There were so many BMWs that looked like garbage now. Seeing a black five series made me remember there was a time when I wanted one, but so many people warned me about their resale value. Now they were all worth nothing. This one was just some trash and a single shoe, so I moved on. Most of the other cars were similar. The fabric on seats was hard to find and given how cold it was getting, I could understand.
I wandered near a SUV that didn’t have its windows broken and seemed in decent shape. I peeked inside and about cried tears of joy. There were blankets, a box of crackers, and I think I saw socks under a UCLA hoodie.
I tried the door first. After all, I wasn’t a barbarian and wasn’t going to start now. It was locked. In fact, all four doors were. I took another look inside and saw a bottle of Bath and Bodyworks lotion.
That was my motivator. Just imagining smelling like the woods at twilight or Japanese cherry blossoms as opposed to my own BO was all it took for me to find a rock a few feet away and lob it into the backseat window. It broke with a satisfying crash, and I rushed forward to claim my prize.
Carefully, avoiding the glass, I grabbed the hoodie, the lotion and the box of crackers. And they weren’t just any box of crackers; these were Wheat Thins, the BMW of crackers. My cold fingers fumbled at the top of the box, and my stomach lurched in anticipation of it. The wax paper crackled due to my own clumsiness and then the entire box was forcefully and violently ripped out of my hands.
Surprised, I turned and looked behind me to see a woman with an extremely hard face, the kind that challenges you, which was partially hidden by a hoodie, baring her teeth at me. In the darkness, her features were hard to make out, but there was no mistaking the world of hurt I was fully anticipating.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she growled and held the box close.
“Oh,” I said. “Did you want some too? There’s probably enough.”
She looked past my head and saw the broken window on the car.
“Did you do this?” she asked. Her voice got higher and louder. “I’m gone for five minutes to go pee in a Corolla and this is what happens?”
“I thought it was abandoned,” I said. “I was just so cold and hungry—”
“Really?” she shouted. “Is this how you act? You just wander into people’s homes and steal their shit? And where’s my dog?”
“Well,” I thought it over. “No. I don’t do that. I’ve never done that. You have a dog? What’s his name?”
“This car is my home! And you broke into it and stole my Wheat Thins!”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have known better. I didn’t know they were your Wheat Thins!”
A low howl broke out into the night, and the woman’s face went from murdering rage to being terrified.
“I have to get inside,” she said as she shoved the box at me. “Just take the crackers and leave me alone.”
“What’s that?”
She rushed to her car and tried to unlock it. “Good to know,” she said. “All this effort in locking my car came to nothing.”
She got in, locked it and burrowed into the darkness.
“Well, now what’s coming?” I asked.
She didn’t answer, but I did realize she had left me with a box of Wheat Thins.
I stood there for a moment, listening until I could hear running footsteps coming closer and closer my way. Figuring I’d rather deal with the wrath of my new friend as opposed to these strangers, I crouched low and hid under her car.
Sure enough, what sounded like a marathon came bounding through on the 405, runners yelling barbaric sounds. I craned my neck a little bit to see them with faces painted, chests bare, handmade weapons in their hands. I also saw people being dragged mercilessly behind them. Some struggled and screamed, some might have been already dead, I don’t know. I huddled there with my UCLA sweatshirt, briefly considering giving it back to its hostile owner, but then fully embraced it until this horde was long gone.
When they were, I listened for any more sounds, and when it seemed at its deathly quietist, which naturally is when I crawled out.
“I’m going now,” I said. “Sorry about the window.”
She didn’t say anything as I slipped on the sweatshirt.
“Thanks for the crackers!” I said, turning to look behind me.
When I turned around, there was an ominous-looking man staring down at me. Startled, I yelped, then covered my mouth.
“Who are you talking to?” he asked.
“Uh,” I said. I pointed behind me. “Just back there. It’s nothing.”
He shoved past me, but gripped my shoulder hard in the process. I struggled against him, but he was fully dragging me at this point.
“Let go of me!”
“Hey, Stephanie!” he shouted.
“Get bent!” yelled the surly car dweller.
“You coming home or not?”
She didn’t say anything, but I struggled to get out of his meaty grip. He was in a hoodie and a woolen hat, smelling badly like BO and old tuna.
“Sir—” I said.
“Quiet,” he said.
He banged on the car. “You belong to me!” he shouted. “We got work to do!”
“Leave me alone,” she said. “Take the girl in my place. She’ll touch anything. She’s clearly begging for it.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Now he grabbed me by the hair. It was painful, and he jerked me up to my feet.
“Ow!” I cried at the sharp pain of hair tugged out of my head. “Why do people think this is the best way to move me around?”
“Today’s your lucky day.”
“Stop it—” I tried to fight back, which meant uselessly flailing my arms back and forth, all out of reach of him.
“Stephanie!” he said.
“What?” she asked, rolling down her window.
“You coming out?” he asked. “You owe me, and I’m getting what I want.”
With his other hand, he picked up a rock and threw it through the window. It missed but banged on the lower portion of the door instead.
“Hey,” Stephanie said. “I had three payments to go!”
“Sir—” I was near tears, hungry, cold, and for the second time in one day, my life was being threatened with the unknown.
I jerked away, but he held firm.
“I’m not done with you,” he said.
“What do you want?”
“Don’t be like that,” he said. “You wearing that UCLA shirt says that you’re ready to be in my bitch house.”
I pulled away, rubbing the top of my head where it still hurt.
“Bitch house?” I asked. “Really? What year is this that this is how you refer to Stephanie and me?”
“Leave me out of it!” Stephanie shouted through the opening of her window. “Just go with him. You’ll be fine.”
“Get out of the shirt,” he said. “You don’t want to wear the badge, then don’t put it on.”
“It’s not a badge,” I said. “UCLA is UCLA.”
“Not anymore,” he said. “So I’m claiming it, and it’s now my name and when you wear that. You wear my identity.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever.” I waved the idea away and shook my head.
I finally pulled away from him, ripped off the shirt and threw it onto the ground.
“Who’s going to argue with me and prove me wrong?” he asked.
“There!” I said. “If it means that much to you, take the stupid shirt, Mr. UCLA. I belong to someone else, anyway!”
He pointed at my chest.
“Batman?” he asked.
I looked down and noticed that I was still wearing my Batman shirt from three days ago.
“Yes,” I said. “Batman. He’s really big and fights crime and he’s probably expecting me.”
“I haven’t heard of anyone with that name,” he said. “Beyond, you know, that Batman.”