I sat back and looked at the stars. Even they won't last. The exotic's screams rose to them, a pleasure in G.o.d's nostrils? No. Another line in my Legend.

Praise Billy.

Little Blenny Bunting.

by Airika Sneve.

A stalk-limbed, doughnut-mouthed supermodel pouted vacantly for traffic from a billboard on the side of a bus stop shelter. Large block letters proclaiming "Chanel!" floated across her waist. On the sidewalk below the supermodel's billboard, crumpled McDonald's cups and bags skittered about like paper rats. Busses, taxis, and cars hurried along the slushy winter streets that surrounded the concrete island of fast food joints and liquor stores on whose face the bus stop rested.

A young man in a pylon-orange coat sat on a bench inside the shelter. He was the only ember of color in the day's otherwise neutral palette of metal, ice, and smoke, seeming to glow, almost, amidst the smoke-silver early evening that swirled around the shelter in chilly shades of November.

The young man wiled the minutes away by blowing his breath out in cold air rings (much like his neighbor Gertrude did while puffing away on her endless train of Tourneys). Occasionally, he would stop to dispense friendly h.e.l.los to pa.s.sersby. With his snaggle-toothed smile and heavily-hooded hazel eyes, he had an innocence and air of openness about him that made him seem far younger than his twenty-four years.

The technical term for his condition was 'Down syndrome'-however, what he may have lacked in IQ and autonomy, he easily made up for in personality; his friendly innocence quickly charmed both people and animals alike. As was typical of him, he waved to pa.s.sersby, eliciting smiles from even the sourest pedestrians as he sat on his bench and beamed.

All of a sudden, mid-h.e.l.lo, the boy heard a commotion flare up on the street corner just yards away from the shelter. He turned to look. Next to the stoplights, a tall, wiry black man with wild serpentine dreadlocks dressed in swathes of loose rags, stood facing a police officer.

"Come on, man," said the officer, a not-so-subtle tone of exasperation in his voice. "You soliciting again? Can't you see me standin' here? You out of your mind?" Only it came out, "You outta yo mahnd?"

The dreadlocked man's skin was such a dark, rich shade of chocolate that the whites of his eyes seemed to glow from their sockets like twin moons at midnight. He shook his head, his dreadlocks quivering like a willow tree in a fierce breeze.

"Show some sympathy for a brother, man," he said. "I ain't had my fix since last week! I'm a-startin' to shake!" Thick lips crinkled back from huge white teeth in a mischievous grin. He rattled the coins in his Styrofoam cup at the cop.

The officer threw up his hands, more out of incredulity then anger. He couldn't believe these brickheads. It didn't do any good to toss them in a cell for a night or two, oh no. That was no deterrent. Once they were out, they'd get right back to their business of irritating the public and wasting his time, no lesson learned, only valuable time lost. Easier to send them packing with a threat and a headshake.

"Get a move on," said the officer. "If I catch yo solicitin' a.s.s out here again, I'm takin' you for a free ride down to the station. Now put an egg in yo shoe, and beat it."

"Shi-it." The man gave the officer an injured look, then headed toward the boy in orange.

"Hi, my name is Blenny, spelled B-L-E-N-N-Y," said the young man to the dreadlocked fellow seated next to him. "I've been working at Shop-Rite since last week. I'm new. What's your name?" The man stank like garbage laced with cigarettes, but Blenny didn't say anything. That would be rude.

"My name is Cyrus, but you can call me Fate," the man answered in a raspy baritone. He tossed his head back and howled, huge bear trap jaws open wide, mirthful eyes squeezed shut.

Blenny was unfazed. "Hi, Cyrus, nice to meet you. My dad works at the post office. His name is Bill. Does your dad know my dad?"

Cyrus did a double take. "I don't know! I don't even know who my daddy is, man, never mind yours!"

"Oh. Do you know my girlfriend, Caroline? Jessica was my girlfriend before, but Caroline's my girlfriend now. She's pretty." (Caroline was the sweet blond volunteer who worked in the cafeteria at Alder Park a.s.sisted Living, where Blenny now resided). His mother had been hesitant to let him leave home, but, after much imploring from Blenny, had eventually relented. He'd been living at Alder Park for six months now, and was very proud of this accomplishment.

"I don't know Caroline neither, kid, but I'll tell you what I do know."

He leaned in toward Blenny, suddenly grave. He kept his eyes fixed on the traffic ahead, talking to Blenny almost out of the side of his mouth. His voice lost its gravel, and became soft and smooth.

"You gonna have one biiiiig adventure today, kid. I guarantee it."

Blenny leaned away from Cyrus, wishing, for maybe the first time ever, that he had heeded his mother's instructions never to talk to strangers. The tone of this man's voice was starting to scare him.

"I'm not a kid, I'm twenty-four." Blenny hugged his arms against his chest. "I'm going to Shop-Rite. I bag groceries there. I'm new."

