No Deadends by EJ Patterson (the mitten read aloud .txt) 📖

The walk to Fantastique was a long one, especially in the pouring rain. Juliette knew that she would not concentrate in class without the heavenly Wonder Bread with confiture, and if she didn’t concentrate, she wouldn’t be able to maintain her straight A average. She continued to trudge through the muddy puddles now forming in the dip between the tiny sidewalk and the large apartments looming above her. Juliette couldn’t wait to smell the warm pastry scent of Fantastique-the coffee, the freshly baked bread, the croissants, the Allumettes…she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, but coughed as the retched smell of garbage filled her lungs. She was passing the…Garbage Hole. Juliette quickly hurried past; she didn’t have time to waste on the disgusting Garbage Hole.
The Garbage Hole was basically a series of almost empty dumpsters where the poor people lived. They sometimes left their tattered holes to beg for food or money, but mostly they just yelled.
Juliette preferred the yelling. When they begged, she could see inside their petrifying eyes, the fear welling inside them, the humiliation, the inner child… she just couldn’t stand it-it disgusted her. She held her nose high in the air, pinching it slightly, and traipsed past.


Pernelle was going to be late. Juliette had not waited for her, even though Pernelle was brushing her teeth as fast as she possibly could. She didn’t even have time to grab an umbrella.
At that thought she tugged the hood of her too small manteau and continued walking to school, carefully splashing over as many puddles as possible. She could see the warm windows of yellow in the distance-the windows belonging to Fantastique. She breathed a sigh of relief and hurried toward the glittering lights. She was hurrying so quickly, however, she didn’t notice something lumpy on the ground a few feet ahead of her. She stumbled on it and landed, crashing onto her knees, her hands out to break the fall. She could feel the sting before she even looked-her hands and knees were scraped and bleeding profusely. She felt the tears well up before she could stop them; she didn’t even know why she was so upset-it was only a little blood, and the stinging had subsided.
She stood back up and looked to see what had caused the spill.
It was a damp, soggy newspaper, just lying on the ground, just waiting to be tripped over. Pernelle frowned. Why would somebody just leave this newspaper lying around? Then the smell of moldy cheese and rotting fruit hit her nostrils: The Garbage Hole. “Bien Sur,” She whispered to herself. Of Course- whoever owned this paper didn’t want it or need it. They didn’t want to emerge from their garbage dumpster home and get the paper because they were embarrassed-they didn’t want people to see them.
Pernelle picked up the newspaper gingerly and held it with her thumb and index finger as far away from her face as possible, as if it was some sort of disease. There was only one thing to do-and she didn’t want to do it.
She weighed her options: If she returned the paper, (like she knew she should,) she would most likely be late to class and humiliate herself, not to mention even having to go into the Garbage Hole.
On the other hand, not returning the paper wouldn’t be…well…nice. It wouldn’t be neighborly. It just didn’t seem morally correct.
So she reluctantly stepped into the untidy, smelly, degutant, gross ally way and toward the nearest little hut near the dumpsters.
She stopped. Where should she knock? Should she yell? She compromised by knocking on the metal dumpster and calling, “Allo? Madame? Monsieur? Allo?”
No answer. She tried again. “J’ai a papier! Allo? Oh- bonjour, Monsieur! » (Hello? Anybody? Hello? I have your paper! Hello? Oh-Hello, sir!)
A man with a long gray, straggly beard appeared out of nowhere in front of her. The sour stench of rotten fruit surrounded the man like dust. One of his eyes was a brilliant yellow color, while the other was cement colored gray.
Fear welled inside Pernelle: This poor man, whoever he was or whatever his name looked very dangerous, and the constant twitching of his left, yellow eye unnerved her.
“Er…oui, oui…is this yours?” Pernelle asked tentatively. The man stared at her. She tried again.
“Does this newspaper belong to you, sir?”
The man’s questioning eyes swept over her dark rain swept hair and tight, soaked coat. He seemed to be deciding whether to answer or not. After a few more awkward seconds, when the only sound heard was the honks of passing vehicles a short distance away, the man spoke.
“I ain’t from here, kid. I’m from the America’s. You know, red white blue?”
Pernelle’s insides gave an uncomfortable squirm. She knew exactly where this man was from, and having only started learning English last year, she knew she was in a tight spot.
But Pernelle knew that the only way this man would understand her was if she strung together all she knew about English and took the risk.
“Um…I…see…p-paler-non-paper-on-floor,” She said, screwing her eyes together in the effort to remember all the English she learned in the past year. “I…give…back…you,” She said, thrusting the Newspaper into the man’s cold hands. To Pernelle’s great astonishment, the man smiled.
“Very good,” He said in his gravely voice. “Very good indeed! Thank you, young lady!”
The man held out a hand.
