East Endings

Mara waited until they were alone to hand her fresh linens request to the volunteer receptionist, Cheryl, and said, "I'd like to pay for another week."

Cheryl pushed her glasses up and leaned forward conspiratorially.

“Miss Geiss, I can only let you stay one more week. This place is for the families of patients in the hospital.” She lowered her voice. “I haven’t told them yet about your mother, but we aren’t supposed to let you stay here anymore.”

“I understand,” Mara said, quietly, and handed Cheryl her last forty dollars. “Thank you.”

“Sure, honey. You don’t have any family back in Maryland who can come to get you?”

Mara shook her head. Her grip tightened on her camera and the tripod bag slung over her shoulder.

“Take some food from the pantry,” Cheryl offered. “Good luck with your job hunt.”

Mara’s face reddened and, once outside, she paused to collect herself. She wasn’t looking for work. Not really. She didn’t know what she was looking for.

For the past month, she had wandered all through the East-end neighborhoods of Pittsburgh, compelled to find and photograph abandoned structures. She felt a resonance with abandoned things. In a way, she had been abandoned in this city, too.

Today was the last place on her list. After a two mile trek along undulating streets, slowed only by the sweltering summer humidity, she finally stood in front of a 19th century Romanesque-style schoolhouse.

She recalled the day they rode by it in the shuttle van. Back then, her mother was well enough to leave the hospital each night and stay in the room they rented at Family House, yet the driver that day was new and several road closures had them somehow north of Oakland and in the Larimer neighborhood.

“What a beautiful lonely thing,” her mother had whispered as they passed the long abandoned Larimer Primary School. With the ghost of a smile, she quoted. “‘Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray.’”

“Rumi,” Mara remembered. She had found her mother’s hand and clung to it.

The memories were what drove her.

She surveyed the crumbling brick facade with grim determination. Ivy crawled along the exterior, penetrating broken glass windows. Collapsed curved stairs supported an arched portico and a marble frieze depicted attentive students at their teacher’s feet. Large white letters graffitied on the barred doors read ‘Know Thyself’.

Sweat slid down her spine. She laid her bags down and rubbed the ache in her shoulder, then bent to roll the hem of her pants and secure her boot laces. She picked up her gear.

She entered through a side door hanging askew and carefully picked her way across rotting threaded floorboards, testing her weight on each one lest she wind up in the basement. She paused only to snap photos. Moss carpeted rooms revealed colorful graffiti, crumbling fireplaces, peeling wainscoting, and rows of wooden chairs rotting in their bolts. A pungent odor, like ammonia, mingled with mold and must. Someone had once taken up residence, evidenced by soiled bedding and an overturned shopping cart. Mara hoped they did not plan to return.

She paused at a doorway. In the center of the room, a lone red toddler chair balanced on three legs as if placed there purposefully. She snapped the photo and moved on, afraid to linger.

With relief, she entered a bright courtyard now overtaken by thorny rose vines and crepe myrtle offshoots. Several gnarled adult trees cast spindly shadows.

She took out her equipment and set the camera on its tripod. Retrieving her notes from a black moleskin journal that fit in the palm of her hand, she referenced the suggested parameters for noon day sun. Mara adjusted the settings on the camera.

That should do it …

“Ruuuuuby!”

Mara spun toward the shout, in time to see a light brown blur of rippling muscle charging into the courtyard. She jumped into the nearest tree to put something, anything, between her and the beast. Fear turned to horror as the dog attempted a sudden change of direction toward her and skidded into her tripod, knocking it and the camera to the ground. The dog––a Pitt Bull, Mara noticed––rolled twice before clamoring onto all fours. It swayed in a stunned daze.

“Ruby! Sit! Stay! Sit, Ruby!”

The dog, Ruby, immediately sat on its haunches, panting, tongue wagging, and watched her intently. Mara’s heart pounded.

Its owner soon appeared. A white-haired elderly man limped into the courtyard, breathless, and supported by a cane. An aged leather satchel hung from his stooped shoulders and swayed at his side. He paused when he saw Ruby complying and wiped a handkerchief down his face and neck. He shook his cane at the dog disapprovingly.

“Ruby! No biscuit!”

Ruby lowered her head and whimpered.

The old man turned his attention to Mara. His papery skin had a soft, suede-like appearance, folding toward the earth. Icy blue eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her. Mara looked away, disconcerted. She wasn’t sure which she should be afraid of: him or Ruby?

She nodded toward the dog. “Is she …?”

“Dangerous?” He scoffed. “Only if you are. Ruby, come, girl.”

Ruby obeyed and took position next to his leg.

Mara cautiously stepped out of the tree and picked off errant leaves.

“Say, what brings a young girl here? Only ne’er-do-wells here.” He coughed into the handkerchief.

“Oh!” Mara remembered the camera. “Nooooooo …”

She moved to right the tripod, picking up a couple of broken pieces, and tested the lens carefully; it had an unnatural wiggle. Her heart sank.

“What’s that?”

She looked up to find him shuffling toward her. Ruby followed and sniffed the tripod.

“It was my camera,” she said, irritated.

