Kimmie and Walter

By Christopher B. McMahon

Kimmie and Walter is a coming of age story for Kimmie, a 17 year old girl who's on the lam from authorities, her mother and her vile stepfather. It's also a coming to terms story for Walter, a 54 year old burned out husk of a man, who gained fame and money from his bestselling non-fiction book, but lost his wife and little girl in the process. It's a coming together story for both, who after a strange start, learn to love and take care of each other in their bizarre and twisted circumstances.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher B. McMahon
• Release date: Jan 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463004906

Christopher B. McMahon

Christopher B. McMahon lives in Belleville, MI and has written in various forms his entire life. In the 90s he worked and wrote A.P. Style articles for Tribune Media Services in Glens Falls, NY. In the early 2000s he wrote and published his first book, "I'll Get Back To You As Soon As I'm Me", an autobiography. McMahon enjoys super heroes on TV and movies, reading, and music. Sabrina McMahon, his wife, is often his co-creator, sounding board, editor and muse. The McMahons have 3 children, Oreo the demon cat, and Roxy the love puppy.

Book preview

Kimmie and Walter

Copyright 2020 Christopher B. McMahon with Sabrina Marie McMahon

Published by Christopher B. McMahon with Sabrina Marie McMahon at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For Sabrina. You encourage me to write by lying to me, and telling me it’s good. I love you, honey, thanks for bringing me home.

1.

It was cold out that night. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. I had two hoodies on over a sweater and I was still shivering. My breath shot out in plumes and it almost hurt to inhale. You see I was way too cool for a coat. In retrospect, leaning up against the cold brick building where I had stationed myself, probably wasn’t all that brilliant either.

I pushed a strand of fallen blond hair back from my face with my knitted, half-glove and waited some more. I had spent the last half hour waiting for Vanessa from my high school cosmetology class to meet me. She said she would do something radical with my hair to make me look less myself. I felt extremely vulnerable standing out in the open like this, but this was the arranged spot for the meeting.

Desperately aching to fish my mittens out of the pink bag behind my legs to remove the stinging from my hands, I remained fixed and jammed my hands deeper into the hoodie pockets.

Some kids appearing to be my age walked by me, laughing and talking. As they drew even with me on the sidewalk I could see their eyes probing, even as mine did in return, to see a familiar face. We didn’t and the slow-motion moment stopped and they passed on by in normal time. They were the first people to pass me by in an hour, so I knew it must be getting late. ‘Nessa must have got hung up. Soon I would have to make my way to the old train station a few blocks away, spread out the blanket and clothes from my bag, and sleep lightly among the rats.

That’s when I saw him for the first time. He was crossing the street to the left of the building I was leaning on and turned into the liquor store on the opposite corner. I swore I’d never seen someone swagger and wobble so much at the same time in my life. He came out a few moments later with a brown paper bag, turned and headed back the direction from which he came, still swaggering and wobbling.     Watching his exit, a familiar feeling of being mesmerized and blank at the same time came over me and I shook my head, reached for my bag and started for the station.

Deep in thought about my past but keeping a wary eye out for my surroundings, I trudged to the back of the station building. Left abandoned for about 20 years I had discovered it shortly after I fled home. I crawled through the broken window I always used, throwing my bag in first. I turned and shut the window which may sound stupid because it was broken, but closed windows on an abandoned place would attract less attention from probing eyes (like cops) I felt. I made my way carefully behind the ticket counter and set my bag down. I didn’t dare sleep on the counter though it would be more insulated than the floor; because anyone could look in any window and see me there. I removed my heavy blanket from my bag and halved it on the floor, crawled in, and stuffed all my clothes from my bag in around me for insulation. Finally, I put my bag at my head for a pillow, curled up in the fetal position and dreamed lightly of a better life …

2.

I woke up stiff and cold and made myself get up quickly. This time as I was packing my stuff I left my coat out to wear and my mittens. I made my way to my rear window, peered around to make sure there were no early risers urinating off the back porches of the tenement across the useless tracks and went out. It was semi-light. I closed the window and headed the four blocks over to the food kitchen run by the local church. I was a half-hour early for breakfast, as usual, but they knew me so Sheila unlocked the door when she heard me tapping.

