The World Without Flags

But Franky is busy all day, every day. Everyone wants Franky around. And Diane is so, well, not to be mean, but she’s like the apple I just ate. She’s bland and boring and kind of mushy and soft. I don’t eat the apple out of pleasure, that’s what I’m saying. I feel like Diane is like that. She came here about five years back or so, with two kids, Amber and Curt, who’s just a couple years younger than me. They came from Boston with the usual hellish story. I remember when she came here, she was as near to death as you can be without dying. She was like bones and skin and not much skin. She didn’t even talk for the first few months except to say thank you for everything. She looks better now, but still has a kind of frailty about her, like she’d crack into a thousand pieces if you said the wrong thing. She’s tall and slim and has scraggly blonde hair that she keeps long even though long hair is such a pain.

I guess I sound kind of harsh toward Diane. I don’t mean to be like that. She’s not bad. She’s just, well, damaged. She never smiles and even though she’s only in her early thirties, she looks really old. She looks tired all the time. I can tell life is very hard for her. Not the stuff that’s hard for all of us, like the fear of starving or whether or not there’s some marauding gang on the horizon. I mean just normal stuff. Like cooking and washing up and getting out of bed. She’s like on the edge, just hanging on. I think sometimes Franky’s with her because he likes to tinker. Maybe he thinks he can fix her the way he can hang a door level or patch up a hole in the wall. Franky’s very handy, but not so smart, really, when I think about it. I don’t think you can fix people. People have to fix themselves.  I’m not even sure that can be done either. Sometimes I think who we are is like a wild horse and we’re just riding it as best we can, hoping like hell we don’t fall off. Diane is a person who doesn’t hang on very well.

I watch Diane walk around the hill and out of sight and then I turn back to the fields. That’s when I notice the horse and cart. I watch for a while, my heart beginning to pound. I put my hand on my knife just to make sure it’s there. I feel the handle and breathe a little easier.

But it’s no stranger. I recognize the horse before the rider.

It’s Tangerine.

And riding the cart a little awkwardly, stiffly, in that gangly way that he has, is Randal the Vandal. I get up and start running!

He’s back!

3

By the time I get to the foot of the hill, there’s already a crowd. Diane is there with Franky at her side. Anthony and Wanda are right behind them, Wanda waddling as fast as she can and Anthony trying to get her to slow down, saying a woman in her condition should be careful. Peter and Lissa are there and Becky, their little 2-year-old, is looking wide-eyed at everything and everyone. Luna, Glenda, Ash, and Brian are already here too, crowded around Tangerine, who is tossing her head anxiously while Randal the Vandal, who’s hopped off the cart, pats her neck to calm her. Tangerine is a good horse, but she gets spooked when there are more than a couple people around her. She doesn’t trust anyone except Randy. Tangerine is steaming in the air and I can tell that Randal has been driving her harder than he should.

“Ho there, girl,” Randy says to her. “Ho there now, it’s just family, is all.” I’m always surprised at just how low his voice is. He’s such a thin guy, just bones clattering around. But if you heard his voice, you’d think it came from a big work horse of a man. It’s so low, so cavernous. It doesn’t match his face either. I don’t know what happened to him, but one side of his head is crooked like he got stepped on by a giant. Randy the Vandal, or Vandy, we call him that sometimes, or some of us do, he’s also got strange hair. He cuts it himself, but he’s got so many cow licks that his hair is just as lopsided as his face. It sticks out every which way like a messy bird’s nest. He has big teeth too. They’re straight and white and everything, but just a bit big. If I were being cruel, I’d say Randal the Vandal has the teeth of a horse. If I were being real cruel, I’d say mule. His eyes are deep green, though, like emeralds, is how Artemis describes them. He might be kind of ugly, but those eyes make all the girls smile. Randy’s our scavenger. He travels all around and meets new people and trades with them and brings stuff back. So he’s exotic and all the girls love that. My best friend, Artemis, says she’s going to let him kiss her next time he comes, so that will be something new to hear about. Anything new around her is pretty exciting.