Pernelle only understood two words from what the man had just said: Thank you.
All her fear gone, she grasped the man’s rough hand and they shook.
“I ain’t gonna tell ya my name” He said, slowly so Pernelle could understand him.
“Me…too,” She said quickly.
“You know what, little stranger? I think I know enough French to get along.”
And with that he started to speak in almost perfect French, an amused and pleasantly surprised Pernelle standing shocked in front of him as the rain poured harder and harder down.
“Let me tell you something. I didn’t like that, watching you struggle with English to get the message across. Not one bit. But I had to do it, otherwise you wouldn’t have been challenged.”
“Is that why you’re here? To challenge people?” Pernelle asked curiously.
The raggedy man chuckled.
“No, my dear. Well…a little. I came here for a change of scene. A different perspective.”
Pernelle bit her lip.
“But…” She said, looking around the tattered, dirty dumpsters and polluted graffitied walls, “This isn’t exactly what’d I’d call a…” She bit back her retort, horrified at her rudeness.
He grinned again.
“Yeah, I know. Not exactly a palace. But that’s ok. It isn’t as bad as you think.”
“But…” Pernelle said again. “It’s…dirty. Slimy. I don’t think this-this hole-is fit to live in!”
He motioned Pernelle to sit on a nearby stump. He pulled a raggedy lawn chair out from his dumpster and sat.
“The world throwed me a curve ball, girly. I didn’t expect what happened to me. When the ball game starts, they play till there’s a winner.”
“How did you end up here? What happened to you?”
Pernelle expected him to shout at her, to tell her that it was none of her business how he ended up homeless. But he did nothing of the sort.
“It was an automobile accident. My wife…and my only son…dead. Instantly. There was no saving them. They weren’t the only ones in the accident, mind you,” He said pointedly, “No. There were lots more. One of the biggest crashes ever seen in all of Indiana. It was devastating.
“Then, if you can imagine, my insurance didn’t cover all the repairs and deaths…didn’t cover the funeral expenses…didn’t cover nothing.
And then I woke up one morning. And I watched the sun rising over the apple trees in the neighboring orchard, and I thought, I’m so sad, and the sun is still rising. I’ve lost everything…but the sun is still warm and bright and there. Something opened inside of me that morning in Indiana. Something awakened the sleeping man, trying to hide from the looming truth. They were gone. And I’d have to move on.”
His yellow eye looked mistily into the distance.
Pernelle looked at him sadly, but with a smile on her face. This man had gone through so much pain and suffering, yet he still knew how to smile.
“So,” The old man said abruptly, causing Pernelle to jump, “I gathered all I had and moved here. I needed a change of scene. I needed to get away from the laid back Indiana. I needed something to fully awaken the sleeping man. I wanted action.”
Pernelle waited, listening to him with rapt attention.
“And that’s exactly what I got. One bus crash later and I ended up here for good. I messed up my life, and I couldn’t get out of it this time. There was no where else to run, or hide. And I’ve been here ever since.”
And with that, he crossed his arms, an air of finality hovering around him.
“You know…I think you’re petty brave,” Pernelle said. “Some people wouldn’t have made it as far as you.”
He looked at her questioningly.
“I’m living inside a dumpster.”
“Yes,” Pernelle said, nodding, “But you have courage, something some people lack. I lack courage,” She added. “And it really stops me in my tracks sometimes. I’m not saying that ‘looking for action’ was the best action to take, but you came here, to France, all by yourself! You found the courage to leave where you were sad, to recognize your pain and shaping it into something worthwhile! I value that in a person.”
There was silence.
“Thank you,” The man said quietly.
More silence.
“Sir?”
“Hmm?”
“Sometimes…sometimes I feel as if the world is trying to knock me down. I mean…with all those terrorists in the world, and the murderers, and the stingy bad people…why do people say the world is a beautiful place, if people are dying everywhere?”
The man thought for a moment.
“Wouldn’t you rather live in a world that’s beautiful than a world that’s ugly?”
“Of course, but sometimes it’s like every time I turn, there’s a dead end.”
The old man with the yellow eye stared into her blue eyes.
“The world is a sphere. It has no dead ends.”
Pernelle fell silent, pondering over what the old man had just said to her. The words encouraged her to keep staring straight ahead, to never look back, and that if she missed a step or two, that it was ok and she’d survive.
Pernelle stood up. So did the man.
“Thank you, sir. Normally I just walk past this place without a second glance, but… I’ll come back, sir. You were very kind to me.”
The man smiled again as they walked to the garbage hole entrance. Pernelle saw the sun rising over the Eiffel Tower in the distance and felt happy, encouraging warmth spreading through her. She knew, now, that there was no such thing as cowardice. That somewhere, deep inside a person’s soul, courage is waiting to opened…and it always is.