‘Mornin’, Kim. How you doin’ this morning girl? Sheila was an attractive older woman with platinum blonde hair who was always smartly dressed. She had been in real estate for thirty-some-odd years and volunteered at the kitchen to combat the boredom related to her retirement.

Good morning, Sheila, I said cheerily. I stood and felt the building’s heat penetrate my bones for a moment as some of the stiffness began to leave my joints. Mind if I use the bathroom?

No, of course not, sweetie. Help yourself, it’s unlocked. She turned and went back to setting out paper plates, plastic utensils and Styrofoam cups on round tables covered by paper table cloths. The walls were decorated in murals done by the children that came there and volunteer artists. It made for a nice atmosphere despite the circumstances under which its customers found themselves in. This was the morning game we played: Sheila acted as if I was just going to use the toilet and I pretended I took twenty minutes getting my look on. I went in and locked the outer door and quickly removed my clothing. I grabbed a couple of paper towels, wet them with hot water and lathered some soap onto them. Then I washed my entire body, being careful not to drip too much water on the floor. I dried myself and washed my face and hair. I combed my hair out and dressed in fresh clothes and socks. I wiped up the water from the floor, took fresh towels and wiped out the sink then put deodorant on. Brushing my teeth quickly, I then triple checked every detail to make sure that it was good, even things I may not have been responsible for, then unlocked the door and went out just as Sheila was letting in the morning crowd. Sheila casually went over and locked the bathroom door. It usually remained locked during open hours as the church frowned on users going in to snort or shoot up or smoke whatever it was they were addicted to, on church property. She and I headed for the kitchen area to begin the serving process. I grabbed a cup of coffee and looked out at our consumers. There were about twenty this morning – more than the usual crowd and a lot of strangers. I saw Josephine and her kids, Edgar and Jamal. She was removing their layers of clothing and getting them set to eat. Steve sat down at the table opposite them. He didn’t remove any clothes but he only had a zippered, thermal hoodie on under an unlined denim jacket anyway. Putting an unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he slowly stirred sugar into his steaming coffee. Most of them were homeless and were just here for the warmth, but some were here for the meager portions of French toast and coffee we could give them. The kitchen staff merrily chatted and joked back and forth while doing their various duties. Sheila and I grabbed trays and began distributing them to the people who were lining up. I saw Josephine divide up her portion for the kids. Sadness. I ate with the kitchen staff and Sheila. I wasn’t a part of the organization but I firmly believed in returning whatever kindness or help you receive in life. That and the opportunity to clean up kept me coming back daily. Finally, when the last person had exited and Sheila had locked up, we made sure the kitchen was ready for the lunch crowd. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

Headed for the nursing home now, kiddo? Sheila asked as she pulled her keys out.

I smiled, Yeahhhh. Got to make my rounds, cheer some folks up. She bade me goodbye, saying she’d see me in the morning, if not sooner. Sheila never pried. She was a good woman.

I headed off thinking about the nursing home, then was caught off guard by old demons:

"… Why don’t ya get a job and help out around here, instead of wasting all yer time with those drooling gummers at the nursing home! Yer 17 years old for fuck sake!" He always yells, slurring his words. He always stinks like I imagine a barroom bathroom would: a mix of sweat and booze and vomit.

"Leave her alone, Shooter! Please! I think it’s real nice of Kim to volunteer. She’s going to see her Gramma too you know!" Mom with her arms folded across her breasts: pathetic, pleading look on her face.

The best thing that mother of yers can do is die so we can get some money! He stands suddenly and grabs his jacket and wallet. Mom flinches. Yeah, I’ll leave her alone! I’ll leave ya all alone … Door slams. Mom a crying heap on the floor. Of course when he gets back from the bar? That’s when the real fun begins …

I shook my head and I was in front of the CareWell Nursing Home. The doors shushed open and the heat poured on me from the air-circulation-unit over the door. I padded up to the front desk and was greeted by a warm smile. Howdy there, Kim! Looks like a cold one out there today! Harrold.

Howdy there back, Harrold – sure is! I said, smiling. Harrold Boyd was 57 but looked much younger. A wiry, tall man with specs and a light dusting of white on his dark hair, Harrold had been with the nursing home for twenty-seven years