Being Henry David - By Cal Armistead Page 0,2

crackles, and he ignores it.

Anger boils up inside my chest. They can’t let this guy keep my book. They can’t.

“But tell you what,” says Red. “I have an idea. Frankie, hand over the book.”

Frankie stuffs one more page into his mouth, then shrugs and gives him the book. That easy. The cop hides it behind his back.

“Okay. The first one of you to give me the correct title and author of this book is the rightful owner and shall be reunited with his property.” He looks each of us in the eye to prolong the suspense, and then says: “Go.”

My palms start sweating. I’d only gotten one quick peek at the title before Frankie swiped the book. If I’d been reading the book before I fell asleep, I remember nothing about it now. I’m embarrassed to feel tears of frustration sting the backs of my eyeballs. But then I see the green cover in my head, the picture of a lake. This is weird, but it’s like I know this place. I can smell the water and hear the birds. And then I see the title in my head, as if the words were stamped on the inside of my eyelids.

“It’s Walden,” I say, all in a rush.

Red nods. “And the author? For extra credit?” He chuckles. The guy is getting a real charge out of himself.

“Aw, give the kid the break,” Mustache Cop says.

“No, it’s okay,” I say because I see it again, that picture in my head. “Henry David Thoreau, right?”

“Yes, indeed. Henry David Thoreau,” Mustache Cop says, nodding his head adamantly. Then he clears his throat and takes a dramatic stance. “‘I went into the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.’” Grinning, he nods at us, all proud of himself. “See there? See? That’s from the book. I memorized that stuff way back in high school.” He taps his forehead. “Like a steel trap.”

“Whatever,” I mumble, but neither of them seems to hear. This guy can remember a high school English assignment word-for-word and I don’t even know my own name. I consider telling the cops that I’m lost and can’t remember who I am. Maybe they can help me. But there’s that thing in my chest like a brick wall that says this would be a terrible idea. Some fuzzy instinct tells me it’s not safe to go to the police. Fuzzy instinct isn’t much to go on, but it’s all I have. I decide to trust it.

Red stares at his partner for a second. “Suck out the marrow? Is that what you said? Now that’s just disgusting.”

Mustache Cop just shakes his head and smiles. He has a nice smile, straight white teeth. “Seize the day, young man. Carpe diem. That’s what Thoreau was talking about.”

“Uh. Excuse me? Officers?” I say politely. They turn blank eyes at me, as though they’ve forgotten I’m still here. “Can I have my book?”

“What? Oh yeah, sure.” Red hands me the book.

“Walden by Henry David Thoreau,” Mustache Cop says again, poking a finger at the name on the cover. “Now that guy knew what he was talking about. If we all lived like him, the world would be a better place.”

“Not if it means eating marrow and whatnot.” His partner shakes his head and his chubby red cheeks wiggle. “That’s just sick.”

The two transit cops walk off arguing, and I relax, relieved to see them go.

I examine the cover of the book, try to wipe off Frankie’sgrimy fingerprints and a few smudges of dark chewing tobacco drool with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. Then I hold it shut with both hands, tight, like I’m protecting all those pages and words and punctuation; all mine.

I glare at Frankie, but he’s not even looking in my direction. Instead, he’s staring at the people who hustle by where he sits on the floor, bloodshot eyes scanning them for something edible, studying what they hold in their hands or have tucked under their arms.

His gaze locks onto a woman holding a pair of leather gloves, and then a little girl clutching a purple stuffed elephant.

“You gonna eat that?”

They rush past, looking alarmed.

I search for a chair so I can sit and flip through the book, but the only ones available are in a special area for people with train tickets. So I find a quiet corner and sit on the floor again, desperate to know the clues that Walden by