on in," I tell her. I swing the door wide, point at a hanging basket with my unvariegated spider plant in it. "See that hanging plant back there, Caryanne? There's a key in the little water tray under it. If I'm not here you can just let yourself in."

I don't know why I did that.

"Bring your bike in. This is a bad neighborhood. People like me live here." She laughs, lifts the bike, sets it in. She has a small backpack, slings it off, hangs it on the handlebars.

"I had a place but... it's not clean yet. It's got a bathroom, just a stall shower, no tub, and no... shower curtain. I used it and got water all over the floor. It's a concrete floor but it just turned years of dust to a... slick gray mud. I can... fix it up... maybe tomorrow, or... it may take... a couple days."

She leaves that hanging. Looks back toward the bedroom. "I don't wanna take your bed. I can sleep here on the couch. I did the other night and neither one of us got a good night's rest. Candy I need... I need a couple days. I can stay out of your way. I just need a place to sleep... safely... and... a place to keep clean... and I'll be out of your way... well... by... by Wednesday... maybe... or by the end of the week."

See? I knew it wouldn't be just one night. But... now... I'm okay with it. She helps people. I can help her. I can do something for her. And for Andrea. I'm... not... totally altruistic here; I... like having her... around.

She's asking. She's asking and I'm not averse to the idea. I gesture to the four walls, "Mi casa; tu casa," I say. I turn, go back to the bedroom. I slide the pocket door closed, except for a couple inches. The air circulation's better with it open. She's at the door as soon as I lay down.

"I'm gonna take a shower," she advises. "I worked up a sweat trying to get here before you went to bed." I say, 'Okay. Make yourself at home', and she goes about her business. I hear the water running, imagine her naked in there, try to close my eyes and sleep. I'm wide awake. I hear the commode flush. What a wonderful device. I've wondered what a struggle it must be for homeless people to find a place. I look at the clock, pick it up. The alarm's set for Monday morning. Tomorrow's Sunday. I turn the alarm on, figure I'll let it go off, just to make sure I didn't set it for P.M. instead of A.M. I've done that before. I figure I'll be okay, get to sleep in, relax on Sunday. My mind wanders, keeps coming back to hot water and tanned skin. I'm kind of dozing, that wonderful feeling when sleep claims you, when I hear the water go off. I see the light darken in the crack I left in the door, her hand on it, pushing it back, reach for my robe, duck back out, close the door, trying to be quiet. Hell girl! How'm I s'posed to sleep like this? I roll over, face the wall. 'Sleep," I say, in my head, repeat it, over and over, trying to drown out other thoughts. It ain't workin'! Then it is. The body knows what it needs. Sleep comes when the body has no option. The body insists.

I dream of a carwash. It's... like I'm working there. And a black Lincoln Continental pulls in. I can't see who's driving. It wakes me up. The trailer's quiet. I think I hear Mrs. Wright's dog bark. It usually barks three times, and quits. Bark! Bark! Bark! I feel sleep insisting again, and go gladly with it.