Cyrus leaned in even closer, keeping his eyes on traffic. He aspirated warm, fetid gusts into Blenny's face with each word. It smelled like a corpse's a.s.shole stuffed to the rim with moldering tuna, like some unhallowed Thanksgiving offering in Sheol. This time, Blenny did not refrain from covering his nose.

Cyrus whispered his next words so softly, his voice was almost lost to the wind.

"Little Blenny Bunting."

Blenny recoiled.

Little Blenny Bunting-that was his nickname, known only to his parents and his best friend, Petey, at Alder Park. How did this scary stranger know his nickname?

"W-w-wha-"

"Be very quiet, Blenny. If you so much as blink, I'll tell that nice new boss of yours you've been stealing candy bars from the stock room, and he'll fire yo a.s.s reeeal quick. s.h.i.t, you might even get kicked out of your little halfway house, how'd you like that?"

Blenny stared, shocked. He had never stolen anything from anyone, not since his mother caught him stealing a pack of gum from the store when he was six. Stealing was

a bad, bad thing to do, his mom said, and he would especially never steal from his new boss, nice Mr. Fairweather.

"I never!"

"Be quiet!" Cyrus snarled, whipping his head around to face Blenny with a wild-eyed stare. Blenny jumped. He couldn't speak; he was too terrified.

Cyrus smiled, satisfied. He nodded. "All you need to know," he said, his eyes once more back on traffic, "is that you got a big surprise comin' up today, and we need to keep you on schedule. Your surprise be comin' up real quick."

Now Cyrus' voice rose to the raucous, gravelly shout Blenny had first heard. "You goin' on a wild ride today, boy, yes indeed!" He doubled over with lunatic laughter.

Terrified, Blenny sat and stared rigidly ahead. The faintly surfacing stars seemed to be peeking at him, leering at him, from behind gray translucent cloud drifts in the rapidly blackening silver sky. Pedestrians hurrying by seemed far away, far on the opposite side of a gla.s.s winter world Blenny was unable to reach.

His tongue darted madly in his open mouth. He wanted to shout for help, but what if Cyrus told Mr. Fairweather lies about him? He might lose his job, his new home; it was too much to risk.

On the sidewalk in front of them, a hurrying man with gold spectacles and a long duster gave the chortling Cyrus a dirty look, and shouted "Quiet down! This is a public place." Blenny's heart leaped-maybe the man would come over and make this nightmare stop!

"Hey, f.u.c.k off, man!" Cyrus shouted, giving the man the same one-fingered signal Blenny's mom had told him was "A BIG NO-NO."

The man furrowed his brow and shook his head, but-worst of all-kept on walking. Helpless, Blenny watched his retreating back until it disappeared into the Hollywood Video on the next block. He wanted to yell, "Help! Come back, mister, please!" but knew he wasn't allowed to. Now he was all alone.

Cyrus whipped his crazed, grinning face toward Blenny. "Get ready for your surprise, Blenny! It's-a gonna be a doozy!"

Blenny burrowed into his coat as far as he could, squinched his eyes shut, and pleaded with Jesus: if He made the bus appear this very instant, and/or made Cyrus disappear, he would wash dishes at Alder Park for a whole month, and he would do it with a smile.

Cyrus hooted and cackled on.

A few minutes later the bus did pull up, looming over the shelter like an enormous metal caterpillar on wheels. Blenny heaved a shuddering sigh of relief.

The bus' doors accordioned open with their customary metallic wheeze. Blenny started up the steps, then halted. Strangely, the driver grinning down from the driver's seat was not Clifford, the jolly Irishman who had captained Route 6 for as far back as Blenny could remember. In his stead sat a pallid, skeletal shadowslip of a man with round gla.s.ses and thin, greasy blond hair tied back in a ponytail under a blue conductor's cap.

"All aboard, Blenny!" said the driver, tipping his cap. His voice was high, feminine.

Blenny gawped at the strange driver, then flicked a glance toward Cyrus, who waved at him from the bus stop. Blenny shuddered. "You know me too?" he asked warily.

The driver winked. He blew a greasy strand of hair off one sharp cheekbone, and said, "I suppose you could say that. You'd better hop on quick though, Blenny, before our good friend Cyrus there decides to board the ol' Route 6 dragon himself." He gestured toward Cyrus, who blew a kiss at Blenny from the bus stop.

A saucer-eyed Blenny threw himself up the bus' steps. He knocked his shins a good one, but hardly noticed. With shaking hands, he dropped his quarters into the coin box, then plunked down into one of the bus's brown plastic seats.

"I need to go to Shop-Rite, Mister. I work there. I'm new."

The driver smiled; the bus lurched forward.

Today there would be no animated conversation with Clifford (nor anyone else), for Blenny recognized neither of the other two pa.s.sengers on board. He sat, silent, engulfed in an alien emotion that wouldn't quite show itself to his conscious mind. It twisted and shifted beneath the deep waters of awareness, a dark serpentine shape that undulated just beyond the periphery of vision. Blenny sighed and stared blankly out the window.