“You a photographer?”

“No. I mean ... yes.” Mara tossed the broken pieces into her camera bag.

“Well, are you or aren’t you?” The man squinted at her. He was close enough she could see the crater like pores in his face.

“What?”

“A photographer?”

She wanted to be angry at him, but what was the point?

“I’m studying to be a photographer.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. A school in New Mexico had accepted her before her mother’s liver failure, but Mara couldn’t afford even afford to get there, much less pay the tuition.

He grunted and she did her best to ignore him and his dog as she packed up her defunct camera and equipment. In her being, she was aware of another kind of break. Her mother had gifted her the camera.

“This is no place for a young girl. You kids don’t have any sense.”

“What are you doing here, then?” Mara didn’t like being scolded. She hoisted the backpack onto her shoulder, along with the tripod bag and looked at him expectantly.

“I’m writing a graphic novel.” He hesitated, then pulled out his own little black book from the satchel he carried. “Would you like to see?”

She took it out of politeness, but was surprised by the content and flipped through pages filled with sketches of the school, inhabited by fierce fairy-like creatures. She handed it back to him.

“These are good. Are you a writer?”

“I’m trying to be. I waited too long to get started, though. I’m eighty-eight. Might die before I finish it.” His joke fell flat and he cleared his throat. “I’m Samuel. Let me pay for the camera.”

“Thanks, but it’s too much.”

“I insist.” He reached for his wallet.

“Okay, it was $2000.”

“Oh.” Samuel put the wallet back without opening it. Mara turned to leave but his hand stayed her.

“Here, take this.”

Mara’s eyes fell to the watch in his hand. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“It will cover the cost,” he promised and pressed the watch into her palm.

“No one wears watches anymore,” she said but examined it anyway. The face had three separate circles, from none of which could she identify the time. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Take it to the pawn shop on Forbes. You will get you a good price for it.” Samuel wiped the perspiration from his face. “I waited too long to find my passion and now I’ve no one to share it with, ‘cept Ruby here. Take it. I’ve no use for it anymore.”

“Thanks,” she said, though doubtful, and left with his watch and her broken camera.

Still, she did as Samuel suggested and took the watch to Fisherman’s Pawn on Forbes Street the following day.

The stout man behind the counter was also the owner. He studied the watch several minutes under a magnifying lens, snapped photos, texted someone, and waited several more minutes for the response. Finally, he approached her with the watch.

“Where did you get this?”

“It was my grandfather’s.”

The pawn broker considered her with a grave look.

Mara waited, her smile tight.

“Sweetie,” he said, having made his decision, “are you looking for a loan or to sell? I’ll give you eighteen for it right now, cash.”

Mara’s smile slid away. “That’s it? Isn’t it real gold?”

It looked legit to her, but what did she know? Of course, Samuel had lied to her about the stupid watch.

“At least twenty?” She demanded, irritated.

“Okay, twenty.” His jaw tightened. “That’s my final offer.”

“Whatever. Fine,” she agreed, ready to leave.

With a smug expression, he disappeared into a back room. Her shoulders fell and she almost left, but twenty dollars was twenty dollars.

When he emerged, she straightened as he set one crisp stack of bills after another on the counter.

Benjamin Franklin looked up at her with a knowing smile. A lot of Benjamins.

“Are those …?”

“All hundreds? Yes, is that okay?” He sounded amused as he placed the bills in a money counter.

Hundreds? She was going to ask real.

She nodded. Her mouth went dry as she watched the numbers count up rapidly. Ten thousand. Fifteen thousand. Twenty-thousand dollars!

Had Samuel known?

He placed the money in a manilla envelope and set it before her with a receipt for the exchange. Then he picked up the watch and turned it in his hands again.

“Do you know what this is worth?” He did not wait for her response. “You were right to bring it to me. I specialize in Jaeger-LeCoultre. I will find a good buyer for it.” He glanced at Mara suddenly. “I am sorry about your grandfather.”

Mara nodded, afraid to use her voice. Her hands trembled as she picked up the envelope––so much cash, she had never seen before––and placed it in her bag. She left before he changed his mind.

She returned to the abandoned school a week later, with brand new camera equipment and a ten-year-old used Volvo the dealer promised would make it across the country. Which was exactly what she intended.

The sky was perfect for shooting; overcast, soft light. Once she had the shots she had missed before, she packed up the car and looked back at the building, feeling a pull and reluctance to leave. And there was Ruby, trotting toward her with an eager but tired gait.

Mara looked up and down the street, searching for Samuel.

“Where’s your old man, Ruby?” She knelt down and scratched the dog's ears. Ruby licked her ear, but when she looked into the dog’s solemn black eyes, Mara knew that grief all too well.

She had just seen him last week. Mara would have liked to thank Samuel. For the first time in a long while, she felt hopeful. As she solemnly scratched Ruby’s neck, she made a decision.

“Ruby, wanna go to Santa Fe? Thanks to your master, I’ve got the means to get there.”

Somehow, she thought Samuel would approve.

Mara opened the passenger door and Ruby climbed in as if that had been the plan all along.