Glory pulled her comforter up around her from all the places it had bunched and tangled, and listened to the giggling sounds of Jenny in the other room talking to her imaginary friend in a whispery, little voice.
“Do you want a toke? Okay, okay. I have some, you know,” followed by childlike giggles. “You just sit there, okay, and I’ll sit here. You have to wait your turn and be polite about it, you know.” Glory smiled to herself, relieved that Jenny had come back and was safe for another day. She had been on the stroll about a year when she befriended the large woman and let her come and stay.
Glory, also known as “Candy,” was considered a bit odd and disconnected, and never managed to fully meld into the street life she was cemented in, for many reasons. She didn’t fit in and made no attempt to, and while she wasn’t given a hard time on the stroll from any of the other working girls, the way Jenny was, she was not embraced by any of them either. But once Glory and Jenny landed together, they found a sense of belonging. They both existed in unique and damaged worlds, and found acceptance and a tender security with one another.
She listened to the distinct clicking sounds of a lighter from the other room, soon followed by the sickly sweet stench of crack. It had taken Glory some time to get used to hearing the soft mutterings. For the first few weeks, she was never really convinced that Jenny hadn’t brought someone home. Once, Glory burst in and demanded to know who was there and who she was talking to, frantically checking the washroom, behind the couch and the curtains, and behind doors to see for herself, convinced someone else was hiding there.
Jenny stared at her with a quizzical look and said, “It’s just me … and … and my friend, but you can’t see him.” She raised her long, nicotine-stained finger to her mouth and said, “Shhh. He doesn’t like anyone but me … just me … just me. That’s why only I can see him, ’cause I’m the only one he likes.” And then she whispered, “He’s invisible, but you can’t tell anyone, okay? Okay, promise?”
Glory promised. After that, Glory would slowly and quietly get out of her single bed and tiptoe to the edge of the room, carefully holding her breath, to peer in to see who was there. But there was only ever Jenny; just Jenny sitting at the makeshift table with a far-off look in her eyes and a sweet smile on her face, oblivious that Glory was observing.
Eventually, Glory realized that this fragile woman with her imaginary friend had found a way to cope and not be all alone in her world. Jenny wouldn’t talk about where she came from or how she ended up on the street, but in the beginning, that hadn’t stopped Glory from trying to learn about her. Glory couldn’t help but feel that the vulnerability and air of childishness about her would someday end very badly. Once, when she asked Jenny if she ever missed her family, Jenny freaked out; it was the only time Glory ever saw her react in anger. She told Glory to go away and just shut up about that. She grabbed her coat and ran out before Glory could stop her, leaving behind her worn dentures. She didn’t come back for almost a week; Glory looked everywhere for her and felt the sting of loneliness that she hadn’t been ready to feel. She had all but lost hope until the night she returned from the stroll and found Jenny curled up, asleep on the shared stoop outside the doorway. Glory no longer asked questions about where Jenny had come from and how she ended up working the streets; she just sensed that she needed to cloak Jenny in protection as much as she possibly could. Glory felt a strange connection to her that she didn’t understand but learned to live with. And she felt a sense of responsibility for Jenny that she wished someone had felt for her.
Glory took her in at first just to get her off the streets, and to protect her from being picked on and shoved around by a few of the girls who never believed that she really was simple. You could almost see Jenny visibly shake when the two bullies were on the stroll. She would cower in fear, never speaking up or attempting to defend herself, but instead, with head bent down, she would cross the street to the other side and walk for blocks until she was out of their sight and crosshairs. Although she was older than Glory by many years, she was mentally more like a child. Her large and heavy frame was a mismatch to her childlike personality.
Glory had to squint to peer into the tiny window of her own lost life. She despised turning tricks, and never seemed able to learn the all-important fake smile. This life had become what she knew and she couldn’t see her escape any more than she could have seen her capture. She hated the man who had been the first to rape and initiate her, and would often wake from nightmares in tears, hoping Jenny didn’t hear. The drugs helped some days, but there were many when they didn’t even come close to masking the past, the present, and fear of the future. But some days, the dope helped.
They fell into a predictable routine, Glory and Jenny; they were strange companions but found each other safer than most of the people they had both left behind. They worked the stroll together, usually at night, in the cover of shadows until they had enough money to buy their dope, a bit of food, and always a chocolate bar or two for Jenny.
Jenny introduced Glory to the local food bank and was incredibly adept at convincing the volunteer staff to supply her with a few extra bags of food, more than just once a month. She also taught Glory how to make a toaster from a wire hanger; how to stuff and tape up the holes in the baseboards where the mice got in; how to really lock and rig their door when they slept; and how to try and smile every now and then when they were alone, temporarily safe, and when they had enough good dope left over for just one more toke when they really needed it. And they almost always needed it.
Some evenings they would walk far down the stroll to work away from other girls, across the road from one of the coffee shop chains, where people would gather religiously each evening. They would watch as men and women arrived in their cars and pulled from the trunks the folded-up lawn chairs that were better suited to a grass carpet then asphalt. They would fill the lot; some chairs in circles, some by the back of truck tailgates, and others lined in a row watching the traffic go by, chatting and laughing with one another. Jenny and Glory giggled at them from across the busy four-lane road as they tried to imagine what these people might possibly find to talk about. Jenny would sometimes invent the stories to match the hand gestures of the congregated people they watched between the hours of seven and midnight. Some of them would pull out little camping tables to set between them, and sometimes they would even bring out lanterns when the darkness fell hard. They were the coffee shop parking lot people — like a secret society — the PLP. Some nights Jenny would make her way over to panhandle before it became overcrowded, and she never returned empty handed. They were kind to her always. Glory imagined they had just as many questions about her and Jenny as they both had about the PLP. They always knew what time it was when the parking lot people began folding up chairs and replacing them into their vehicles to head home for another night, some no doubt to homes surrounded by grass and trees.
Glory made sure to always try and save a few dollars each night for the weekly rent, hidden in the used and torn mattress that was her bed. She could never be sure if Jenny would remember to have her share when it was due, although she had always been good for it within a day of being reminded — but just in case, Glory always tried to save enough for the both of them. She began to depend on the easy company, even if it was often in silence, or when she slept, or lay quietly listening to the soft whispers and giggles. It made her feel safe and closer to who she once was, that girl she had been before.